The streets we wandered through yesterday feel eerily silent now, cloaked in shadows that stretch and shift like watchful eyes.

The silence is interrupted by the sound of the talisman in my hands.

“Elene, it’s reacting,” I whisper, clutching the talisman tightly. Its buzzing vibration grows stronger, more insistent, as if Maria herself is calling out to us.

Elene tilts her head, her golden eyes narrowing with sharp focus. “She’s close,” she mutters, her voice steady but laced with a tension I rarely hear.

We find ourselves in a narrow alley, dimly lit by a single flickering street lamp. The talisman’s buzzing grows louder, its glow casting strange patterns on the stone walls.

“Maria’s must be within a 15-meter radius,” Elene explained, my eyes quickening sharp as I strain to sense any sign of her presence.

The faint sound of footsteps echoes down the alley, slow and deliberate. A voice follows—deep, resonant, and commanding:

“‘Io sono la luce del mondo; chi mi segue non camminerà nelle tenebre, ma avrà la luce della vita.’”(“I am the light of the world; whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”)

The words carry a weight, reverberating through the narrow alley like the toll of a distant church bell. The air thickens with each syllable, as though the chant is weaving an invisible net around us.

“Another priest? They never learn,” Elene mutters, cracking her knuckles with a sharp sound, her golden eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Wait, Elene. We can avoid this,” I say quickly, stepping forward and raising my hands in a gesture of peace.

She scoffs but doesn’t argue, though her tense posture makes it clear she’s not standing down.

“Excuse me!” I call out, forcing confidence into my voice. “I know you guys can understand me. Please, we didn’t mean what happened yesterday—it was all a misunderstanding!”

The man’s chant continues, his voice unwavering, every word in rapid, authoritative Italian:

“‘Non abbiate paura di quelli che uccidono il corpo ma non possono uccidere l’anima. Temete piuttosto colui che può distruggere l’anima e il corpo nella Geenna.’”

(“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, fear the one who can destroy both soul and body in hell.”)

The figure steps out of the shadows, emerging into the faint glow of the streetlamp. He is cloaked in the unmistakable robes, the embroidered cross glinting in the dim light. His deep-set eyes lock onto ours with unsettling calm as his chant grows louder, daring us to make another move.

I freeze. The priest stands no more than four meters away, his presence imposing, his aura charged with something unspoken.

Then, he stops. His chant ceases abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. A slow grin spreads across his face, sharp and mocking.

“Well, well. Two lost lambs... Or shall I say, a fox and a black hen.”

“What?” I blink, caught off guard by the strange analogy.

Elene rolls her eyes. “I think he meant you as the hen. I’m obviously the fox,” she says with a smirk, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Wait—black hen?!” I stammer, heat rising to my face. “I am not—Elene is the demon here, I’m just—”

I give up mid sentence, fumbling over how to explain a situation I barely understand myself.

The priest’s grin widens. “You both can relax. Tonight, you’ll rest in peace. I will ensure it personally.”

Elene’s smirk vanishes, replaced by a cold, sharp glare. “I get me. But her? She’s one of your own kind.”

The priest tilts his head, his voice dripping with condescension. “She may lie to her family. She may lie to her lover, may even lie to a low demon like you. But to the lord, she cannot. She bears the mark of sin on her right hand.”

I instinctively look down at my hands, panic creeping into my chest. My palms tremble, but they look as ordinary as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice faltering.

Elene steps closer, her stance protective. “Whatever you think you see, Father, you’re mistaken.”

“It is not I who must be convinced,” he replies, his tone cold, “but the Lord Himself, when you stand before him in judgment.”

With a sudden gesture, a flurry of scrolls unfurls behind the priest and rushes toward me. They circle around me, binding me in a spectral barrier. My body grows heavy, my voice caught in my throat—I am powerless.

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“Elene—” I gasp, my knees buckling under the oppressive weight of the scrolls’ energy.

Elene’s eyes blaze with fury. “Enough of this!” she growls, darting forward with her elbow strike aimed directly at the priest's chest.

The priest is ready. His movements are swift and calculated, meeting her strike with a powerful elbow block. The impact reverberates through the alley, the clash of their strength shaking the air around them. Despite his counter, Elene’s raw power sends him flying a few meters away with a follow-through swing of her arm.

“You Vatican types really like to play dirty,” Elene spits, brushing her torn sleeve aside to reveal a bruised elbow. The look in her eyes is a mixture of pain and annoyance.

“There is nothing dirty in actions taken in the name of the Lord,” the priest retorts, his voice calm but laced with conviction.

I can barely follow what’s happening. The scrolls around me pulse with a strange light, their oppressive aura sapping my strength. My limbs tremble, not from fear, but from the overwhelming force restraining me.

Elene takes a step forward, readying herself for another attack. “Let’s see how long you can preach before I knock every last tooth out of your mouth,” she sneers.

Without a word, the priest retrieves a small, simple cross from his pocket. As he places it around his neck, his entire body convulses briefly, a sudden, shocking burst of energy radiating from him.

“What the hell—” Elene’s voice falters for the first time. Her confident smirk wavers, replaced by the beginnings of unease.

“You see it, don’t you, little demon?” the priest says, his voice steady and even. “The light of the divine is no mere trick.”

Elene’s brow furrows as she regains her composure, masking her uncertainty with defiance. “I never thought humans were capable of such... enhancements.”

“That’s because I am no ordinary human,” the priest declares, his tone carrying the weight of absolute authority. “I am a servant of the Lord, sent across dimensions to purify the unholy wherever they may hide.”

“Dimensions?” Elene echoes, confusion breaking through her irritation.

He nods solemnly. “I am Father Matteo Vittori, an Elite Exorcist of the Vatican—of my universe. My purpose is singular: to eliminate the likes of you, in any world, in any realm.”

Before either of us can react, he moves—a blur of motion closing the distance between them in an instant. His kick connects with Elene’s midsection, sending her hurtling through the air like a rag doll. She crashes into the wall behind me, crumbling brick and mortar with the force of the impact.

Elene groans as she pulls herself to her feet. For the first time, a flicker of doubt crosses her usually unshakable demeanor.

“I’d love to share more about myself,” Father Vittori says, brushing imaginary dust from his robes, “but duty comes first, and I do not waste words on demons.”

Elene staggers upright, her posture unsteady. For the first time, doubt flickers across her face. Her usual defiance is gone, replaced by something unfamiliar—hesitation. Slowly, she begins retreating, her steps measured and uncertain.

I can hear the steps of withdrawal, each step being far and far away from me.

“Yes, run, demon,” Father Vittori sneers, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “Show your true nature.”

Elene’s gaze flicks toward me briefly but quickly darts away. She avoids my eyes, her expression shadowed with something akin to shame. She doesn’t say a word as she continues backing away, and after a few steps she flies away.

The priest turns his attention to me, his expression shifting to a twisted grin. “Never trust demons, hen. You are nothing but a vessel to them. Your body, your soul—mere tributes for their insatiable hunger.”

He sighs, a pitying look crossing his face as he shakes his head. “Don’t be surprised. These lowly creatures know nothing of loyalty or sacrifice. When the fire burns hottest, they flee, caring only for their wretched hides. It’s their nature. And yet...” He pauses, his eyes narrowing as if recalling a distant memory. “I was a carnal man once, too. I understand the sinner’s life, the allure of indulgence. But understanding does not absolve you or her of your sins.”

With a gesture, the field of scrolls binding me dissipates, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. I can feel my body again, but the paralysis of fear holds me in place. My breathing is ragged, shallow. I can barely keep my focus as he pulls a dagger from his robe—a small but ornate blade glinting ominously in the dim light.

The priest steps closer, his movements deliberate and precise. The dagger’s edge grazes my skin, cold and unyielding.

“You have two choices,” he says, his tone calm yet laced with menace. “I can use this blade to offer you as a living tribute to the Lord. With my prayer, perhaps your soul will find redemption. Or...” He presses the dagger slightly against my arm, the sharp edge just shy of drawing blood. “You can choose to confess. Give me the names, locations, and plans of every demon you know, and perhaps you’ll live to see another day.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. My throat is dry, my voice locked away by the weight of the situation.

Before the blade can press any further, a sudden rush of air breaks the oppressive stillness. A sharp air current surges through the alley. I catch a glimpse of Elene—her wings unfurling dramatically, catching the dim light as she descends with incredible speed, spinning mid-air.

Her heel strikes the priest square in the stomach with devastating force, the impact reverberating through the alley. Father Vittori is sent flying backward, his body skidding across colliding with a wall. His prayer cuts off, replaced by a low, guttural groan.

“Elene!” I gasp, relief and disbelief flooding me at once.

She turns to me, her face stern, though her eyes betray a flicker of worry. “Move!” she barks.

I try, but my body is still sluggish, weighed down by the lingering effects of the field. My legs buckle beneath me, and I barely manage a step before collapsing. Before I hit the ground, Elene swoops down, scooping me up with ease. Her grip steady despite the urgency of the moment.

With a powerful beat of her wings, we’re airborne. The wind roars in my ears as Elene carries me higher, away from the dimly lit alley and the dangerous priest below. The city blurs beneath us, the lights stretching into streaks as we soar through the night sky.

“That field,” Elene mutters, her voice barely audible over the rushing wind. “And that damn priest—they’re going to make this search a lot harder.”

I look up at her, seeing the strain in her expression, the determination in her clenched jaw. Even though she’s fighting her own discomfort under the lingering effects of the field, she doesn’t falter. Her focus is unshakable.

“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice weak.

“Anywhere safe enough to lie low for the night,” she replies, scanning the horizon. “That field won’t last forever, but we need to stay out of sight until it fades. And you...” She glances down at me briefly, her brow furrowed. “...need to recover.”