The bedroom door opened by nary an inch, welcoming in daylight but letting out the wretched stench of body odor and mildew. With the door now open the mattress firmly pressed against the frame failed to muffle the horrible sounds coming from within; screams of agony and pleas for mercy.
A diminutive man with a stocky build stepped in and offered his two companions a reassuring but canny glance, blocking their entry with his wide frame. "I 'tink it'd be best if ya two stay out 'ere," he cautioned, hoping they could grasp the sensitivity of the issue. "I promise I won' be but a minute."
A woman of fair complexion and middle age skipped a breath, obviously displeased at his decision but nodded a silent vow to honor it. Behind her stood a man with a square chin and a narrow brow – his strong features made him the envy of many women save those who knew him personally. He didn't seem to care whether the dwarf went in alone or not so long as he had time alone with his busty cohort.
Having made sure that this would be his undertaking alone, the dwarf turned and took a step into the darkness, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He picked up the mattress from the floor and returned it to its soundproofing duties, but not before hearing his female friend offer a condolence: "Be careful, Olimal. Keep your mace in hand and your mind on the mission."
Olimal didn't respond to her. He wedged the mattress into the spaces of the door and did as he was told. The gleaming bronze mace hanging from his belt was unhooked and gripped tightly in hand. Taking a deep breath and turning around quickly, Olimal approached his intended target with dedication and the weight of a promise on his shoulders. His target looked back at him with terror in her eyes.
The tiny bedroom was illuminated solely by a flickering candle on the bedside stand. The only window in the room was barred by crisscrossing planks and sealed with resin. Directly across from the door was a bed stained with human waste and food that was more thrown than fed. A young girl no older than twelve years laid naked and spread eagle. Her wrists and ankles were bound with rope to the bedposts and stained with dried blood. Olimal couldn't meet her eyes such was the shame that this task brought him, and with each mousy plea and tear that streaked down her cheek, he had to whimper and turn his head.
"By sword and shield I invoke your name, Saint Cuthbert of the Cudgel," his voice broke, still a bit hesitant. Olimal was a devout cleric of the Great Crusade and had no initial hesitation when a desperate mother asked him to see what was wrong with her daughter. He quickly discovered that she suffered from more than an illness; her soul permeated evil and the spell that he subsequently cast confirmed it. Still, the child didn't look evil, so inflicting such pain and trauma on her emaciated form broke his heart, possessed or not.
"Remove the demon torturing this child from her flesh! Banish it back to the pit from whence it came!"
In time with his heavy pronouncements, Olimal thumped his mace against her chest. The blows were effete and not enough to cause lasting harm, but the demon living within her should be receiving grievous wounds. Still, she screamed and cried with each hit and even his words caused her to buck and writhe.
"Send the demon back to the Abyss, Saint Cuthbert! Remove this vile taint from her innocence! SEND IT BACK!"
No longer was the girl screaming and crying. She was frothing and spitting, cursing both the cleric and his god. Bile dribbled from her mouth and her skin turned unnaturally pale. She struggled harder against her restraints, causing the entire bed to shift and the wooden posts to split and warp.
"Send the demon back to the Abyss! Banish its vile taint for all eternity! SEND IT BACK!"
The ropes completely unraveled then and snapped in-twain. Now free, the girl lurched forward and slapped away Olimal's mace with inhuman strength, lodging it in the far wall. Her hands wrapped around the clerics neck and her burning eyes met his, flooding his body with more hate and depravity than any natural being should possess. Olimal struggled only for an instant then fell limp. The "girl" released him and he stood up straight, now the mindless thrall of a demon.
"Silly mortal man," she mocked, her form twisting and changing so gruesomely that she now resembled a human female only in passing. Her hair turned from blonde to crimson and flared out like she had been electrocuted. Four sting-tipped tentacles sprouted from her sides and her feet crushed and fused until they were slick hooves. The girl – the lilitu – popped her neck with a sigh of relief and loomed over her slave with sadistic glee, giving him a telepathic command to move to the door and take down the mattress.
Olimar did so. He then opened the door and stepped into the light of the foyer, his face a emotionless mask even as his female companion looked down at him with concern. "Olimar? What's wrong? Was the exorcism a success?"
"It certainly was," was the reply. The lilitu looked down from her perch on the low ceiling, her serpentine tongue licking her lips as four tentacles wrapped around the woman and lifted her into the air; the demon choked the life out of her, all the while garnering orgasmic pleasure from the act. Olimar tended to his old friend by pummeling him with his fists until his face was an unrecognizable morass, a fitting end for such a vain man.
The family of the girl had been watching from the pulpit of the church they currently occupied. When they saw a vague mockery of their daughter strangle one of the noble heroes and their leader do in the other, a few screamed and tried to run while one of the older males attempted to defend himself with a large candelabrum.
None of them made it out of that church alive.