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It's been ten thousand years since I sent you away and made the seasons stop at your behest.
You would think that I could master loneliness in that time but I can't accept that I obeyed your request.
In my obedience, I ended our Summers in Rome because I trusted you and thought that you knew best.
In your wisdom, you could have warned me about the lingering hole you'd leave in my chest.
Every memory is a sanctuary and every word a benediction. I hate this heavy life you left me with
If I'm to be the custodian of what you believed then why is it so hard to live?
Raphael. O, Raphael. Can I see your heaven and be lifted from Hell?
Raphael. O, Raphael. I'll never forget you. Alas, my life is about you, Raphael.
No one knew our story. We kept it to ourselves. Discretion was our valor and our passion was the crime
We never cared about Him or them, it was all about us. And I'd trade my next breath to return to that happier time
I've tried to let others hold me but it never feels right. I've broken everyone who tried. They can never be you.
Now, I have no strength. Now, I have no pride. My heart is in stasis and there's nothing I can do.
Every memory is a sanctuary and every word a benediction. I hate this heavy life you left me with
If I'm to be the custodian of what you believed then why is it so hard to live?
Raphael. O, Raphael. Can I see your heaven and be lifted from Hell?
Raphael. O, Raphael. I'll never forget you. Alas, my life is about you, Raphael.
[“赤い夜” by HINATOROU ends. Fade in. ]
Arliss Santiago – Host: Welcome back. That was “Akai Yoru”, or “Red Night” for the Englishman and plebians out there, by local darling HINATOROU. This is your host Arliss Santiago. You are now listening to “The Analytical…”
Adreas Santiago – Co-Host: “…Party!” Hey! Ugh, I love that song. This is Adreas San-ti-ago on the pretty end of the table, bringing the party back to…
Arliss: The nerve! Could you at least wait until I finish the introduction? Seriously, why I agree, week after week, to work with family is a mystery. You said you’d let me have the lead on this one, Adreas.
Adreas: Last I recall, hermanito, I agreed to let you have a guest to yourself this week so long as I got one.
Arliss: Your guest isn’t here yet.
Adreas: My guest sleeps until four in the afternoon and you insist on doing this podcast at four thirty.
Arliss: [ Inaudible ]
Adreas: What was that? I can’t hear you. Must be an issue with the headphones. Could you speak into the microphone?
Arliss: Let’s just… start the show. Per compromise after the… incident last week in the studio…
Adreas: …which is our living room…
Arliss: …in the studio, we have two guests joining us for this session. Our first guest, who is here, with us, right now. In the studio, Adreas. On time. Professor, can you introduce yourself?
Elijah Craven – Guest: Yes, yes. Hello. Um, I am Elijah Craven.
Arliss: And can you tell the audience what it is that you do, Professor Craven?
Elijah: I am the director of the ARCH Institute. ARCH, as in Arcane Research, Culture and History. I would also like to clarify that while I do appreciate being addressed as a Professor, I do not actively teach.
Arliss: Of course. I’m just being respectful.
Adreas: What that actually means is that he’s kissing culata. There’s a word you can take with you.
Arliss: Anyway! Professor, can you tell us more about what you do as director?
Elijah: Certainly. I facilitate many of the institute’s administrative functions but my most important job is to support the ambition and imagination of our network of researchers, students, historians, and teachers in the field of Arcane and Occult research.
Arliss: But the core operations are located here in Phoenix. Is that correct?
Elijah: Correct, yes.
Arliss: I’d like to start there. So, there are quite a few questions I have for you, and seeing as how my sister’s guest hasn’t chosen to join us at airtime, it looks like I’ll have time to ask them.
Adreas: He’s going to be here, okay? Jesus, I said that he’s on his way. I just-
Arliss: Why Phoenix, Professor?
Elijah: Yes, that. It was an obvious choice given that the city was ground zero for what we know as The Fall. While the tragic loss of life in the city and around the world was insurmountable, we find that in its wake there’s been a staggering amount of unprecedented supernatural phenomena.
Arliss: Can you define what those phenomena are for us?
Elijah: I can, as there are several. Your sister. Is she okay?
Arliss: Ignore her.
Elijah: She appears to want your attention.
Arliss: She can’t have what I’m giving you. Please continue.
Elijah: Yes, yes, right. Let me start from the beginning. We are all aware of The Fall, yes?
Arliss: Right. We’re certainly aware. The day the sky fell. It’s how we keep track of the year now, so this is 96 ATF.
Elijah: Well, there was the Fall, or rather the day that the sky fell, and afterward the Red Nights we experience once a month, that followed. We are researching these events with tireless and relentless scrutiny at the behest of all mankind as one of those phenomena. That is one example. Demonology is another facet of our research. There’s also Fey Folk Lore, interactions with Mana, which we discovered as the foundation of most Arcana, and then there’s also Post-Humanism.
Arliss: Post-Humanism?
Elijah: It is recent, I know. Controversial, as some have chosen to believe that it denotes superiority between one kind of human to another. I, for one, find that to be an absolute rubbish, classist, and reductive school of thought lacking any intellectual founding. You would think that this sort of antiquated thinking would have gone the way of The Fall, but I digress. Adaptation of the language surrounding our research is a divergent passion of mine.
Arliss: Can you explain what the term Post-Humanism means?
Elijah: Gladly. Post-Humans, you see, are humans who have exceeded their basic survival capacities and have developed an innate connection to the Mana in and outside of their bodies in still unexplainable ways.
Arliss: Fascinating. Would you mind expanding on that for the laymen in our audience?
Elijah: [ Throat Clear ] Pardon me. Yes, I suppose you could say Post-Humans are humans, like you and I, but they interact with this plane of existence in ways that the rest of the species cannot. Nay, these individuals can touch beyond this dimension, through thought, as easily as one can touch a stream of water under a faucet.
Adreas: So, like, superhumans. Right?
Elijah: That is a term I sincerely wish to avoid adding to this or any conversation. [ Laugh ] Young lady, we do not live in the fictionalized world of a comic book.
Adreas: Okay, but, like, Post-Humans have superpowers, right? So why wouldn’t you-
Arliss: Perra! I’m going to cut your damn mic off if you keep interrupting. Let the man speak.
Adreas: I want to know! Look, I’m not just a dumb bitch who sits here looking better than you.
Arliss: We’re twins.
Adreas: I’m still prettier than you. I’m also that word you used when you asked me to do this show in the first place. What was that word again?
Arliss: [ Sigh ] An everyman.
Adreas: That. Everyman. Every-woman but yeah, that. And I have questions too.
Arliss: Fine, whatever. Professor, you said you don’t like the term superhuman.
Elijah: Yes, that is correct. It is presumptive. Reductive. We are dealing with an alternative human, a new human, a human to the left, if you would rather. Not a superhuman who is above. These Alternative Humans, or Post-Humans, do possess abilities that would be considered uncanny. Special. But super, no. I do not condone that.
Arliss: Right. Uncanny. Telekinesis and telepathy, for example.
Elijah: Yes, exactly. Have you read any of my books?
Arliss: I’ve read all your books, actually. I’ve been following your work since I was in high school, which is why I’m grateful that you’re here today.
Elijah: Post-Humanism is of particular interest to you, Mr. Santiago?
Arliss: Yes, absolutely. Well, to be honest, to you and to the listeners, we’ve discussed these things before on the show and it’s a conversation that’s become more prevalent everywhere over the last few years. People want answers.
Elijah: Yes. I can certainly understand that. We did not have access to or freedom to share this information until only recently, and even so we often must speak of these things in hushed tones lest we endure suppression from the powers that be.
Arliss: That’s an excellent segue into the next topic I wanted to discuss with you. I know this is taboo, but can you talk to us about Witches and The Occult? Maybe how they relate to what we’ve discussed so far?
Elijah: Yes, yes, yes. So, there are two sides to the Alternative Human coin, you see. There are Post-Humans, or those who perceive the world outside of the capacity of the Original Man - that, by the way, is the academic term we use at the Institute to denote those who are not considered Alternative - and then there are Witches. Both groups can interact with The Flow. Are you familiar with this term? The Flow?
Arliss: Yes. It relates to the motion of Mana through everything.
Elijah: Yes, yes. Very good. You’re a very learned young man.
Arliss: [ Laugh ] I just like to read.
Adreas: I just like to read.
Elijah: [ Laugh ] A quality lost to so many, I am afraid. You are correct. The Flow is the motion of Mana, of the energy, or more accurately the substance, that binds the physical to the spiritual. For Alternatives - I will use that term for the sake of brevity - The Flow is tangible. Witches, you see, are not bound by rigid perceptions of the self as we have observed in many Post-Humans. Rather, Witches utilize rituals and incantations passed down through lineage, succession, and word of mouth to interact with The Flow. They are considered deviants by The Church, yes, and some are perverse and consort with demons and variants, however it is my belief-
Adreas: He’s here! [ Inaudible, Leaves Table ]
Arliss: …go on, Professor.
Elijah: Yes. I was just going to say that all Alternatives do the same thing with different methods and ideologies. Post-Humanism is a classification of the individual. Witchcraft, and subsequently being a witch is a practice, or rather something that you do. I must say, we would do well to learn and be inspired by these individuals. I truly believe that they are the ones who will have the largest impact on mankind’s future.
Arliss: This is a big question for me. How does one become Post-Human?
Elijah: [ Laughs ] Do you wish to become one?
Arliss: I just think it’s important to cover our bases in discussions like this, and people are going to want to know how this happens. Is it genetic, circumstantial, methodical?
Elijah: Well, the answer to your question is one that I do not know. There are theories. Mine is that Post-Humans tend to manifest in persons who have come close to death, or to “The Pale” as we’ve read in texts authored by several prominent figures in our community. The lingering perception of death, in the consciousness of a living being might be the key. But again, that’s just a theory.
Arliss: Perceived death.
Elijah: Near death experiences, yes. Post-Humanism, which is a fantastic step in the right direction for all of humankind, I think, is still a concept that is very new to the academic and secular world. The emergence may have been happening before The Fall but with communications and record-keeping so obscured until just the last two decades, we would not know. The world of just 96 years ago is a mystery. There’s just so many questions that don’t have answers.
Arliss: Because of the Church.
Elijah: Were it not for the Vatican, mankind would never have survived after the Fall, nor would we have shelter and barriers during Red Nights or the continued vigilance regarding the dangers of Occult practices. I do not criticize them lightly, however it would be dishonest to say that I agree wholeheartedly with every action they have taken. No learned intellectual in our field ever could.
Arliss: About th- [ Cross Talk. ]
Adreas: Boring time is over, interesting time is now! My tu-
[ Cross Talk. ]
Arliss: Mujer! Eres imposible! Tengo mas tiempo, con mi invitada! Estúpida!
Adreas: Fine! Ask your stupid question!
Arliss: Professor, I apologize.
Elijah: [ Laughs ] There is no need to apologize. No harm done.
Arliss: [ Throat Clear ] For you listeners, there are now four of us here at the table. I’ll have my sister introduce our second guest in a moment. First-
Adreas: Why is the sky red during the day?
Arliss: Yes. That was going to be my question.
Elijah: [ Deep Breath ] We have no precedent for this kind of phenomena, though it is only logical to assume that this event is not random. For the time being, I would recommend that your listeners act with caution and prepare to make their way to the shelters per direction from their local Public Safety and the Vatican should they not have barriers in place at their homes.
Arliss: Yes. Just a public reminder that there’s a seven PM curfew tonight. To my listeners, please be indoors and behind an approved barrier by that time. Thank you, Professor.
Elijah: It was my pleas-
Adreas: Moving on! Ladies and gentlemen, your de facto Party Girl, Queen of the Night, That Girl Du Jour, Me, presents the non-nerd guest you’ve been waiting for! I don’t get to have guests that I picked out myself very often and I’m super, super excited for this. Get hype for Simone!
[ Play: Applause Sound Effect. ]
Dylan Jabari Simeon / Simone – Guest: …thanks?
Adreas: Listen, let’s just get into it. I saw you live last night. You played a new song. I got goosebumps, like, fucking chills, man. You people out there listening should have seen it. I was screaming from my seat! I damn near peed myself!
Dylan: Um. Yeah. The new song. Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.
Adreas: No, no, I loved it! The song and your, like, overall aesthetic. I’ve always loved that about you. That brooding, dark-sided straight-to-the-point muy misterioso thing you’ve got going on is a whole vibe. You’ve been opening for Eleganza the Divine, who we all love, of course, over at Dragon Layer for a while now and you’ve never interviewed with anyone. We want to know about you! Where did you come from? Where does your music come from? Who are you, man? Dish, damn it!
Dylan: That’s a lot of questions.
Arliss: Feel free not to answer any of them.
Dylan: It’s cool. Hey, Arliss.
Arliss: Hey.
Adreas: [ Clears Throat ]
Arliss: Oh. I should clarify. My sister and I have a pre-existing relationship with the artist.
Dylan: You can call me Dylan, man. It’s cool.
Adreas: D.J.!
Dylan: Dylan. D.J. is just, like, letters, Dre.
Elijah: Should I leave or-
Arliss: I have more questions for you after we wrap, Professor. Please stay.
Elijah: Oh, good. Dylan, was it? I-
Dylan: You’re Elijah Craven. I remember.
Elijah: Oh? Are you familiar with my work?
Dylan: We met, briefly, a long time ago.
Adreas: Hermanito? You were explaining how we know my guest.
Arliss: I’m a driver, as our listeners know. I drive for affluent clients, usually entertainers, and one of them is Eleganza the Divine. We met through her.
Dylan: Right.
Adreas: You’ve been one of my favorites in the scene for a while. Phoenix never gets enough notice in the mainstream, you know, and that sucks because there’s a bunch of people here putting on crazy good shows. Like, crazy good. We, Arliss and me? We live out in Scottsdale but go all the way West to see people all the time, right, hermanito?
Arliss: We do, yes.
Dylan: We appreciate it. The patronage, at the bar, I mean.
Adreas: Of course! We don’t miss a show and we won’t miss the one tonight either! With all the craziness out there, I think we all want to have a good time and I’m ready to party like it’s Amno Domino! What else do you have going on?
Dylan: Well, um, I write songs. I play ‘em. I guess that’s the gist of what I do.
Adreas: C’mon, now. You must have something in the works for the show tonight. Dish, damn it!
Dylan: I dunno. I guess we’re doing… songs?
Adreas: You’re not giving me a lot to work with here. What kind of songs?
Arliss: Synthpop, I imagine. That’s the term gaining traction recently. Synthetic Pop.
Dylan: I mean, that suggests that it’s not real and that’s some bullshit.
Arliss: It’s more about the timbre and the choice of instruments. Machines rather than, like, guitars and pianos.
Adreas: Dylan, don’t you play guitar?
Dylan: I can when I want to.
Elijah: Young man, I am intrigued by the sword you’re carrying with you.
Dylan: A lot of people are.
Elijah: Would you mind terribly if I could inspect it? The design of that weapon is very-
Dylan: I do mind, terribly. Sorry.
Adreas: It’s no use. I’ve asked to see it a million, trillion, quadrillion times and he just laughs at me when I ask.
Arliss: I seem to recall that you tried to take it once and succeeded. And how did that work out for you, sis?
Adreas: Not too well. Not too well, indeed, hermanito. Point taken. You know, you just can’t let shit go, can you?
Stolen story; please report.
Dylan: Can we, like, reroute and talk about something that isn’t exclusively my business and no one else’s?
Elijah: I do apologize if I encroached on a boundary, young man. I admit that I am naturally curious, to a fault.
Dylan: It’s cool, man.
Elijah: But the sword, you see. Not very few people in the world use or carry swords openly anymore except, perhaps, nobles and exorcists.
Arliss: I can confirm that he’s definitely and without a doubt not a noble.
Elijah: So then-
Adreas: An exorcist? Oh. I hadn’t even thought of that. Are you licensed with the church, D.J.?
Dylan: Nah, I don’t have anything to do with any church.
Arliss: Bullshit.
Dylan: Say what with the who, now?
Arliss: You heard me.
Adreas: Arliss. Hermanito? [ Laugh ] Why are you being hostile towards my guest?
Arliss: Because I hate lying. I abhor it. And I especially hate when I’m being made out to be a fool. Dylan, I let my sister ask you here because I thought you’d want to be real, for once, and tell the truth. No one here is buying that you’re just a musician who just so happens to carry a sword just for the sake of it. You were a Templar, weren’t you?
Dylan: I’m not answering that.
Arliss: But you’re not denying it.
Dylan: I shouldn’t have to deny or confirm a got damn thing because I’m telling you that it’s none of your fucking business. End of story. God, you always do this shit, since day fucking one. You go too far. You pick, you pry, and for what? Your listeners?
Arliss: It’s not just about them. It’s about you, dummy. I’ve never seen you more than a few feet away from that thing and I’ve known you for years now. You’re bound to it like you’re attached at the waist, and I know that you know how to use it. And all this shit is starting to happen, with the sky, and you probably know what’s up and won’t tell the rest of us. Where the fuck do you get off, man? I mean, listen to yourself. Got damn? You can’t even use the Lord’s name in vain.
Elijah: Not to interrupt but using the Lord’s name in vain and usually means using his-
Adreas: Not now, bookwork. Arliss? C’mon. You are doing the absolute most right now. We’re still on the air.
Arliss: I’m not dropping this. He knows what’s happening outside. I know it. He’s a fucking liar.
Dylan: So, hey, so like, I don’t have to take this? I can leave. I literally have better shit to do then-
Arliss: What do you have that’s better to do than tell us what the fuck is going on outside, Dylan? Do you have to go to confession? Have to give out last rites? Go tell your local padre about your sins, like the one where you let Ra-
Dylan: Don’t you fucking dare say his fucking name, asshole! Fuck you! Like, seriously, fuck you, man!
Adreas: ¡Basta! Arliss, that is so not okay. Why are you picking a fight with him? ¡Haya paz!
Arliss: I am absolutely under no circumstances going to stop anything. He’s a liar and I’m sick of it. You think I haven’t been asking around? That I haven’t been digging? That I don’t know about Father Raphael?
Dylan: Stop gum flapping. I’m not fucking talking about this. Fuck right off.
Elijah: I feel like I should-
Arliss: Not now, Professor! Tell them about Raphael, Simone. Tell them about Father Raphael, your partner. Your lover. Spiritual brother under God? Former Templar? Ring a bell? Where the hell do you think you’re going, asshole! Get back here and answer me!
Dylan: [ Inaudible ]
Arliss: You being here isn’t a prerequisite to me talking! What are you going to do, kill me too?! Arrogant, Catholic, lying fuck! Get back here!
Adreas: Hermanito, no, please, knock it off! Dylan! Stop!
[ Inaudible, cross talk, feed cut due to equipment failure. Transcript end. ]
“Just drive. Get me the fuck out of here.”
My jaw was tight. My teeth were grinding. My fingers were clenching my sheath, and I was sweating like I’d run a marathon when I’d just walked from Arliss’ front door to Ranish’s car. He didn’t say anything until we were out on the main road approaching the first red light. I realized that my eyes had been closed, and I didn’t let go of the darkness until he snapped me back to reality after a few minutes.
“I was listening. That Arliss kid is a piece of work, huh? Were you fighting in there? It shut off right before you came out.”
I turned my head to catch Ran looking in my direction. I found no comfort in his eyes. I was shaking. I turned back to the road, which he must have taken as his cue to keep filling the silence in the car.
“He really didn’t have any business bringing that up. Hell, I don’t even bring that up. The, um, R-word.”
“Ran, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“He sure wanted to talk about it. I thought you said this guy and his sister were your friends. How’d he know about Ralphie anyway?”
I tensed up. Ran was the only one who called him Ralphie. My mind slipped away from blinding rage to contemplation. He’d been in town since this morning, and I hadn’t taken stock of why he was here in the first place. But he was one of the only ones who should have known about Raphael or who I was before I came to town. I unclenched my jaw with a deep breath.
“I don’t care how he found out. Talk about something else. Tell me what you did today.”
“Well,” Ran sang. “Let’s see. After we got back to your place and you passed out this morning, I took a disco nap and then went for a free run. Everywhere is too flat out there by your spot so I had to drive to the city. I figured that out when I got into town yesterday night.” He was talking about parkour. I wasn’t surprised to hear that he kept up the hobby from when I knew him as a teenager.“Then, check this, I found this place for Mexican food, right?”
“What place?” I asked. That was an earnest contribution to the conversation.
“It wasn’t a store, right? Just a guy on the street. Can you believe that? I mean, I’ve gotten plenty of food from street vendors before but not Mexican. I always thought you had to go to, like, a taco shop. Nope. Right there. Anyway, have you ever had this carne asada stuff? Oh my god, bro. Good meat, so good. So glad I got there before he packed up and headed home. I would have got you something but I didn’t know when you’d wake up and it just seems like one of those had-to-be-there things, you know?”
I turned to take stock of him. He was smiling and seemed quite pleased. The chat was helping me center and force Arliss out of my head. I decided now was as good a time as any to dip into what I’d been wanting to ask since he’d tried to kill me this morning.
“Ran, why are you here?”
“Because you needed a ride to your interview thing.” I was still looking at him. He was still smiling. I reached over and pinched the flesh of his arm. “Ow, bitch! What the fuck?!”
“Stop dancing, little boy,” I scolded. “Why did you come to Phoenix?”
He glared at me. “Why do I need a reason to visit my older brother-in-christ?”
“Cut the shit.”
He made a motion with the index and middle finger of his pinched arm as if he were emulating scissors. “Cut, cut, cut.” He laughed. I glared.
“Ran.”
“Look, I haven’t been in the stStatesn a few months and when I got here, I landed in Vegas. I knew you were down the street-”
“A six-hour drive is down the street?”
“I knew you were down the street, yeah, so I came over to see you. That’s it.”
“You suck at lying.”
“I’m not lying, bro.”
“I know your tell.” I didn’t break my gaze on his face but I did catch his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He was a fidgeter. Whenever he was lying, his hands would be doing something like rubbing, or tapping on something nearby. He caught himself and white-knuckled the steering wheel. We were at a red light again, so he turned and looked back at me for the first time in a few miles. There wasn’t traffic. With the sky blood-stained, we already knew that half a million people in the city weren’t taking chances and would be home or at the shelters.
“Look, it’s not, like, bad or anything. I’m not in trouble if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”
“I’m not getting at anything. That’s the issue. I haven’t seen you in a long time, and now you’re here like nothing’s changed. I don’t think you’re in trouble, but something’s going on. I can’t help but notice that you tried me with that sparring session this morning right when the Red Day thing started. You were trying to see if I could still fend you off. Thankfully, I can.”
He was quiet for a minute. I knew he was choosing his words. I decided to let him as the light changed and we pulled off down the road.
“I met someone important,” he started in an uncharacteristically low, and careful tone. “Someone who’s, um, helped me out a lot since you saw me last. I’m working with them right now and yeah, they might have hinted that something was going to happen. I thought of you.”
“What ‘‘something’ are you and this benefactor of yours alluding to?” I said. I matched the articulation of his chosen words. “Did they know that this was going to happen, with the sky?”
“Maybe not specifically.”
“Maybe not specifically. Ha. Right. Ran, what’s going on? Be upfront with me.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “Which way is the freeway?”
“Just go West along Camelback. We can take the long way. No one’s out here anyway.”
“Right, yeah,” he muttered.
“Ran. Damn it, speak.”
“Fine, fine. Okay. So, we think that… the Red Witch is back.”
I had to piece together each word he said one syllable at a time. A moment of silence passed with the scenery outside of the car passing at our sides. I forced out a dry response.
“We killed her. I killed her.”
“Yeah, so, that’s why I didn’t want to say anything,” Ran said. “The person who's been helping me out thinks that she’s back, like, reincarnated. Or incarnated? It’s confusing with the Cardinal Witches.”
I struggled to keep up. My head was spinning. While everyone in modern society understood what Witches were, not everyone understood that there was a hierarchy. There were Witches and then there were Cardinal Witches representing the four cardinal directions. Cardinal Witches were elusive. Powerful. And all four of them had a deep-seated hatred for the Vatican. The Red Witch was the entire reason I left the priesthood, took my sword up as if it were my cross to bear, and escaped to Phoenix to get lost as far into the crevices of the world as possible. Apparently, I had failed.
“Where? How do you know that she’s back?”
Ran seemed to sense my panic. He answered, with sympathy in his voice, “We don’t know the address if that’s what you’re asking but it’ll be here at Ground Zero somewhere. I wasn’t totally convinced until this morning when the sky went red. I don’t know if I get it all myself, but the clock is ticking and she’s at the center of it all, we think.”
“Who’s the person that you’re working with, Ran? Don’t bullshit me.”
He hesitated. I locked my left fingers around his arm at the bicep and squeezed to emphasize the urgency in my words.
“Her name is Regina. Regina Regen.”
“Her. It’s another Witch, isn’t it?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You’re cavorting with fucking Witches now? Is you stupid or is you dumb?”
He scoffed. “Cut me some slack, bro. We’re not with the Vat’ anymore, and she’s someone I can trust. That we can trust.”
The synapses in my brain fired. I put the pieces together as if they were tangible and in front of my face. When I replied, my voice was meek. “Is she a Card?”
Ran winced. He fidgeted and rocked in his seat. I watched him go through the physical motions of deciding to tell me the truth. Then, he simply nodded. Reflexively, I shoved the side of his head.
“Hey! Driving here!” He barked.
I barked back, “Have you lost your fucking mind? We spend our entire lives putting these things down. Our whole lives training to exorcise, learning to undo the harm they and their kind cause by opening their got damn fucking legs to demons. You, of all people, Ran, should know better. Which one is it, Ran? Huh? Tell me right the fuck-”
“The Witch of the West. Geez, man.”
I laughed deliriously. “Sweet Mother of God. The gold one. You are out of your mind.”
“Listen,” Ran lowered his tone. “She’s good. I vetted her. I’ve been working with her. Getting answers. Clarity, man. And now that I’ve seen the sky, and you have to, I know that she wasn’t bullshitting. The Pale is fucked up, dude. And I’m scared. Not gonna lie. I’m just going to keep it real with you, Dyl’. I came out here because you and I? We can do something, for everybody. We’re not church boys anymore, even if you still low key can’t stop thinking like one, but we’re strong and if she’s back then she might not be, yet, but she will be, you know what I’m saying? We treat this like a job. We find her, we off her, things go back to normal, there’s no-”
“If the Red Witch is back,” I said in an exasperated tone. “Then the other ones are going to be on the move too. That’s how it always goes. One becomes two. Two become four.”
“I don’t think they’re going to work together.”
“Right.”
“C’mon, man. Red. Red Sky, Red Witch, right? It just makes sense to start there if things are going the way they’re going.”
“I know,” I managed to mutter. “I know, I know, I know.”
“Okay! So c’mon, bro. Help me. Let’s track her down before the Vat’ does. I’m not saying we do it for credit or whatever, but I know you want to see your work finished.”
“No. Hell no.”
“Bro, come on. Don’t make me beg.”
“Ran, no. Absolutely the fuck not. I’m out. I’m not going back in. I did it. I killed her myself, okay? If she’s back, then I don’t care about finishing the job. Any fucking job. No. No more jobs. Let the Paladin do it. Let the Templars do it. I don’t care. I don’t want in. Not after last time. Not after Raphael. Fuck no, man.”
“Dyl’, look, you stayed after I left. I know that time wasn’t-”
“I killed Raphael.”
“Let me finish! I know you tried to stay. I know you, and I know that you’re not the type to do nothing when you can do something. We both know how this is going to go. Percy is going to bring the boys, right? And they’ll storm her Lair. They’ll probably do the job, no problem. That’s what they do. But it’ll take time. Too much time. And if there are other factors like the other Witches around-”
“I don’t wanna hear this.”
“Listen, damn it! If there’s other Witches around then they already know what I just told you and they’re going to try to get to her first. Them teaming up has been a nightmare we’ve feared our entire lives and you and I both know that the Red Witch is a nuke. But me and you, man? We’ve got time on our side. We can get there first, and we can end this, and maybe get some answers on why she’s back again and why what happened five years ago didn’t stick.”
“How do you know that Per- the Paladin isn’t here already?”
Ran chuckled. “He’s at the Cathedral with a Sister. Probably Mary.”
“How do you know?”
“Told you, man. I got connections. I wouldn’t come to you with this if I didn’t think it was something that we couldn’t handle.”
“I’m not handling anything.”
“You gotta. No, sorry, let me re-word that. You should. You should do this because Raphael is still a soft spot, obviously, and you’re never going to let it go unless you know that this is taken care of.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “If she’s back after what I did then it’s not going to matter if I do it again. That’s the whole reason they sent us in the first place. She keeps coming back. There’s the cycle of reincarnation. We both know that.”
“Yes, it will. Something’s different this time, remember? Regina told me. I’m telling you, bro. It’s about to go down. Remember when you used to say that?”
I covered my face with my free hand as the other clenched the sword leaning against my body even tighter. “I need to smoke.”
“We’re not far from your place, I think. I taught my way around a little.”
“I don’t get why you’re trying to do this behind the Vatican’s back when you don’t have to.”
Ran took a moment before he answered. I knew he would answer earnestly this time. “The nightmares. I want them to stop. I started to remember that day. It comes in flashes because of the memory conditioning but after all this time, I’m remembering. And I feel bad, man. I feel bad, and I’m scared. Regina? We go in there and make this right then I can let go and so can you. It’s a chance. We go in, we do the job, our last job, ever, and we break the cycle or at least get the answers that Percy never gave us. This is the one. It has to be because I want to sleep again. Don’t you? When was the last time you, like, really slept, Dylan?” He only used my full name when he was serious. Hearing it from him now shook me. He was right.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Get me back. Just fucking get me home.”
We said nothing else for the rest of the drive. I listened to the silence.
And I wept. I wept because I couldn’t stop thinking of you.
I’m sorry, Raphael. I didn’t know then what I know now. I guess that’s the case for anyone who has regrets like I do, but it hits hard every time I relive that day in my head. Over and over, I’ve had to scrutinize everything thinking that it would hurt less if I did. But I’ve been around begrudgingly long enough, without you, to know that swinging at the air is all I’ve ever been able to do.
I retrace our steps. It starts at the Cathedral in Sydney. You, me, Sister Mary, and Ranish were there. We were the A-Team. We were arrogant. We had been assigned to the inquisition of the Red Witch and her acolytes. We were fine with it. We used to make fun of that passage in the benediction used during blessings before assignments, remember? The part about being cleansed of the blood of our enemies, that excising the sin of occult practices was an act of mercy and a commandment per His will. It was unhinged how much we used to laugh about murder.
On that day, the Report had pinpointed the location of the Red. Her Coven, or rather the Witches who protected and gained power from her, was a small group that kept on the move and we’d finally found their Lair. We were sent in to destroy them all. There was to be blood; we or our predecessors had slain the Red Witch several times since the Fall only to have her followers initiate her resurrection over and over again with blood sacrifices and visceral carnage. I remember being excited about it being our turn to do the deed. You were lethargic. I couldn’t figure out why at the time, but I didn’t press you on it.
The briefings, the prayers, the warding before battle, and the trip over to that dusty squat in the middle of the Australian outback always go by in a blur while playing back the memory. I’m there with you. Vatican clean-up and barrier crews surrounded the place. It was a small deserted ranch covered in rust, debris, and decay from disuse. There was only dust and loose gravel where buildings once stood. Only vermin lived there.
“It makes sense that they’d hole up way out here,” I said to break the silence as the four of us stood at the precipice of the barrier.
“This seems premeditated,” you said. You were always considering the angles of everything.
Ran was fidgeting with excitement. He said, “I can’t believe the old man is letting us get all the credit for this on our own. None of the other templars. Just us. Seems kind of gnarly, right? Right?”
You said to him, in that scolding tone, “I don’t think this is ‘gnarly’, at all. I think it’s a lot of work, for one, and it’s obvious that something is off. It’s never this easy.”
Mary was the type who only spoke when she needed to, so I was surprised when she added, “Risk management.”
We all knew what she meant, but you said it out loud. “We’re good enough to do this on our own and there’s no need to risk and sacrifice anyone else. I assume that’s the impetus for our deployment order.”
Ranish said, “Sacrifice makes it sound like we’re expendable when we’re, like, totally not.”
“What do you know about being expendable? You’re still a kid,” I reminded him. “Barely sixteen.”
“I am sixteen! Almost seventeen, butthole!”
“Whatever,” you said dismissively. “Dylan’s point is that you’re still green. High Templar or not, you’re wrong if you think that you’re not replaceable.” Ran pouted, as he often did when you scolded him, then we were quiet again. Towards the rear of the ranch property was a double cellar door covered in dust and dried weeds. I remember that I could see the midday heat radiating off the old wood. The barrier team hadn’t gone this far inside the perimeter, so no one had touched the entrance before us. A single plank held the door in check with a rusted lock hanging from its side. You got to it before the rest of it. With one hand, you ripped the lock from the plank then slid the plank up and away from the door. You didn’t need our help, so we didn’t offer it. Beyond the cellar was only darkness, but that was to be expected.
We were taught early that the lair of a Witch was protected. Typically, this meant curses. Those curses were why the Vatican had become so proficient at quelling their kind, as it took very little holy water to ward them off. All four of us were blessed by the vicar in charge of the Cathedral before we came, and I felt invincible like I always did on the job. We were doing this for God, or at least for His Holiness who spoke for him. We were supposed to be protected.
We followed you down the stairs into the darkness. The passage was built with stone around its circumference. Stairs would eventually give way to a dirt path as if someone had begun to build something there but gave up. The change in surroundings suggested a Liminal Shift. I eventually had to stabilize myself with my free hand on the walls to keep my balance. The other kept my sword taut at my side. I would have spoken again, to break the silence, but you stopped and made me bump into you. We could see in the dark much better than most people, a byproduct of training for work in these kinds of environments, but the fact that you stopped walking so suddenly put me on edge.
“Ralphie, what’s wrong?” Ranish asked in a whine. He was right behind me.
You shushed him. Then you whispered, “The door is about to close.” And it did, because of course it did, and we were in total darkness. We were silent, for a moment, before he added, “Now we’re going to probably get some light.” And that happened too because, of course, it did. There were hundreds of candles lined around the far edges of a long room that lit all at once. The room was cut from the same stone from the passage walls leading to it and was more cave than building. The ceiling, notably, was at least high enough so that the light from the candles couldn’t quite reach. Running through the center of the room was an old, beaten, and dust-covered crimson velour carpet extending from where we entered to another open passage. I knew that the dimensions of the room didn’t make sense in proportion to how far underground we should have been, but most lairs didn’t conform to the dimensions of the space you used to get to them. We probably weren’t in Australia anymore. The blessing placed on us before we came saved us. For now, we could traverse without being misdirected or locked somewhere away from our quarry. We had, successfully, passed the first threshold.
“Question. Ranish?” you said as you continued leading the way.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“If a witch can’t curse you directly, trick you, or bind you to the rules of their territory, what’s the next most likely defensive measure they’d take to protect themselves?”
With an excited gasp, Ran said “Time to hunt?”
In a dry tone, you answered, “Correct answer. Time to hunt.”
Everything happened quickly, like it always does. The candles gave way to shadows, and the shadows molded into shapes that then turned to jet black, malformed bone, muscle, and then flesh. Black bodies with formless faces dragged themselves from the walls and floors, with clawed arms too long to belong to humans. Muffled, tortured cackles and cries escaped their throats, and the sound scratched and grated against the walls. They dragged their twisted forms towards us. Reached for us. We weren’t afraid. We were arrogant, after all, and all four of us knew that Ran was going to do what he was good at. So, he did.
Dark blood streaked through the air like paint on a canvas, and with each twist of his sword arm, Ran turned those inhuman bodies into twitching parts and tendons. I was thankful that the aftermath wasn’t getting on the rest of us. It took Ran less than a minute to throw his body through the air, dismembering everything in the room until he was panting and laughing in a sea of twitching, writhing viscera. The rest of us were unimpressed.
Ran was young at the time, but his talent for lacking mercy was highly valued. He found glee in what he did. Watching this kid grow into a weapon made me proud. I remember that it made you proud too. We trusted him to destroy what was set in front of him, so we stayed out of his way. When the massacre of those monsters was over, his robes were soaked. He looked more like a monster than the monsters he slayed. It was fine. It was just. It was for God.
He smiled at no one in particular, then said, “I guess that’s all of them. My bad.”
I laughed softly. You couldn’t. Always business. It was our thing when it came to our younger brother, to chide and encourage him. Today, it was my turn to encourage. “Good job, Ranny.”
“That’s Father Benjamin, Father Simeon.” He sneered back with a mischievous smile on his blood-covered face. “You know only Ralphie gets to call me that.”
You were still quiet. I reached out and lightly tugged at the sleeve of your clergyman robes. You looked at me and for the first time that day, you smiled. My heart panged. It always did when you looked at me like that.
“Hey, you good?” I asked.
“Never better, Dylan” you sang, like you always did. “C’mon. Lairs are finite. This is probably just the front door. Sister Mary?”
The thing I always liked most about Mary was the fact that she was reliable. When she did speak, she did so because she knew what she was talking about. I believed her when she said, “This is a C-Class territory. It’s likely a straight line to what we’re looking for. Simple.”
“Yeah. Simple,” you repeated as you walked towards the open end of the passage. We followed. I could hear the blood splatter hitting the ground under Ran as we walked and he happily skipped along. You could probably hear it too, but you didn’t say anything. We entered the passage and again were met with darkness. We had lantern lights that we could have been using, but we wouldn’t need them. The passage was short and led to a sliding glass door that was built into the stone wall. This was the forefront of another Liminal Shift. As you approached, it slid open with a welcoming ding. When we entered, we were entering a hospital waiting room. No one was there, but there was space and uncomfortable chairs for several people to be seated lined against the walls on both sides. The lights buzzed above us and some of them flickered with the cries of overuse. The air was sterile, as one would expect, but there was a dust smell that suggested that humans didn’t occupy the space often. This was a go-between, after all, from one point in space to another.
“Quaint,” I said.
Welcome to the Dead End Emergency Hospital. A licensed practitioner will be with you momentarily. Please check in at the front desk. We look forward to assisting you. Welcome to the…
An airy feminine voice on a speaker was repeating the message ad-nauseam and getting louder. I was annoyed. Ran was amused. You were silent. Mary was the one who spoke.
“Beguilement,” she said. I could tell from her tone that she was in no mood. The agitation grew as she stepped past all of us to the center of the room. “Come out.”
The voice stopped. A woman dressed as a nurse in a white uniform stood from behind the desk. Her hair was tied into a neat bun under a red cross cap and her ruby-red painted lips trembled with the gum she was chewing. She smiled, placed her hands on the desk, then said, “I’m sorry. We’re full up right now. You all are going to have to sign in and take a seat.”
I couldn’t see Mary’s face but I knew that it was probably a terrifying mix of agitation, impatience, and hatred. The woman was unphased. Mary spoke again.
“We’ve come to do what needs to be done. Move.”
The woman’s smile didn’t waiver. She said, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to have a seat. We’re…”
She was dead before she could repeat herself.
If Ran lacked mercy, then Mary lacked patience. You had to shield your face from the jets of blood. Mary was dressed in her nun’s habit, which was standard, and she also had her sword hanging from her waist, but she also had Spell Thread. The wires were built into a glove on her left arm, so I already knew when she raised it that was tossing the wire into the air. It would arc and then latch and secure itself onto the walls and ceiling. The arc was spun like a web around that woman. When Mary pulled back, the thread sang like a guitar string. It closed in rapidly and sliced. Flesh and bone gave way and separated into ribbons then splattered onto the floor behind and around the desk. We were spared the blood splatter on ourselves, but the room was now a morbid shade of viscera. There wasn’t even time enough for her target to scream.
The lights flickered, then went off as if censoring the scene. We were enveloped in darkness. I could tell that cave walls again surrounded us. The territory had dissipated. We were probably past another threshold per the death of the Witch who didn’t even get the chance to tell us her name.
Ran laughed mischievously. I let out a reflexive sigh. You spoke.
“Mary. We’ve talked about this.”
Mary illuminated the darkness with a pen light. She answered.
“We’ve got a job to do. Door.” She was now leading the way to a rustic double door at the other end of the passage. We got in line and followed behind her and she hurriedly pushed the door ajar. This opened into an atrium filled with stale air and surrounded by wood and deco architecture. Music that we didn’t hear until the door was open played. I realized quickly that it was Beethoven’s fourth symphony. We were in the middle of the second adagio. This atrium was a wide space with a dual staircase at its far end, all of which were built of wood. It would have appeared like the inside of a manor if the staircase didn’t spiral up and up over us with no discernible apex, at least not one that could be seen from the entranceway. There were no doors on the lower levels. I realized quickly that all the spaces we’d traversed so far had been mostly liminal or neutral spaces instead of destinations. Whoever had created this territory had no design taste and was merely housing our target. I assumed this was due to haste.
There, at the top of the first landing looking down at us was an old, decrepit woman in a wheelchair. At her side, a child. We took up positions side by side at the foot of the landing, creating our front as one did in war. The old woman smiled gingerly at us from beneath the plastic of her oxygen mask. She could have easily been over a hundred years old, I assumed, but I also assumed that I was lowballing that figure. The child, on the other hand, was probably eight or nine. I thought she was cute but unremarkable, at least from where we were standing. She was fidgeting as a child does, and I was observing the way she swayed back and forth in place until you spoke out.
“My name is Father Raphael. These are my brothers and my sister under the Lord, our God. We’re here to find and subdue a Witch. I assume that’s you, ma’am.” You were speaking to the old woman. She lifted a trembling hand and gently tugged at her oxygen mask until there was space for air to pass.
“I am Cassandra, and I am what you seek.”
You answered. “Cassandra. You have been deemed a heretic by His Holiness. We offer you redemption through confession. Do you repent for your transgressions against our Lord? Speak now should you wish to be forgiven in death.” You started walking up the landing with your hand on the handle of your saber.
Her cackle cut me to the bone. The vertical hall shook with the sound and didn’t stop until she broke down into a fit of coughs. The little girl at her side only stared, first at her then back toward us. The old woman, Cassandra, spoke again, this time in a malice-filled voice that grew more intense with every hate-drenched word.
“Your god is not welcome here. The blood you have spilled in the name of the lord you so solemnly swear fealty to has flowed into the land. We, the descendants of those you burned at the pyre, are connected to the land, and our anguish is righteous and furious. You are arrogant, foolish believers of the patriarchal order. Codifiers of ‘His’ word. Defilers! Executioners of my mother’s mothers, my sisters, my daughters! You will experience on this day, bastard children of Elohim, the wrath you have wrought!”
You drew your blade as you approached. The intense pounding of your feet on each of those steps is fresh in my mind. When you swung, her head flew into the air away from her body. The child did not move. The woman did not scream. Red jets of blood flared upwards from the old woman’s neck. No one moved until the fountain subsided only to be replaced by the smell of death.
You turned to the child. You spoke to Sister Mary and said, “What does the Report say about the child?”
She replied, “It doesn’t say anything.”
“Disconcerting,” you said carefully. You hadn’t looked away from the girl. With a single swipe to your side, you cleared the blood from the edge of your sword before sheathing it. Your face and clothes were covered. “Child, do you speak? Can you tell me your name?”
“Cynthia,” I heard her whisper. She was looking at you, and I wondered what you could see in her eyes. I hadn’t moved from the bottom of the steps.
“Why are you here, Cynthia? Are you also a Witch?”
I could only see from the outside looking in. I was too slow. I was too far away. She reached up and touched your robes. You started to scream like an animal, and at that moment, so did Ran. Panic gripped me from the inside out, and I watched the both of you drop and writhe on the floor, clawing at your faces and bodies. I made eye contact with Sister Mary for a moment, because that was how we spoke best, then ran to your side as she went to Ran. I dropped, and my free hand was holding the flask of holy water I kept at my side. This must be a curse, I thought. We were protected, but the blood must have worn down the initial blessing somehow. That didn’t make sense, but I had never seen this before, so I had to make it make sense in my head, right? I’d just bless you myself. Sister Mary would tend to Ranish, and I would help you undo whatever this was. I didn’t know then what I know now.
The little girl, whose face hadn’t changed from the moment we entered the room, was standing at my side with her hands behind her back. She was watching me work at uncapping the flask and douse you with the holy water inside.
“It’s inside of him now, you know,” she said in a dry, unaffected tone.
“Mary! What is she talking about?” I yelled.
Sister Mary yelled back in an even voice “Ritual blood magic. Holy water won’t work.” She hadn’t bothered to draw out the flask I knew she was carrying. She was standing over Ranish who was trying to tear his skin off.
Holy water wasn’t a prerequisite for a blessing, I thought. Screw Saint Michael. I didn’t care. I was going to help you. I started to pray. “Heavenly Father, we ask of thee to mend this flesh and remove this ailment. Heavenly Father, we ask of thee to…”
The girl laid a hand on my shoulder and, in a snap, dislocated it with what to her must have felt like a light shove. I yelped. I would have screamed, but I was too surprised and suddenly off my feet. I was thrown away from you, back down the stairs, and past Mary and Ran. I knew she’d pulled the arm out of the socket with the push, but I couldn’t feel the pain. I’d use those moments when I was in shock, still capable of rational thought, and infuriated. I gripped my sheathed blade at the handle with my uninjured left arm, steadied into a kneel with my weight on my front leg then bounded forward with all haste past Mary and Ran, past the stairs, and at the child. I kneeled and swiped. The sword was released from the sheath, and the air was separated by my swing.
I hit nothing. She was standing beside me in my now vulnerable position, our heights matching because of my posture. Her small fingers took hold of my face, and she shoved, this time in a downward arc. My head was driven into the landing floor, smashing, and then cracking the marble floor. I knew I was going to bleed and might even have a concussion but I had avoided a fatal head injury. All Templars were trained on how to redistribute force by spreading it out at the point of impact using telekinetic suggestion. It was a technique that kept us viable in the field regardless of the damage caused by demons and Witches, and this time it would keep me in the fight even if it was one-sided.
You were right there next to us, but I couldn’t help you, not from her. Cynthia was now above you, looking down at your body as you tried to breathe. Your screams were groans, and I knew you were fighting against whatever was being done to you. I needed to get up, so I did. I held the sword firm in both hands and stood in a mid-level posture. I needed to kill this little girl.
Sister Mary snapped me out of my bloody rage when she shouted. Her blade was drawn, and so was Ran’s. He was coming down at her with enough force to bring her to a knee. I was horrified. I saw it, and I knew what was happening. He was possessed. Through Blood Magic, these Witches had found a way to circumvent the protection of holy water and do what hadn’t been done to a templar of the church in hundreds, maybe thousands of years. What’s worse is that he was conscious, still in pain, and aware of what he was being forced to do.
“I can’t stop!” He cried. I had put his vulnerability as our junior out of my mind for so long that I’d forgotten that he was able to sound so weak, so confused and so helpless. I think Mary did too because she was only defending herself. The objective of this possession was clear. She wanted us to kill each other. Perhaps that’s why it was so simple to enter that place. Perhaps that’s why there were so few people here in the first place. This was a trap. In all my rationalizing and overthinking, I hadn’t realized that you were standing and dripping with blood just a few feet away from me and the child. Your eyes were open. Ran was conscious, so I figured you were too.
“Raphael. Listen to me. You’re possessed. You’re strong enough to resist so I need you to do that, okay? I need you to stay with me. This is just another job, okay? We’ve got to get back home after this, and you’ve got to come too. I need you to stay with me.”
You heard me, I know it, but you were hearing her too. She was sitting on the steps behind me. I hated her. I would have turned and struck her down but you cleared the distance between us, sword drawn with both hands in a downward strike that would have ripped me in half if I hadn’t shifted my sword in hand to block you. Our blades clashed, and I girded myself. You were strong, much stronger than I knew you were, and I was injured. I fell to one knee, with my sword trembling in hand and threatening to give way to yours. You were on top of me, driving down with violent force. Your eyes in that moment still haunt me. I could see that you could see me. You were awake but afraid. I roared and with all my strength desperately and successfully pushed you away from me.
My panic grew. “Mary!”
We weren’t trained for this. We had been invincible, blessed, and favored our entire lives. I didn’t know what to do. Mary would have the answer. She was always the tactician between us. She was the only one out of the four of us installed with the ability to use the Mana Spectrum Report for a reason. But she couldn’t tend to anyone else. She couldn’t save you. She was fending off Ran, concentrating on every block and parry so that he didn’t kill her. She had to save herself. I had to think for myself. I had to save myself. I had to save you. I needed to kill, but first I needed you to stop moving. I cleared my mind, and relaxed into a low stance.
火山の回転波 (Kazan no Kaitenha - Volcano Rotating Wave)!
To destroy the enemy, sometimes you must use their methods. That was what we were taught. So, every one of the High Templars, including you, had specific arcane techniques that only we could do. It was at the insistence of the Paladin; it made us rigid and structured, but most of all when combating the Occult it made us stronger. This was, at the time, my way of fighting, of killing, but I could never use that way against you. I flipped the blade over in my hand to the blunt side. At my whim, a ring of white flame dispersed at my feet. I leaped and flew forward through the air. I twisted my body into a half-spiral. I didn’t know if you could hear me anymore but I’d be damned if you didn’t feel me when I drove the sword lengthwise into your solar plexus. The heat, released by my exciting the Flow of mana in and around my body, exploded at the point of impact and you were launched up the stairs to the right of us with a spin to the next landing. The crash was deafening, destroying the stairs, but you’d be fine, eventually. You had to be. Hopefully, your body would reflexively disperse the impact damage telekinetically like I’d done when the girl attacked me. I needed to fix this, and you were in the way. I wanted you to forgive me.
Cynthia was playing with her hair and watching Ran haplessly attack Mary. She was still sitting on the stairs and she was still unbothered by the danger I intended to put her in. I came up behind her, sword raised then dropped its edge down like a guillotine.
I hit the air. She had moved, just a few inches to her left. She was still seated. She looked up at me with a blank, uninterested tone. I swung again, this time with a swipe that she couldn’t just re-adjust from. Air again. She was behind me, standing, with her back turned before I realized what happened. Was this speed? Was she moving so fast that I couldn’t see her? No. It was unlikely that I wouldn’t have sensed or felt any movement. An object has to move through space to get to another point in space. It shouldn’t be indiscernible. Beguilement? No. We were protected against that. My mind worked. This girl, Cynthia, was the Red Witch. If she was a Cardinal Witch then physical attacks might not work and I never draw my sword and swing it without meaning. But you were now in a heap a few yards away and Ran, our youngest, was possessed and attacking Mary. So, in my desperation to buy time and devise a course of action before she chose to attack and probably kill us outright, I put aside my rationale and decided to do something I thought I’d never do to a witch. I’d ask.
“Do you remember the times that we’ve killed you?”
She turned and looked at me. Her eerie eyes met mine, and a chill ran down my spine.
She said, in a mature, sullen tone that betrayed her childish face, “Yes.”
So, I asked, “Do you hate us?”
She replied, “More than you could ever know.”
I looked to where I sent you flying. You were alive, but I’d broken enough of you to where you couldn’t immediately get back up. I’d tend to your injuries later. That was the plan. If I could end this and send this abomination back to where she was supposed to go then perhaps the spell would end. She had to die. But maybe, in my fear, I had to justify what I was doing.
So I told her, “In the Church, we are taught to protect the meek and to cull the wicked. You are the most wicked, the closest to something that’s going to kill all of us. I have to kill you. That’s the way it has to be. That’s the way it’s always been.”
She smiled, and while peering into the depths of me she said, “Who decided that, sorcerer?”
“Dylan! Kill her! Now!” Mary yelled. I snapped back from my musings. She was right. This little girl had to be destroyed. I didn’t have time to ask any more questions, to form a plan, to stall while I could form a plan, or try and decipher why she would call a templar under God a sorcerer. My jaw, the grip on my blade, and every muscle in my body tightened. My shoulder was still dislocated and the adrenaline from shock was wearing off. A strike with the butt of the blade to that shoulder and a twist into the blow snapped it back into place. I groaned from the pain. I needed that arm and my sword sheath which was on the ground opposite of where you were by the stairs. I dropped my hand, extended my fingers, and the sheath twisted, slid, and then snapped through the air toward me. We were all bound to our swords, forcing a connection to the physical object that went both ways. When we were apart, the sword and sheath would come to us when it was called. When the sheath reached me, it slid obediently back onto the blade. Now, I would strike.
I lowered my body into the low crouching position I’d practiced tens of thousands of hours before. I hesitated. I’ll never forgive myself for it, but I didn’t move fast enough, again. You were on both knees, arms outstretched, head high. And so was Cynthia. She was locked into the same pose, and though she protested and strained to regain control of her body, she could not stand and break from it. This was your technique, your insight, your quirk, the thing that only you could do. You must have broken from the possession just long enough to use it. Perhaps the possession was why you could use it. We weren’t Witches, but all of the High Templars had seen past the Pale. In the years since you’ve been gone, they’ve come to call us Post-Humans. For many of us, this meant invoking the Flow of Mana. For you, this meant that you could link your body with someone else’s and make them mimic what you were doing. You were straining right now to keep your body rigid against this Witch’s power, but you had her. It was a desperate move, but I was grateful.
That is, until you spoke. Do you remember what you said? You said, “Cut me, not her.”
I tried to protest. “What the fuck are you talking-”
“Dylan, cut his head off! Now!” Mary was still on the ground floor trying to evade Ran. She was winded. I didn’t understand.
“Raphael, that’s not how this technique…”
“Dylan, listen to me and do as I say! Don’t you dare break that fucking stance!” You were yelling. I flinched. You never yell at me. You never cursed, either. “Martyr! That’s my Insight! That’s what it’s called, not Mimic. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. There wasn’t time. You can cut her, right now, while I’ve got her pinned, but she’s just going to reincarnate again. Kill me! She’ll die too and she’ll be sealed outside of the cycle. She won’t be able to come back. That’s why I’m here, why they sent us here. That’s been the plan from the start. That’s been the plan the entire time I’ve been a Templar! Damn you, do as I say and kill me, now!
You were asking me to do something you knew I would never, ever do. My face hardened, but the tears started. I was crying and you better believe it was an angry cry, you son of a bitch. How could you? But I had to do something. I ignored you and locked eyes with the witch in front of me. I didn’t look back at you, but I knew that you were looking at me.
You spoke to me, softly this time. “Dylan. Baby. Listen to me, okay? I love you with all my heart and I always will. And I know you don’t understand right now why this is the way it’s going to be, or why we didn’t tell you, but I’ve prepared my entire life to take that monster to hell and you’re going to help me do it. That’s your job. That’s why they sent both of us.”
I was frozen. There was a rational way out of this. Fuck what you were talking about. I wouldn’t do it. I would attack her, end the job, and we’d go home. So what if she reincarnated? The Vatican could just order to have her killed again. It was someone else’s problem. Hell, I’d sign up for the mission again if it came to that. What you were saying was in contradiction to any course of action that made sense. You must have known that I was hesitating because my body weight shifted without my consent. Something was wrong with my body; you were using Mimic on me. We’d only talked about your Insight, Mimic, a few times in private. You hacked the leylines that we knew as the “circuits” in someone’s body, then matched their wavelength to their own. They would do what you were doing. Perhaps more importantly, you could do this to more than one target at a time so long as you could perceive them around you. You were perceiving me, and now you were controlling me. You would make me attack you. My panic grew.
“I don’t want to do this. No, no, no, fuck no, I won’t do this! I don’t want to lose you. Raphael, don’t make me do this! Let me go! Please don’t make me do this! I swear to God, I will hate you if you do this! I will fight you to my last fucking breath! There has to be another way, another technique we can use to seal her! We can capture her! Take her back to the Cathedral!”
“Dylan. Baby,” was all I heard. You said something else but I couldn’t hear you. I couldn’t listen.
I’m sorry.
“Don’t fucking baby me!” I was blubbering. I would have collapsed if you weren’t holding me with your technique. Your arms were outstretched and you had Cynthia bound, but now that you had me, you could break your stance and make me attack you. I was wrong about Mimic. You lied to me. I wasn’t just bound to do what you were doing. I was simply bound. The mimicry portion was probably a condition of whether you wanted me to or not. I was howling, and trying to regain control of my limbs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t break away from your control. What else did I not know about your ability? Had you lied to me?
A hand was placed on my shoulder. I couldn’t turn my head, but Mary stepped into view.
“Mary! MARY! Make him stop!” How was she up the stairs with us? I answered my own question; her thread. She must have bound Ran at the bottom of the Atrium. I could hear him struggling. I noticed that she was glistening with sweat beneath the veil of her habit’s headpiece. More pieces of information fell into place as her eyes met mine. We had a silent conversation. I verbalized. “You knew.”
She turned and spoke to you. “As we discussed, I will see that you’re made a saint per the will of His Holiness. May his Heavenly Father welcome you with open arms.”
I’ve hated her ever since that moment. I will never forgive her.
I tried to turn my gaze back towards you. You were still prostrated with your arms out, but you were shaking, probably because of the injury I gave you or perhaps because you were fighting the possession or straining to keep the struggling Witch locked in place. I have lived in that moment, where our eyes met, in cold stasis for nearly five years. I have analyzed every possibility since then. My overly rational mind studied the walls, the infinitely ascending stairs, the floor, Mary, Ran who was bound in thread, and the Witch for anything I might have missed that would have stopped us. I have studied my choices. The techniques. The altogether too brief sequence of events. Every time I walk the memory, like a ghost walking between the bodies present, my heart gets harder and harder because I’m reminded that you didn’t talk to me beforehand. You didn’t ask me to do this thing you knew needed to be done. You, and Mary, expected me to do it. You, worst of all, expected me to go on living when you had already decided to die.
If I was going to lose the most important person in my life then I’d be damned if it was by someone else’s hand. If I didn’t, then Mary would.
“I love you, Raphael.”
Those words aren’t supposed to come with sights, but they do. Your name and the truth of how saying it makes me happy comes with the memories. I see every morning we woke up in bed next to each other, every time we went shopping together, every meal shared, every training exercise, every job, every prayer at mass, every kiss, every time we made love, every time we held hands, every walk, every inside joke, every little white lie, every speck of color in your green eyes, every freckle on your face, every hair on your head, every argument, that time I nursed you back to health from the flu that almost killed you, that time you stayed up for days at my side in the hospital when I was in a coma after a job, and every mannerism that you thought nobody noticed. In those last few seconds of reliving the everlasting nightmare, when my heart broke, and in every worrisome day after, I see all of it.
I wake up from the dream, in this case, the one I was having in the passenger seat of Ran’s car, or I start hearing someone who had been talking to me, or I stop crying in the shower and crawl back into bed to cry some more. For five years, I’d blocked out the moment when my sword was drawn and I swung at your neck. I know I did it, but I don’t see it. There’s black where that memory is supposed to be. I know Cynthia dissipated with no trace of her body left behind. I know that the recovery team had to take me out of there and I know it was weeks before I could speak let alone eat without Mary forcing food down my throat until she eventually forced me onto an IV. I know it happened, but I don’t remember. For every thousand times I try to play the scene back, there’s always the one time where I let myself see your face as my sword severs the flesh of your neck.
You were smiling.
I’m sorry, Raphael. I can never, ever forget you. I can’t move on from you. And I also can’t forgive you. And I also can’t stop loving you. And I can’t stop hating you for what you made me do. And in that hate, and in that love, and in every song I’ve written in this burdensome existence that resembles a life, is you and only you. Every second of every day has been a reminder of our blood-soaked days and our wine-soaked nights. Ran, for all his bullshit and posturing, was right. I can’t sleep because you aren’t sleeping next to me. I can’t stop smoking weed or drinking because if I do, I’ll keep trying to convince you to come back to life with prayers that I know no one is going to answer.
I’m sorry, Raphael, for walking away from the Church, from the Paladin, and His Holiness. You gave your life for the job. And I’m sorry that through all of that, I’m too weak to cut off the arm that killed you and leave it behind. I’m sorry that every time I look at my sword, I can see you in the reflection of the sheath. I’m sorry that in every man I’ve ever tried to let in, I compare him to you and push him away because he can’t be you.
I’m sorry, Raphael, because I can never, ever stop loving you. I can never stop thinking about you. Because when I ended your life at the behest of a cruel, unjust, malicious God and the church that serves Him, I know that everything was a sacrifice that you made for me.
And I can never, ever forgive you for that.