Chapter 7: Acrimony

"To see without sight."​

It's hard to make out at first— but as the minutes crawl by, the muffled and agonizing sound increases in intensity. You instinctively clutch at your holy symbol. It sounds like not just one person is being tortured, but many. It makes the heat and low light suffocating. There's no certainty how far underground you are, but the collapse of any of these hollowed walls would mean your death. Thinking back to your small living quarters in the Church of Mercy ensures that you won't let this matter stop you. You've never minded small spaces before— though your tolerance is soon challenged.

An impossibly tight opening in the wall comes into view. It's barely taller than you are, and only a hair wider. Emaciated as you are, it would still be a challenge to move through without taking off your pack and squeezing in sideways.

Ray sticks his nose ahead, while whining incessantly. Your pale face blanches further. "You can't mean..."

Looking around for an alternative reminds you that there should be a passage diverging from this corridor. Celegwen's maps have a note that the other path would lead to one of the larger demons. It should be just to the side of where you are currently standing, but there's only stone wall on either side of you— save for the narrow opening directly ahead.

Your fingers tease at Mercy's symbol. There's no seeing how you would get to an alternative route. Squinting in the dim candle light, you peer deeper through the narrow passage. Through the cramped crack, there is another path. It's a sharp bend up ahead that must open out. The screams are coming from that direction.

The sound is disconcerting— but Ray's constant whining is far worse. Deep within the pit of your stomach, building anxiety tells you that there's something worse lying just ahead.

I have to keep my priorities straight.

You grit your teeth— doing your best to turn a deaf ear to muttered words and countless moans— and take off your equipment. With heavy deliberation, you decide to sling your mace and shield over your pack. It will have to be dragged separately. A level tone is manageable, despite your mounting dread. "Ray. Move ahead."

The mastiff inches forward, squeezing through the unbearably narrow passage at an almost breakneck speed. You dare to hiss at him, "Ray!"

Your boy's whining continues, but he stops moving just before disappearing from view.

"Good boy, Ray. Slowly. Let's go."

A few painstaking moments are spent finding an angle to enter through. The crack is even narrower than it first appeared, thanks to the jagged stone within its interior. No candles light the way. The mace on your pack has to be re-positioned just to drag it behind you.

Not wanting to be trapped alone and in the dark, you take out and light another torch with as much care as you possess. Ray paws at the stone, with his tail wagging hard against the narrow walls. His nose continues pointing towards the impossibly narrow passage beyond. In a low voice, you usher him onward. "Go on boy. It's okay. Come on. Slowly."

Step by step— inch by inch— the screams grow louder. If you weren't mistaken, you'd almost think they were coming from inside the walls.

Ray strains against your commands to slow down. Constant reminders to ease up, and ample reassurance is quickly drowned out by humans crying.

Within half an hour's walk, it's become unbearable. "Ray. Stop."

The crescendo of suffering all around is almost as concerning as how tired you've become. Simply dragging your gear and carrying a torch is an ordeal. Brows furrowed, you pause. "Come on, boy. It's okay. Just a minute, boy."As badly as you'd like to reach over to pat his back, the space is too cramped. The most you can do is reassure you both. "My weakness is their strength. Let's go, Ray. Slowly."

It's not necessarily your physical limitations that are wearing you down so fast. It's how tight the wall is around your chest. Fully exhaling becomes a struggle with each shallow breath.

It's been quite some time since any light but your torch was visible. Ray has been valiantly keeping the lead, but suddenly comes to a complete stop.

"Ray? What's wrong, boy—"

Your dog begins to back up, and bumps into you. Aggressively snarling is pointed towards some unseen and unheard source up ahead. You break out into a sweat.

Don't panic.

The screams and shouting all around escalates within seconds. What felt like unbearably sharp noise moments before reaches a deafening shatter. The torch in hand is nearly dropped in your frantic attempt to put your hands to your ears. Ray barks and snarls with enough viciousness to leave a trail on the drool upon the floor. He's practically knocking you over in a desperate attempt to retreat.

"Ray!"

A dull pressure builds in your head from the deafening chorus. It's miraculous that the pain hadn't been triggered sooner. You murmur a word of thanks to Mercy, despite how dire the situation is. Ray's snarling adds to the cacophony that drowns out your speech. You step over him so he can get safely behind you, and drop the torch.

I need more than Mercy to contend with this.

While your boy faithfully holds his ground behind you, you lean against the stone and pry your hands from your ears. There's no need to shout to be heard. Spirit is within you.

You speak quickly, while knitting your fingers together. The pain in your head builds rapidly. A trickle of blood runs down the tops of your hands, as your dust-caked nails dig into scarred and mottled skin. The screams and cries get closer as you swiftly fall into prayer. "Spirit! Grant me your sight! Wisdom of the immaterial, permit me to see where there is darkness! Permit me to feel where my hands are not able! Forgive this flawed form! Shape my innermost self! My weakness is your strength!"

Deeper than within flesh and bone, unbearable wisdom stirs. The presence compels you to fall to your knees, but the passage is so narrow that you are unable to do more than keep your hands together. You press them to your brow, closing your eyes.

The pain doesn't stop— but you can understand it. You know beyond any and all doubt that the pain is necessary. You know that you suffer, but that this suffering will pass. The pain remains. Spirit wills it.

You open your eyes. White light drenches the corridor. Ray howls, pressing himself against you as he attempts to move forward once again. Your eyes could not see why, but Spirit bestows sight beyond sight. From the direction you came— flooding the entire corridor behind you— is a writhing mass of mouths. The screaming, singular mass has coalesced from hundreds of slain demons. They crowd into the passage, and slowly seep towards you with lips agape.

Ray's growling reaches a fever pitch. Before you is a smaller, bleeding mass of lips and teeth as well. Your Spirit can discern collective words through screaming madness.

"KILLER!" "LEFT US!" "ABANDONED US!" "MURDERER!" "SLAUGHTERER!"

For the briefest of moments, your blood runs cold. You know that they're speaking directly to you, as Spirit's white-hot blessing leans in. These creatures know you. They know what you've done to their kind, and to other humans. They can see through you, and all of your weakness.

Your eyes flare with a pale light, and can see clearly— more clearly than you have ever seen before. These lips, teeth, and tongues are all different. Scarred human men, telling tales of old battles fought. Women, cracked with paint. Children.

​

You want to vomit, but Spirit assures you that you are not trapped.

You and Ray have made it out of worse situations before.

The Father of the Church of Mercy should not suffer the judgement of demons, no matter their form.

No matter their words.

Even if their words are true?

Especially if their words are true.

You are not trapped, afraid, or even alone.

Not while you have Spirit.

The torch you dropped flickers and burns. The reminder of reality keeps the mass behind you at bay for the briefest of moments.

These creatures are not afraid of the flame. They're relishing the moments that remain before killing you.

You draw out Spirit's blessing. Hands together— heels dug into the dirt— the pearlescent light from beyond your eyes flares out. A monstrously ethereal quality seeps into your voice, and echoes through all of the passage. "Our most perfect quintessence has delivered your judgement. The bringer of eyes! The animating force! The PREVAILING Goddess sees ALL! She sees your weakness. She sees your wasted lives. She sees the children that you have consumed, and all the horrors that you endure."

Ray tucks his tail and whines, while backing against the wall. The malevolence that resonates from you is not your own.

"She offers you utter annihilation, as you face Her vessel."

The writhing masses before and behind you quiver. Their screams fade into nothingness, as your voice dominates and overtakes theirs.

"Lest you suffer yourselves, Her vessel offers you his MERCY! HE sees not the wisdom of eradicating you from existence— so She will suffer you long enough to make a retreat. Do so now. While you have time to extend your misery only unto yourselves— LEAVE US!"

Your words shake the very walls. Though the writhing mouths before you recoil and back away, you continue still. "Flee! Flee while you are still able. Preserve your unnatural lives! The one thing you still value. Seek your solace, your suffering, and your CURSE far from Her sight!" You take a step towards the demon ahead. "Do not pray for Her forgiveness!" The white flowing through your veins is visible to the naked eye. Wringing your hands tightly together, you show the sacred visitation to the monsters all around. "Do not pray. For you are unfit for Her blessing. You are fit for death. Death, at the hands of Her vessel! Death, if you endure for another moment in Her presence—!"

The hammers of your voice pounds against the stone all around. Ray curls up deeply behind you in terrified silence. The walls tremble, and push against both masses of demons as they back away. You show your hands once more to the demon behind you, and speak once more in a voice as harsh as your Spirit.

"Leave us."

Heavy silence suddenly weighs between you, the demons, and your dog. Your heart thrums as Her will flows through you. Though your ears ring from the intensity of your own speech, Spirit reassures you that there will be no permanent damage. This too will pass.

Parting your lips to speak once more results in a scream from the mouths all around. "STOP! Have Her! Leave us. Leave us to rot—!"

The heat running through you comes with the hands you hold to your stilled heart. The symbol of Mercy before your chest is even hotter to the touch.

Spirit's guiding light sears into every tortured inch of the enemy before you. You will not relent. "Leave us!"

With the command, the last of the demons slink and slither over the stone. Their retreat takes them from human sight. The honeycombed structure all around restrains their agony, as they part into the stone itself. The mass is stretched thinly, up and down the entire length of the corridor. Their lips close— and you realize you have been surrounded by the beasts all along. There are also more demons within the stone. Pockets of space in and around these catacombs house monsters of every kind. Minor demons. Imps. Some that have died long ago lie inert and decaying at the floor of barred and cramped housing.

As far as Spirit can grant you sight, she shows you the ageless prison. The expansive nightmare is positively packed with trapped, and endlessly weakened monstrosities. Endlessly screaming.

Ray is practically crying, with his tail tucked. You desperately want to reassure him. Spirit persists with you, while you kneel down and clear your throat. There's less humanity through your tone, but enough for your boy to recognize that it's you speaking. "Ray. It's okay. It's me. It's alright."

It's no wonder that he's been worked up so badly. The mastiff growls, but permits you to scratch at his ears. Continuing to pet him is partly to calm him, but mostly to calm you.

Not only is the demon of mouths still within the walls— just a few feet separate you from countless more.

Myriad images of demons are seared into your vision, and you can't shake them. You shudder, and close your eyes.

I've seen enough.

There's no chance to kneel down or to thank Spirit for Her blessing. The demons surrounding you now may not remain intimidated forever. The multitude of other demons could not be contended with alone, either. Not even with all the skill you possess as the Father of the Church of Mercy.

I need to leave this place as fast as I'm able.

Spirit ebbs and flows along with your excruciating headache. Now that the immediate danger has passed, She reminds you that the pain can be dealt with somewhere safer. That somewhere further down the corridor may have more air.

My weakness is Her strength.

You pause while attempting to pet Ray in his distress. He's whining, and compulsively licking the sides of your hand. You can't quite lean over to get at his level, but you at least manage to pat him on the head. "Come on, boy. Just a little bit further. Up."

He rises obediently, keeps his tail down, and stays behind you. You snatch up the torch from the floor. It's now waning low. You couldn't fumble with your gear to get another one out now if you wanted to.

Time's wasting.

It's hard to not glance over your shoulder frequently to make sure Ray is still close behind. It's unnecessary as you resume inching down the passage, as he's bumping into your legs constantly— but he's a much better sight than the many demons within the walls, or the mouths that cling to the surrounding rock. There's no use speaking to them any further.

The rising pain in your temples is almost too much for Spirit to guide you through. Sweat sticks to the back of your robes, which have become further scuffed and marred from dragging along the stone for so long. It feels silly to think about your appearance at a time like this— but Spirit always has a way of reminding you of your insecurities.

It's no wonder I could intimidate a monster.

You know that it was only possible through Her blessing. You alone are nothing to fear.

My weakness is Her strength.

You are weak.

The pain is too much. I don't care if I die here. I have to stop.

Spirit has shown you an exit. A reprieve. You need to endure, lest you suffer the same fate as all of the demons She has shown to you.

It feels like I'm being crushed. The pain is too much.

Squandering Her gift is unacceptable. You are weak. You only need to trust in Her.

I have to stop.

Her retribution will be great.

It always is.

The end of the passage is just up ahead. The walls of the corridor were being leaned against with all your weight, though you hadn't realized just how badly you were using it for support until you stagger out from the opening. A near-collapse instantly follows. Falling to one knee, you wrap your hands around your head to try and wrestle with the pain. Ray cautiously steps out behind you, growling ferociously as you take a moment to try and compose yourself. You can't contend with Spirit's blessing any longer. The agony is unbearable. You release her.

Even the faint red light around you is intolerable. Screwing your eyes shut into relative darkness is easier on your head, but you can't take any comfort in even the residual sight that Spirit granted you.

The pain you're wrestling with is coming from more than a physical ailment. Insecurity cascades over your absence of Spirit.

I'm weak.

I can't help myself.

Nothing that I do is of my own accord.

I would have died in that hole.

I couldn't even protect Ray.

Who am I to be blessed?

Who am I to ask anything of the Gods?

Better that it's dark. Better to be surrounded by demons. Better for no one to see me like this.

Ray nudges you out of the downwards spiral. Despite having your hands wrapped around your head— even though he's clearly still frightened— he's trying. Your dog finds a way to worm himself into your arms, so that you clutch onto him instead.

I don't deserve him. I'm so self-absorbed. I can't believe that I took him down here.

You bury your face in the mastiff's coat as he continues to whine. There's no attempt to compose yourself. Spirit has completely drained you.

I refused every offer for an escort. I lied to them. I said that I didn't want to put anyone in danger— but I just wanted to die alone.

Ray's whining increases in pitch. You don't pay it any mind.

I've had ample opportunity. I know that I can't do it, though. I'm weak. I still want to help. I can't help myself.

A sob catches in your throat.

Everyone's thought me a fool for coming down here. They were probably relieved. They're probably going about their lives. Elevating another priest to my position. Someone who isn't going to scare the people. Someone who doesn't have to be watched. Someone who isn't—

Someone has been watching me.

You sniff, jerk your head upright, and stagger to your feet. Pain robs you of your balance.

Mercy, no, no, no, no— how did I not hear anyone coming—?!

From a nearby hallway— leering out from the shadows— is a demon. You grab hold of your holy symbol, and instantly take a step backwards. Ray's whining must be because of the creature.

Simply looking straight at the mass of complete darkness makes your eyes swim. A shroud of death obscures all light, shape, and form that could constitute the demon's shape. Only from the base of the black shawl's cloth can you see any appendages emerge. A number of glossy, metallic limbs slowly extends outwards towards you. Thick, sticky strands of gore fall from its barbed fingertips as they trace through the blood pooling underneath its shroud. More of the crimson liquid catches on the height of your vision. Atop the demon's towering shroud is a single human skull. Red viscera endlessly pours from an unseen source over its bone, in such a quantity that you cannot discern any other color on the creature. Its voice is wet, as blood pools and congeals around the demon's mouth. Without any lips, its words are soft and almost intangible.

"You've been killing my imps, Father."

​

This is unmistakably the keeper of the countless imps you and Ray just slaughtered. However, the demon makes no motion to attack. Anyone not paying close enough attention to their surroundings here could easily mistake the monster's dense and dark form for a fixture of the ruins.

I haven't been paying attention. How could I have let this demon creep up on me?

You tighten your grip around Mercy's symbol. It's cold once again.

Your knuckles whiten. You're no liar. You're no coward, either. Your shoulders have been slumped, with your back bent with the weight of sin. The bend in your spine straightens out. Your voice— bitter and dark— utters two words: "I did."

"You did." The threat in its voice is still unmistakable.

"I confess: I killed your servants." The pits around your eyes suck in the little light in the room. Green orbs deep within the recesses of strain flicker up at the demon with lethal intent. "Their husks must still be lying on the floor of your home."

The demon shifts. Its death shawl brushes against the stone floor. "They have been mine for many an age, Father. You know... the pain of losing your children."

You recoil, offended beyond belief.

"I am... displeased." The demon motions forward.

Threat raises a fist. Within your grasp are the hands of Mercy. The gold gleams in the low light. Your voice raises in pitch, and you can't help but pour all the vitriol you're holding towards yourself out to the monster. "Mind yourself, demon. Mind yourself, and your children. I am not in any mind to tolerate you." Your hand begins to tremble, outstretched as they are.

You grasp onto your arm with your other hand to steady them, but keep your eyes fixed on the bleeding face. Your words hang for a moment in the air. The tension is palpable. Ray growls, while staying closely behind you.

Blood drips onto stone. The greater demon motions forward again. "I will take from you... what you have taken from me..."

"Know your PLACE—!"

Your words are like knives as you dare to strike the demon's threat down. It halts its procession.

You straighten up further, and stare straight through the demon. Ray growls at the blood pooling on the floor. The liquid inches slowly towards you. Spite seeps into your voice. "We will make no concessions, demon. You think you can make an arrangement with a Father of the Church of Mercy?"

Mimicry of the demon's trailing tone is spit at the creature with each subsequent word. "You... are... treading... on dangerous ground." The holy symbol in hand is brought to your temples. The pain in your head is excruciating. "A man of the Gods stands before you. You will endure my judgement."

The blood beneath the demon creeps further towards you. A long tendril congeals, and snakes upwards from the floor. But the pain in your skull is already as bad as it can get without you collapsing.

Each word drips with acrimony, as you dare to threaten the demon once more. "Listen to me."

The tendril stops growing. It's pointed directly towards Ray. Several more branches of congealed blood collect from under the demon's body, forming lethal spikes and barbs. They're all pointed towards you.

"I don't think you understand your position. I haven't just killed your imps. I've killed hundreds of your kind. Wiser, faster, stronger demons— time, after time. Do you see me?" You lower your hands slightly, showing your scarred and gaunt face to the demon. Your pallid flesh practically reflects the low light. You relish the look on its face as it moves back slightly. "Yes. You understand, don't you? You see how much the Gods have taken of me?"

You lower your hands further, leering at the demon in sick pleasure from being able to use your looks for something. "It's all been to kill your kind."

The demon draws back. You flash your teeth at him. "I hunt you. I have given everything for the hunt. I am going to put an end to all of you. You can try to strike me down. You can take what I love. But you can't stop this. My pain is going to be the death of you. Of all of you. Stay down."

The demon lowers its tendrils away from only Ray's body.

You fall to one knee. The strain is almost too much to bear.

"How are you ending us?" The demon tilts its skull slightly, and retracts all of the blood you can see into its body once more. A tilt of his skull to your baffled expression. "How? How are you going to stop our kind? We are infinite. I know that you can feel it." Wet words— ripe with knowledge— cling to the air. Toying. Taunting. "The Catalyst is threatening you... even now."

He's scared of you, and hides behind the wall he emerged from. This demon knows how close you've come to activating it. Your threats have been taken seriously.

Good.

You can't afford to take your eyes off of this creature.

"Threatening me?" A whisper is assumed, to try and not upset the (fading?) pain in your skull. Keeping your composure is a losing battle. The whisper becomes inaudible— afraid as you are of the answer. "How would you even be able to tell?"

The demon chuckles, and drags one its metallic arms through the air. He waves it in a nonchalant manner, outlining your silhouette from a distance. "Your... disgusting human form..." You cringe, drawing into yourself. He's obviously pleased to have bothered you. "...is offensive even to a demon without eyes."

Your green irises linger on the demon's bleeding skull. The void of its deep, swollen sockets bores into you. The demon's eyes— those pits of congealing blood— are pouring over your scars. The deep recesses. The pockmarks. The myriad old wounds. Most are paling, but many more are still fresh. You want to turn away, yet he stands before you in his own twisted form.

The monster's morbid attire floats against the low red light, casting long shadows down the corridor. The spindles and spires of congealing crimson undulating beneath him continue to threaten you— despite all your warnings.

Your sunken cheeks and darkened eyes cut and shape his darkness. You return his stare, as you both judge each other terribly.

You recoil into yourself at the thought, wanting to protest. Wrapping your arms around your sides— almost as if to cover the scars that your robes surely conceal— you mutter. "A demon has no place judging a man."

"Judging? No." One of the demon's bloodied tendrils snakes and slithers along the doorway.

You tense— expecting an attack— and nearly cry out to threaten him. But the demon is doing something odd. He's drawing.

This demon has some nerve.

"Stop. No glyphs—" You pull your arms from your sides to grasp your holy symbol. It stops for the briefest of moments. Droplets of blood fall to the floor. You narrow your eyes, and see that the demon was not scrawling runes. He was drawing a demon.

"You know what it is, to see without sight." A free arm gestures to its absence of eyes. "You know what it is, to see what others cannot. I can see right through you, Father. I am attempting to illustrate something to you. May I? Or will you kill me for attempting to educate you?"

You look sideways at the demon. Glancing between it and the bloodied inscription, a deep frown etches itself in your face as you begrudgingly say, "I will strike you down the moment your hand strays, demon. But go on."

The demon speaks slowly, while its spiked fingertips trail back onto the stone. "It's quite clear how long you have been contending with the Catalyst. Most humans would have broken under a fraction of the strain. No mere priest stands before me."

Your face grows paler by the moment as you watch the demon sketch the figure on the wall. This drawing is a caricature of you. Gaunt. Withdrawn. Thin limbs are grotesquely broken out of shape. The entire figure is covered in blood, and is backed by a halo of bile. Radiant wings outstretch from its form in a grotesque mockery of Mercy.

You clench your furiously shaking hands around your holy symbol, wanting to strike down this demon with every fiber of your being.

I can't. Not just yet.

"Something is terribly wrong with you. You—by all rights— should have activated it a lifetime ago. I see the strain inside of you. Your body is failing, Father. You have exhibited violence and spite unlike many men. Yet... you persevere. Is it your—" The demon struggles to speak. Blood catches in its throat as it tries to mutter the next word, and is unable.

Through your fury, you manage to speak up. It's always made you uncomfortable that demons can't speak of the Gods. "...blessings."

"Yes. Blessings." The demon slips deeper into the shadows still. It seems to be in pain, but it's difficult to tell. He's barely visible now. "A twisted thing to call them, yet here you are. A man. Unfamiliar with the Catalyst."

A heavy silence weighs between you. The demon is surely still scrutinizing your form. You want to hide from its piercing stare, but you hold your ground— determined to get a straight answer.

You spit, "If your claims are true, you can see that I don't have time for your games. Speak plainly."

"Malimos' demons told me you were coming. If you listen closely, you can hear them in the walls. The spiders."

Your eyes narrow. The ghost of a memory crawls over your arms, as you recall the spider's den. You haven't heard anything— but that might be what's been scaring Ray all this time. "What did he tell you?"

The demon holds a hand out to stop you from stepping forward. "He was terribly amused. He didn't take your mission seriously, Father. Yet— he still seemed to respect you. He recognized your sincerity. He... cautioned me. I see that you and your threats are sincere as well." The demon spreads its many arms, and lowers the bloodied tendrils. "I know that you could kill me where I stand."

The bloodied etching in the wall is drying. Your troubled image seeps deeply into the stone. The dark circles under the caricatures eyes stare back at your own. You shudder. "I'm not a demon."

"Not yet."

You want to vehemently deny anything further coming out of this creature. "You don't know what you're talking about—"

"No. I do not know. I do not know... how to cure the Catalyst. And I do not wish to. Most demons of my caliber have no desire to die, and fewer still would wish to become human again. Most of our ignorance is willful, Father— as your forms are... weak. It is... a fate worse than death..." Palpable disgust looks you up and down yet again. "The Catalyst feeds on what little strength you have in you, Father. On your violence and fear. You know at least this, as I know this."

Your grip on Mercy's symbol is tight enough to alarm Ray. His continuous whining is punctuated by a firm nudge, followed by firmer pulls still, as he tries to get you to stop hurting yourself. You can't. Hearing this is something you were not prepared for.

You want to respond, to interrupt, to stop this demon from speaking— but you can only listen speechlessly. You're afraid of what you might say.

"You are right to be afraid, Father. Something... something is very wrong with you. Your form is so broken that I cannot see it withstanding the Catalyst. Your... blessings. They affect you in a way I have never witnessed. I don't understand it, and I won't claim to. If you will suffer my presence a moment longer, I may send a message to Malimos' spiders. I wish to know the answer to this riddle as well." The demon stretches a hand down the passage beyond, gesturing to something unseen. "I cannot leave, but they can grant you safe passage. If they will... endure your presence. I may call for them... to escort you to a place of answers."

"Wait!" Finally speaking, your voice is hoarse from emotion. You can't endure another person— let alone another creature— leaving you so soon. You have so many questions. "Please— explain! I still don't understand—!"

"The Catalyst took my strength— my sight— and has amplified it to heights you cannot comprehend. I see through you and through all things, Father."

You can't look at the demon any longer. Your eyes remain fixed on the image on the wall. "What do you really see, then?!"

The demon hesitates to respond.

"Don't toy with me—!" The snap boils over with your frustration. It echoes down the corridor, cruelly suspending your words in time.

You immediately realize what you've done, and the symbol of Mercy falls from your hands as you race to cover your own lips in horror. The greater demon laughs in amusement at your outburst. "Do you really wish to know?" Seizing your panic to leer forward, the demon comes out of the door frame and into full view. Its spectral silhouette casts a shadow over you and Ray, blocking out all light in the corridor.

You put yourself between the demon and your dog, eyes wide in terror. You raise your hands to pray. Panic drenches you.

Contempt fills its voice, as it leers. "I see a man. A man seeking answers— that he is not ready for. I see a frightened boy— taken from his home. I see a Father torn from his children— alone in the world. I see a vessel..."

You don't dare take your eyes off the demon, hands knitted together in prayer as you rapidly beg Mercy to guard you. You gasp as they're cut. He effortlessly knocks aside your effort with impossibly sharp limbs.

"Let me grant you sight, Father. I wish to see you break."