have you heard the good word (preacher's daughter by Ethel cain)
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As the common people were fond of saying, where death went, an exorcist was bound to follow. Powder-pouch in one hand, ironwood knife in the other, Abilene Grimmalt struggled to pick her way through the carnage lining the rough, cobble-stoned streets of the meat district. This side of town had already been far from nice to begin with, boasting grimy-windowed shops along its poorly-paved streets, and shadowy alleys tucked into every nook and cranny. Still, she doubted even the meat district had ever seen bloodshed like this — though, the bodies now piled in the streets did not look dissimilar from the products on display in the shops. Kicking aside a stray arm, she swore under her breath and soldiered on, ignoring the incessant klaxons of the alarm bells overhead.
She'd been traveling for the better part of a day now, in a carriage for as long as she could bear it, and then on foot when she'd gotten too nauseous to continue on. And how oh-so-lucky she had felt when the alarm bells had begun going off in the very sector she'd been passing through, just as the sun was beginning to dip below the building line. It was circumstances like this that made her wonder if that old saying ought to have been flipped: where an exorcist went, death was bound to follow. It would have been more fitting, in her experience.
Pausing near some poor bastard's shredded remains, Abilene held her breath and squatted down to inspect his wounds. What a mess had been made of his corpse. The little bite-sized chunks taken out of his exposed flesh would have been thanks to some devils — she'd expected as much, since one rarely had a breach event without at least a small pack of them getting through. Luckily, devils were nearly small enough as to be nearly negligible, merely scavenging the leftovers of whatever bigger predator had come through first. But these long, raking claw marks, these gory troughs through muscle and fat, these had to be from a true demon. Sin-class, by the size of them.
Frowning, she inspected his wounds, using her dagger tip to peel back the tattered gray skin around the wounds. What little light remained in the day reflected off her blade, just bright enough to illuminate what she was looking at in strange, bluish light. No bites or burns, which would eliminate gluttony, sloth and wrath. And the veins seemed relatively normal, rather than swollen with greenish tar the way an envy demon would have left them. Which ones did that leave? She tried to count them in her head.
In the distance behind her, the beating of horse hooves were becoming gradually audible, a constant, clattering drumbeat on the cobbled streets. Layered over that was the jingling of reins, periodically punctuated by rhythmic clanging of metal on metal; a percussive sound which suggested a wearer weighed down by a great deal of armor. Abilene closed her eyes as it got closer and closer, already trying to ignore the dread slithering down her spine. Well, it had taken them long enough, anyway.
"Hail, good lady!"
The friendly shout was nearly inaudible over the deafening noise of the newcomers' procession. With a great deal of willpower, Abilene squinted up at the horse-mounted figure who was grinning down at her with great gusto from under his raised visor. The light of the setting sun caught on his armored form, limning the shape of him in a blinding golden glow — those Angels never skipped a day of polishing did they? Behind him, around seven other knights waited, their steeds prancing and high-stepping restlessly beneath them. At least the horses had the good sense to be afraid, even if their riders did not.
"Evening." Abilene nodded curtly. "What business?"
The leader arched a chiding eyebrow at her, as if they were sharing a little joke. Now that he was within range, she could see the man was handsome, with a wide, blinding smile and deep dimples. Here was a fellow fresh out of training, drunk on the power of having his own unit to command. She had to applaud his blind confidence, at the very least. "What else, but the business of your safety? Young lady, may I inquire as to the reason for your non-evacuation? It isn't safe to be beyond a warded wall during a breach event."
Young lady. Abilene grimaced to herself. "Don't you lot have demons to be slaying?"
"In good time." Ha! "But I really must insist you return home first, lest you join your unfortunate companion there on the veilside."
Oh yes, her companion; he had nearly slipped her focus. Abilene stood and carefully circled the body she'd been examining. If she could tell whether a fight had been put up, she could have really narrowed it down, but it seemed there wasn't even enough left of the victim to tell which injury had killed him first. She used the toe of her boot to try and flip him over, but upon realizing he wouldn't flip in one piece, gave up. This chap was beyond salvaging, and there was no point in making him further unrecognizable. It would be a miracle if he even ended up in a marked grave.
"Miss?" the leader prompted. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard you."
He seemed slightly at a loss as to what to do next; his hands floated uncertainly over his lap, as if torn between drawing his sword (on a civilian?) and seizing his reins (deserting her?). Yes, a fresh graduate indeed.
A sudden prickling at the back of her neck had Abilene straightening up to briefly scan the scene again. Gnawing uneasiness made its bed in the pit of her stomach. "Tell me, Captain, where is your exorcist?"
The relentless, easy grin he wore finally gave way to a small frown, though he seemed more confused than upset by her. "Exorcist? The exorcists move in ways beyond our knowledge, I'm afraid I couldn't possibly say."
"So, in other words, you don't have one."
His frown truly deepened into proper irritation, all raised hackles and exposed canines. "Well, they don't exactly tell us when they—"
"Captain Nicodemus," interrupted another knight from behind them both, perhaps a second-in-command. "We need to continue on."
It was fascinating, the look that passed between the captain and his lieutenant in that moment, like a bowstring drawn tight. But whatever rapid succession of hesitation was being shuffled between them, she had no time to attempt to unpack.
"Never mind," Abilene said with a resigned sigh, sheathing her knife. "I'll have to do. There's no telling when either of them will show up and we've already got several chaps practically mincemeat over here. Let's try to avoid more, shall we?"
When comprehension did not dawn in the leader's—Nicodemus'—eyes, she raised her hand out of the depths of her plain traveler's cloak to reveal the crimson red sleeve of her jacket, embroidered with that telling silver thread. "Sister Abilene Mourn-Much, first-class exorcist, stationed in Saintshelm. Permission to join your party, Captain Nicodemus?"
She didn't actually bother waiting for a response — Abilene did not take orders from children, thanks — before striding over to the one that seemed to be his second-in-command and extending her hand to them. They did not hesitate before grabbing hold of her forearm and pulling her up to the saddle.
"Glad to have you, veilwalker," the knight murmured, voice echoing in the depths of their helmet as Abilene tried her best to get comfortable.
"It's Abilene," she muttered, carefully sheathing her knife and stowing her powder so she could clutch gingerly to the back of the knight's breastplate. It had been a while since she'd been on a horse this big — most of the rest of the country typically preferred mules or ponies — but she was determined not to make a fool of herself.
In the front of the procession, Nicodemus wheeled his great white stallion around to return to his place leading them. He'd flipped his visor down which made him impossible to read, but she could still hear that flippant edge to his voice as he announced, "Onward, all. Our enemy still awaits."
They set off at a brisk canter that had Abilene's breath hissing sharply through gritted teeth and her grip tightening on her companion. What a shame they had never been properly coached in equestrian skills during exorcist training. She supposed it hadn't been deemed necessary, particularly for their generation. Unlike Angels, exorcists traveled alone and on foot, not in great raucous parties like this. After all, it was not their responsibility to arrive first on a scene. But it wouldn't have hurt, Abilene reflected tersely now, if she'd had a tad more experience on horseback. At least enough to assure her she wouldn't be jostled out of her seat that second they went faster than a leisurely trot.
"Brace," the knight warned suddenly, giving Abilene just enough time to tense her thighs and hunker down, before her stomach was soaring as the horse leapt to clear some obstruction on the street.
It took her a minute before she was able to steady her breathing enough to ask, "What was that?"
The knight didn't offer an answer, but Abilene hardly needed one. The cobblestones around the obstacle (low to the ground, organic in shape) had been slicked scarlet in a way she was sure was familiar to them both. They thundered on in silence.
Light was fading fast now, and the way Nicodemus was driving their party onward, he seemed to have realized it too. She was sure none of them were enthused by the prospect of trying to combat infernals in the dark. The nine of them blurred through deserted streets like ghosts, for long enough that the crashing and breaking sounds of their party began to sound less like commotion and more like ocean waves, blending with her own harsh breathing and pounding heart. Then, just as the last golden light was twinkling out at the edge of the horizon, the call came:
"Slow!"
Abilene and the knight both lurched slightly backwards as the knight brought them up short, in compliance with Captain Nicodemus' order. The horse underneath them shifted unhappily, hooves stamping as they sauntered up to survey the scene before them. Even with her eyes adjusting to the encroaching darkness, Abilene had difficulty discerning what they were looking at. Had that shadow slunk from one wall to another? Was that crumpled shape merely alley rubbish or another hapless victim?
In the front, Nicodemus twisted to face their party, flipping up his visor to reveal solemn, piercing eyes. Gone was the cocky rookie from before — Abilene wondered briefly if she'd misjudged him. "The bastards are just ahead. Prepare to approach."
Abilene shifted backward, throwing a leg over the side of the saddle. "Best of luck," she said grimly. "I'm going after the hellmouth."
Nicodemus and the others barely looked at her as she slid off the horse and landed in a crouch. Already, they were beginning their customary battle recitation, each voice barely audible even though they spoke together in a soft drone.
"Our Lady of Blessed Purity, Our Lady Divine, Our God Most Beloved…"
Leaving them to their prayers, Abilene slipped off down a narrow side street, walking as quietly as she could. The rosary around her neck was beginning to warm against her chest as she reached into her power-pouch for a fistful of blessed bone. Tossing it into the air, she watched the powder fall, blackening to soot as it hit the ground. Knowing she was close, Abilene hurried on.
She could hear the sound of struggle in the adjacent street now: the beating of hooves, a horse's screamed whinny, the clash of blades, and what must have been devils squealing and snarling. Likewise, the acrid smell of sulfur was now unavoidably pervasive and the air around her was beginning to warp and swirl like a mirage. She was passing through what her instructors back at the Abbey had called the hellgate. Sound slowly dulled to a distant underwater din, as though she were enclosed in some glass dome. Abilene was forced to squint her eyes as they watered and blurred in the presence of so much infernal energy. Even after all these years, approaching hellmouths still made her eyes tear — not to mention, the burning bile rising in the back of her throat. At least it didn't make her actually retch like it used to. For her first two years in the field, she'd thrown up every single time she'd closed a hellmouth – not exactly confidence-inducing to those who'd arrived to the scene later, but she'd still sealed them every time, hadn't she?
Veilwalker.
The voice that had broken the bubble of silence was not so much a voice as it was a dissonant exhalation. It was pure sound that came from all around her, as if she was standing on the center of the tongue as it formed the words, invisible lips meeting, vibrations reverberating and skating over her skin.
Abilene drew her ironwood knife and bared her teeth.
"Hello," she said. "Expecting me?"
Little mourner.
"You sound," she said, head tilting, "rather far away. Come into the light so I can see you."
Abilene Grimmalt.
"That's right." Abilene crept forward, casting darting glances over her shoulder as she ventured deeper into the gate. "If you know my name, you must know what I've come to do."
The buildings she knew to be around her had completely blurred out of eyeshot, lost to the glamor of the hellmouth. Now, all she could see was an endless milky fog of nothingness, a soup thick enough that she could feel its humidity breaking over her skin as she passed through it. Unconsciously, uncontrollably, her buzzing teeth began to chatter. Reaching a hand into her powder-pouch, she withdrawing a fistful of blessed bone; where she scattered it, the fog cleared before her, dissipating into mere wisps. She created the path as she followed it, carving her way through these cursed mists.
You will fail.
"That so?" She was hardly listening anymore, more focused on locating the epicenter. Her rosary was practically scalding against her chest now, leading her deeper and deeper into it. "You lot always say that."
There was a telling thinning to the air now, a bitter, biting quality. And with her next scatter of blessed bone, the fog gave way to reveal a great seething rift in the air, around the size and shape of a doorway. This hellmouth was particularly ugly; its gaping black void seemed to swell and deflate rhythmically, as if in mockery of breathing, and all along the edges, it had that horrible look of meatiness, that tumored cross-section of musclefatmusclefat, coursing blood, coursing black blood.
You will fail. Chalice will spill. Flame will catch. Mouth will swallow you whole.
Gooseflesh broke out along her arms and down the back of her neck. Hard as she tried to suppress it, her voice trembled. "Quiet, inferno. Your riddles do not amuse me."
The dream will eclipse the dreamer. The dream will eclipse the dreamer.
"I'm not listening," she lied as she began drawing her ward. What else could she do? This was her job. She did not decipher riddles, she did not heed the word of infernal hellmouths. She was trained to do one thing and that thing was what led her blindly through. With unsteady hands, she laid down a neat unbroken circle of blessed bone, and placed her steaming rosary on its boundary.
Your fear will grow teeth and it will eat you. Your blood will turn sickly. Your garden will wither and die.
"Stop talking," Abilene finally snapped. She yanked her glove off and used her blade's edge to slash through the meat of her palm. Crimson blood, bright as blossoms, spattered down upon the rosary and she took a deep breath. Now, she could end this. "In the name of Her Ladyship, the God Most Beloved, I call down her divine power. I devote myself to her and offer myself as her vessel. I ask for her grace and her favor against this enemy of the kingdom."
Sour salvation, sour songs, sour sacrament.
Heat was beginning to accumulate inside Abilene, pushing insistently behind her eyes, in her throat, in the pulse at her wrists. It burned finely, sweetly, like honeyed fire, honeyed lightning. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, tried to clear her mind.
"I trust in Her Ladyship!" Abilene called, sinking to her knees. That fire was spreading under her skin in painful, searing waves that wracked her whole body with violent shudders. Her muscles seized and spasmed; her whole mouth filled with the taste of cinders. "I love Her Ladyship! I crave her adoration and her favor! I make myself the channel of her divine justice!"
You will fail. Lost teeth. Sour, sour, sour.
Her voice rose even louder; the light grew even brighter. "With my blood, I seal this hellmouth for ten thousand years! With my prayers, I seal its infernal spirit back to the veilside! With my love, I cleanse this land of its demonic presence! This is my contract; this is my vow!"
No more riddles did the mouth spew; now it shrieked, long and loud like some anguished beast, like something vital was ripping free. And with a thundering heart, Abilene prepared to hammer the last nail into this damned coffin.
"Glory to Her Ladyship, glory to Her might, God as my witness — the deal is the deal!"
The first ray of light pierced her straight through like a blade.
Then the light began to split and scatter, multiplying, dividing, consuming her from the inside out. Some distant cry vaguely registered in the back of her mind as hers, some last howl to God. And as her eyes rolled back into her head and the unbearable star-killing heat under her skin exploded in all directions, as divine fire erupted from the center of her chest and her flesh and bone became clear like glass, Abilene Grimmalt became the avatar of something far greater than herself.
When at last, all the light and heat had cleared, one crimson-clothed woman was left kneeling in the epicenter of chaos.
A tinny ringing echoed in her ears over the quiet night air. No horses could be heard now, no clash of swords.
Her teeth were still chattering as she hunkered into a little ball, the cobblestones mercifully cool against her burning forehead.
A single pair of footsteps approached, measured and confident. Clothing rustled as someone knelt before her.
"Thank you for that," an all-too-familiar voice whispered, placing a gentle gloved hand upon her head and tenderly brushing the hair away from her face. "You're still such a sight to behold, Abi."
She squeezed her eyes shut and hated herself for the way her throat thickened, choked, barred her words from bursting forth.
"I'm not surprised, of course. You're stronger than ever," the voice mused. "Saintshelm has treated you well."
Don't touch me, she wanted to say. She wanted to sob, get away. Get away.
But the words did not come, and it was all she could do to simply go on shivering, feeling like her insides had been scooped clean out of her.
"It's alright," crooned Priam Grimmalt, stroking his sister's hair lovingly. As if no time had passed at all. As if they were still children. "You've done well. We're together now. It's alright."
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uhhh i forgot people outside the discord would see this story so if you're reading this hi :)
this is an syoc but um spots are full hahah. dm me on discord octavia#7661 if you feel strongly about being apart of this tho we can talk abt it?
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