It all happens so fast. One moment, the Father, clearly preparing to deliver something out from his pocket. But Elene is quick reading the father's movement and making her first move before him, it was so fast the father couldn't react to the blow, sending the father flying.
She casually dusts her knuckles, as if she’s just swatted away an annoying mosquito.
“So, who’s next?” she asks, tilting her head ever so slightly, a smug look creeping onto her face.
Desperation is brought to me as someone who’s both morally and legally obligated to try to stop her.
“Elene..”
Her reaction to my face expression is a light chuckle, one that sends a shiver down my spine. “Don’t worry, Elysia. I’m just… adjusting their theology.”
The remaining four exorcists freeze in place for a moment.
And then they charge, but It is futile.
Elene without effort took all of them.
Elene turns to me, her expression as innocent as ever, as if she hadn’t just incapacitated an entire Vatican task force. “What? They started it.”
My retort dies in my throat when I hear a weak cough. The priest—the one she’d yeeted into the metaphorical stratosphere earlier—is somehow still conscious, propped up on one trembling elbow.
“I… I’ve never encountered a devil human possessed with such strength,” he rasps, each word dripping with melodrama.
Elene tilts her head like she hasn’t just sent this man to the emergency room. “Human? No, no. I’m an actual demon in the flesh.”
The priest blinks, his face morphing from shock to acceptance so quickly
“Is not often a full demon comes around the gates of the vatican” then, with one last dramatic gasp, he slumps to the floor in a heap.
From the houses many people are getting out to watch what happened. To avoid the police and being watched by witnesses we decide to leave the place.
“Elene quickly, lets run” Sadly that decision makes us go in a different direction from where Maria was.
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The Vatican City:
In the grand yet solemn office of Cardinal Salvatore Martelli, co-founder and renowned expert of the Exorcist Congregation, the faint scratch of a quill echoes against walls lined with centuries-old tomes. Cardinal Martelli, a man whose steely resolve guides countless missions, sits behind an ornate oak desk, meticulously signing documents.
A knock breaks the tranquil rhythm.
“Avanti!” (Come in!) the cardinal calls in his deep, measured tone, not looking up from his papers.
The heavy door creaks open, and a priest hurries inside, his face pale and his hands clutching a small folder. He hesitates before speaking, his voice tinged with unease.
“Mi scusi, Eminenza, per portarvi cattive notizie in questo momento, ma abbiamo ricevuto informazioni che un demone è stato rilevato a Fiumicino.” (Excuse me, Your Eminence, for bringing you bad news at this time, but we’ve received information that a demon has been detected in Fiumicino.)
Cardinal Martelli pauses mid-signature, carefully placing his quill on the stand. He removes his reading glasses and sets them aside, his expression calm, almost indifferent. But there is an unmistakable weight behind his gaze—a depth forged by decades of facing the darkest forces.
He exhales slowly, folding his hands. “Prima di tutto, dite alle autorità di informare i cittadini che eventuali problemi saranno attribuiti a ladri o stranieri che cercano di portare caos.” (First of all, tell the authorities to inform the citizens that any problems will be attributed to thieves or foreigners seeking to cause chaos.)
The priest nods hurriedly, jotting the instructions down.
“In secondo luogo, date ordine agli esorcisti élite di iniziare a lavorare immediatamente.” (Secondly, order the elite exorcists to begin work immediately.)
Martelli rises from his seat, the sudden movement startling the priest.
“Eminenza?” (Your Eminence?) the priest asks, surprised to see the cardinal himself preparing to act.
“Inizierò i riti. Questo demone deve perire nel nome del Signore.” (I will begin the rites. This demon must perish in the name of the Lord.) His voice is resolute, and his movements deliberate as he lifts the gold crucifix from his desk. He kisses it with reverence, closing his eyes briefly in prayer before striding toward the door.
The priest stands frozen for a moment, inspired and unnerved by the cardinal’s determination.
“Che Dio ci aiuti, Eminenza,” (May God help us, Your Eminence,) the priest murmurs, clutching his folder tighter before following Martelli into the shadowed corridors of the Vatican.
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The priest rushes to the exorcist barracks, his steps echoing through the dimly lit halls. He approaches the first exorcist he finds, his voice tight with urgency.
"Ho bisogno della forza élite, subito!" ("I need the elite force, immediately!")
The exorcist, startled, looks up from his preparations.
"La forza élite di solito inizia il turno di notte, intorno alle 22 o più tardi." ("The elite force usually starts their shift at night, around 10 PM or later.")
"Com'è possibile? Abbiamo un'emergenza!" ("How is that possible? We have an emergency!")
The exorcist hesitates, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"La verità è che nessuno ha i loro numeri. Sono segreti anche per noi." ("The truth is, no one knows their exact number. They’re secret, even to us.")
Frustrated, the priest leaves, realizing he has no choice but to return later in the night.
As the hours pass, the priest wanders through the quiet streets. The distant hum of activity in Vatican City gives way to an eerie stillness. He feels it before he can see it—a faint, almost electric sensation in the air.
"Quindi questo è il campo... È la prima volta che lo percepisco." ("So this is the field... First time I’ve sensed one.")
The purification field, created through rites, cloaks Fiumicino and its neighboring cities like an invisible barrier. Its purpose is clear: to weaken the presence of evil entities. While ordinary humans remain unaffected, the priest—attuned to the divine—sees the shimmering layers of its protective aura.
The field’s tranquil energy eases his earlier frustration, allowing him to wait patiently for the elite force.
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At precisely 11:59 PM, footsteps echo down the cobblestone path. A man appears, his presence commanding yet unassuming—a priest with an air of quiet authority.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"Deve essere lei il sacerdote che ci ha aspettato tutto il giorno." ("You must be the priest who has been waiting for us all day.")
The priest bristles, his earlier calm dissipating into frustration.
"Come osa arrivare a quest'ora? È una vergogna per il nome del Signore!" ("How dare you arrive at this hour? You are a disgrace to the name of the Lord!")
The exorcist remains unshaken, his serene smile only aggravating the priest further.
"Chiedo perdono, perché ha ragione." ("I beg for forgiveness, for you are right.")
The priest’s anger flares, his voice rising as he gestures sharply.
"C'è un demone fuori a Fiumicino. Dite al vostro gruppo di fermarlo!" ("There is a demon outside in Fiumicino. Tell your group to stop it!")
The exorcist inclines his head slightly, the motion both respectful and dismissive. His composure remains unyielding, like an immovable object in the face of the priest's storm.
"Grazie per l'informazione." ("Thank you for the information.")
The priest narrows his eyes, his patience wearing thin.
"Quindi, sta andando con tutta la sua squadra?" ("So, you’re going with your entire squad?")
The exorcist pauses just as he reaches the edge of the dimly lit corridor. Turning back, his serene smile remains in place, though his voice carries an edge of quiet confidence.
"No, posso farlo da solo, poiché sono il numero uno degli esorcisti in tutta la Città del Vaticano." ("No, I can do it by myself, as I am the number one exorcist in all of Vatican City.")
The priest’s expression shifts from fury to shock, disbelief coloring his features.
"Un... una classifica tra gli esorcisti?" ("A... a ranking among the exorcists?")
The exorcist offers no further explanation. He turns away, his robes swaying gently with his movement. His calm, measured footsteps echo in the silence as he disappears into the night, leaving the priest rooted to the spot.
The priest stands there, his thoughts a whirlwind of awe and dread. He has waited all day for reinforcements, for a team to handle this dire situation. Instead, he finds only one man—a man whose confidence leaves him unsure whether to pray harder or place his faith entirely in this so-called "number one exorcist."
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The soap:
"My back..." I groan, trying to stretch out the stiffness that’s set in from sleeping on the cold, unforgiving ground.
"You’re not used to sleeping on rocks, huh?" Elene smirks, lounging on a patch of grass like it’s a luxury mattress.
"I can’t believe we slept in the streets like a couple of hobos," I mutter, rubbing my sore neck.
"I know, but even as a hobo, I still look good," she replies with a wink, flipping her hair dramatically like she’s on the cover of a fashion magazine.
"Ugh, I need a shower... but where?" I grumble, burying my face in my hands. "I should’ve brought more money to book a hotel room."
Elene perks up, her eyes glinting mischievously. That look never means anything good.
"We can solve that problem," she says, her tone way too confident.
"What do you mean—oh no, absolutely not!" I glare at her, already knowing where this is going.
"Why not?" she asks, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "We just fly around until we find a room with a bath. Easy."
"Because that’s illegal, Elene!"
"And? Who’s going to stop us?" she retorts, waving off my concern like it’s an annoying fly. "Besides, you’re the one who smells like a compost pile."
I cringe. She’s not wrong. The uncomfortable stickiness of my skin is driving me insane, and the smell... yeah, it’s bad.
I sigh, defeated. The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. "Fine..."
Elene grins like a cat that just cornered a mouse. She jumps to her feet with an exaggerated stretch. "That’s the spirit!"
"Don’t look so smug," I mutter, already regretting this decision.
"Oh, I’ll tone it down once we find you a bath," she says, shooting me a wink. "Until then, just embrace the chaos."
I groan again, but a small part of me—the part that’s desperate for cleanliness—can’t help but agree.
----------------------------------------
Takes hours, but using her ethereal form, Elene leads the way as we scout for a hotel. It doesn’t take long to find a place with the lights off and no one in sight. Quiet as ghosts, we slip inside the room.
I take the initiative to enter the bathroom first, and take my clothes off, since I am desperate to taste the hot water, and have a relaxation time for myself.
The moment the hot water hits my skin, it feels like heaven has descended. The grime and fatigue melt away, leaving only bliss.
"Oh, poor Maria..." I murmur, thinking about our friend who’s probably feeling just as gross as I had. "She must be miserable without a shower."
I close my eyes, relishing the warmth and steam, when suddenly—
"Hey, move over!"
The voice jolts me, and I spin around, water running down my face as I blink to clear my vision. Standing in the doorway, surrounded by rising steam, is Elene. She leans casually against the frame, her towel barely clinging to her curves. Her flawless skin seems to glisten, and the faint glow of her golden eyes pierces through the haze.
"Elene!" I shriek, clutching a washcloth to my chest. "What are you doing? Get out!"
She saunters in, completely unfazed. Her tail flicks lazily behind her, the faintest hint of amusement in her steps. Her hips sway as she walks, and her damp hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders.
"What? It’s just a bath," she says, her smirk wide and shameless. "Besides, we’re both girls, aren’t we? No big deal."
"That’s not the point!" I stammer, backing into the corner like it’ll somehow shield me. My cheeks burn, and my eyes dart everywhere but at her.
Her towel slips slightly, revealing more of her toned stomach and the curve of her thigh. She doesn’t seem to notice—or care. "You’re so uptight, Elysia," she teases, her tail curling playfully behind her. "You should try relaxing for once."
"You’re practically naked!" I yelp, my voice pitching higher than I’d like.
"And?" She arches an eyebrow, one hand resting on her hip. "This is just how I am. You should really stop being so shy." She steps closer, the steam swirling around her like a seductive aura. Her confidence is maddening.
I press myself against the cold tile wall, feeling trapped under her gaze. My heart pounds, and I can’t stop myself from sneaking a glance—just one!—before immediately regretting it. Her figure is… well, let’s just say it makes me want to spontaneously combust from sheer embarrassment.
"So, I’ll put some soap on your back, okay?"
Elene’s voice is casual, but I can hear the underlying mischievousness, and my nerves immediately spike.
"No..." I mutter, trying to resist the offer, but it feels useless.
"You slept on the streets, come on," she insists, already moving behind me. I stiffen as the cold soap glides on me. Her fingers, gentle but firm, trace the soap down from my neck, making my skin tingle as it reaches down my shoulders.
The sensation is maddening. Her fingers are firm but deliberate, tracing the contours of my body with an infuriating precision. Now working her way downward, the soap lathering against the skin of my back.
I yelp in the middle of her work, the sensation both oddly soothing and humiliating.
When she reaches the curve of my waist, her hands pause, shaping the dip there as if she’s memorizing every detail, she feels confident to go lower and that’s when I snap.
"Don’t you dare go beyond that!" I hiss, my voice sharp with a venom I hadn’t meant to show.
"Oh, okay..." she murmurs with a teasing smirk in her voice, though I can’t see it. Her fingers continue trailing the soap down my lower back, making it hard to focus on anything but the intimate proximity of it all.
When we finally finish with my turn, I think I can breathe easier.
"Now it’s my turn!" Elene exclaims, turning to face me with that confident grin of hers, and before I know it, I’m reluctantly holding the soap in my hands.
I hesitate, my hands trembling a little. Cleaning her back feels like some kind of punishment.
I start at her back, the soap slicking easily across her skin. It feels almost unfair how effortlessly clean she is. She has the kind of body that seems to exist only in dreams, like some perfect sculpture that people write stories about.
As I move my hands across her smooth skin, a burst of frustration wells up. "It’s just... not fair," I mutter under my breath.
"Did you say something?" Elene asks, her voice light and curious, but there’s no way I’m admitting that I’m both angry and envious of her perfect figure.
"Nothing," I quickly reply, my face flushed as I finish cleaning her back.
We finish quickly, stepping out of the shower, but as soon as I reach for my towel, I feel the shift in Elene’s energy. She’s gone from playful and carefree to something... more focused.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, unable to keep the curiosity out of my voice.
Her eyes are distant, scanning the room like she’s piecing something together in her mind. She bites her lip, clearly deep in thought. “I guess the news is flying... They activated some type of field.”
“They?” I raise an eyebrow, not fully following her.
“The Vatican.” Her voice is low, like she’s still trying to connect the dots, and I can see her mind working, her lips pressing together as she thinks. “I think we’ve been set up.”
A sinking feeling spreads in my chest. “By who...?”
“Yeah... that man, Asaul. He must’ve used Maria to bring us here, but his real purpose was for us to be the target of the Vatican’s attention. They miscalculated, though. You’re human, Elysia.” Elene’s tone is oddly matter-of-fact. “The Vatican doesn’t attack humans.”
I let out a relieved sigh, a weight lifting off my shoulders. “Uff. That’s good to hear. But about you… is this field affecting you?”
She pauses, biting her lip again. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to be here long enough to find out.” Her golden eyes meet mine, and for once, there’s something almost... worried in them. “Let’s find Maria. Fast.”