I tried to make chapter longer, hope you like it!

Gore warning ahead.

Standard disclaimer of ownership.


Bells were ringing, and hearts were beating.

Synchronized rhythms. Three wavelengths.

Clover's pulse slowed as their heart lost mass. Their blood was escaping through the giant hole in their abdomen.

The remaining blood within pulsated violently with each twinkling chime of the bell, knocking against the walls of their veins.

Their veins felt like glass rope, cracking and tearing simultaneously.

The agonizing pain was unrepresented by any sound; Clover's spirit was disconnected from consciousness, playing limbo with life and death.

The stock of their mind was melting and melding with their leaking lifeforce, disoriented and traveling as one through their fracturing veins.

They were rushing to escape something that was flushing them out.

Like oil poured into boiling water, something gold and thick was trying to ooze in with the sound of the bell, but it wasn't mixing well.

Clover turned from one bleeding hallway to another, but was blocked off from finding sanctuary in the dead ends of their fingertips as the ichor appeared. It was oozing from the shadows of cold corners and empty rooms that made up the digits on the hands.

They turned around and tried to climb back up the limp arm, turning sharply at the shoulder and diving into the ribs for protection. Alas, from the deflated lungs the metallic sludge was welling forth there too, and filling the space.

Clover dodged the liquid gold dripping from the ribs and tried to merge onto another artery to get away from there.

Trying desperately to outrun the viscous ichor that was slowly seeping in from every nook and cranny of their cold body.

They climbed and swam frantically throughout the branching vascular system, dodging and looking for a place to hide.

Somewhere their shrinking spirit could rest.

They came to a cliff's edge, not recognizing the massive wound. The pressure in their body had been breached when they were run through like a marshmallow on a stick. The gravity from outside was quickly sucking their blood out for every drop it could squeeze.

They struggled to fight the current, feeling a dreadful sensation of deja vu.

The gold ichor had caught up and swallowed that last drop of Clover, holding them inside.

It sparkled and pulsated with the weak rhythm, hardening upon contact with air and plugging up the giant piercing.

Clover had been completely engulfed by the warm embrace of the ichor.

Suspended but not drowning. Tired but not alone.

Clover's spirit closed its eyes and relinquished total control of the half-dead body.


Outside, Clover's body had stopped bleeding as they remained dangling from the sharp arm of the demon. It turned and twisted its head about, confused.

The hide-behind creaked like an old tree in the wind, distracted by curiosity when the rainfall suddenly stopped mid-air. Raindrops simply floated as the storm around them raged on.

Lightning struck again, but that too froze upon nearing them. It stood stiff and crackled with the intensity of the sun, blinding the demon. It screamed from the burning heat.

Clover's body began to move on its own accord.

They wept golden tears that spilled forth from the deepest part of their eyesockets, as it was the same ichor that had just finished moving in.

It began to overflow, coating the surface of the faded eyeballs and streaking down their cheeks.

With the bell still dangling from their wrist, both hands wrapped around the limb that was still impaling their abdomen.

They squeezed down with inhuman strength, splintering the arm, causing the demon to scream once more.

The frozen lightning was playing connect-the-dots with the raindrops.

Soon the area was cloaked in a dome-shaped web, spun from threads of pure electricity.

Clover's mouth fell open and the ichor overflowed from every facial orifice, cascading to the ground. The net of lights suddenly intersected across the inner space, completing the ten-thousand point grid.

Its grotesque body combusted instantly as it was sliced apart in thousands of directions.

It crumbled into a pile of coal, falling with Clover's body, limp in a pool of gold.

Black roots began to emerge from the dark earth, forming a barrier.

Clover's battered body was rappidly cocooned by the thorny roots, creating an airtight seal and protecting them from the weather.

The ball of roots nestled deeper into the ground and continued to grow layers of defense as the thunderstorm continued.


Grandfather Fortune sat at his desk, working on release forms.

The rain pattered outside, delivering a much-needed break from the summer heat.

A pendulum swung on the desk; the consistent motion helped him focus his thoughts. Specifically, the rhythm kept scattered visions at bay so he could actually get things done. Though, it didn't bother him when he worked on the bodies. If anything, his clairvoyance increased the level of proficiency in his work.

He preferred to do most of his paperwork by hand with an ink pen. Sometimes that wasn't fast enough, but that's what the intern was for.

The fatigued funeral director leaned back in his tall leather chair, contemplating. He lit his signature long pipe and dragged out plumes of purple smoke, staring at the wall of mismatched certifications. His gaze traveled down the natural wood walls to the dark gray carpet.

Yes, it would have gone faster with his trusty intern, but the kid had been working their heart out since starting there more than a year ago. They worked too hard, as if they were scared of losing the position or even their housing.

He sighed, understanding all too well that fear of instability.

His own life had taken some unpredictable turns after his father died during his childhood.

Moving with his mother from Canada to Japan, learning a new language, and struggling to integrate was hard.

Additional difficulties arose from being thrust into the world of demons and spirits. His mother fell back on the help of their relatives and their ties to the order.

He learned about his infamously indestructible grandfather. An exorcist nicknamed "Mr. Fortunate", recognized for evading death so many times. The stories of his legacy were plenty, though likely exaggerated.

He was awarded a scholarship for his impeccable grades, but was forbidden by his mother to enter the exorcist training school.

He opted for a private tutor group for Arias and excelled in that all through out high school.

His hard work had finally paid off, and an unexpected surprise awaited him upon graduation.

His French father had left him an inheritance, and the executor of his estate was his widow.

She had one stipulation: that her son would never pursue his grandfather's career.

She then revealed the full truth about his grandfather's work in life and, subsequently, his tragic death. He caught a mysterious illness from a kin of Astaroth. An aggressive fungal infection had rapidly spread through his lungs, and he died mere weeks later, coughing up coal-tars.

His only daughter abandoned the True Cross order and tried to integrate into general society, hoping for her children to have normal lives. She fell in love with a traveling business man, and the rest was history.

After careful consideration of everything he'd learned, he put himself through mortuary school and combined his Aria skills to open the first public funeral home for exorcists.

He scratched his hairline with the handle of his pen, lost in memories. He lazily puffed rings, thinking about his two employees. Seto possessed absolutely no spiritual skillset whatsoever, nor any notable athletic ability.

Boy can't even run properly.

He is a fine secretary though, and conveniently acquainted with many of my clientele. His family is from this area afterall.

He was also fully aware of the miracles Seto was currently performing, keeping a network of communication open and flowing between businesses and families. The young man was being run ragged today, but it was a justified consequence for coming into work late.

There was definitely something happening between his secretary and the outsourced accountant.

Obviously it wasn't a matter of dating, considering Seto's well-established affection for other men, but Grandfather Fortune had noticed flecks of matching glitter on both of them.

He closed his eyes and focused on a mirage trying to manifest. They were surrounded by others in a loud crowd, swimming in a barrage of jarring colors. Abrasive music blasted and people were dancing.

He waved away the vision; he had no interest in the nightlife of today's youth.

These things they call "Rave"... Perhaps I'm simply too old to understand.

He brought his thoughts back around to the other employee.

Clover was a stranger story. They were raised in a foster home for children with temptaints. The order had a lesser-known but controversial history of acquiring wards of such children for the sole purpose of training them. Though not all produced the expected results by adulthood. Alternative careers within the order were always available.

Clover was definitely breaking the mold with their aspirations for a demonology teaching degree.

He felt pride for the young polyglot apprentice, if not a little confused as to their choice of location, but he didn't know their whole story just yet.

He couldn't help but see some of himself in the kid.

Grandfather shuffled some papers into a manila folder and authorized it with a large stamp.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a heavy thump from the floor above his office, followed by a high-pitched whine.

He stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on the dusty blue and red ceiling. It had once been white, but decades of hotboxing in his office stained it with colorful smoke.

Pipe in hand, hovering over the bronze ashtray, he held his breath and strained to listen.

The apartments were upstairs. He didn't live there himself but several college students, including Clover, did. Normally if someone fell or dropped something, he would hear a distant "I'm okay!" or the neighbors checking on each other.

It was silent.

The restless spirits buried beneath the building began to fill his office space, moving much like the floral smoke. They were trying to get his attention, but he ignored their nerve-wracking overlap of voices.

Sometimes they were distressed by nothing more than modern invention and would settle themselves back down soon enough.

He shushed them away, remaining focused on the ceiling.

They persisted, trying to reach his old ears, but it only sounded like a strong breeze whistling by.

He shushed them again.

The ancient spirits clamored over each other in layers, trying to sync up their archaic speech; when he finally heard what they were struggling to say, it sent a chill up his long spine.

The Clover Bleeds.

Bells Ring.

Weep, Clover Weep.

They sent images of an enchanted bell and thunder through his mind, with lightning illuminating a flash image of Clover's arms torn up and bleeding.

He threw his pen down and deposited the long pipe into the large ashtray before bursting out of his office.


When he threw his door open, the fragrant smoke followed him out.

It was dark outside now, but Seto and Eiko were both still there, as were the visiting helpers. He stopped to look at the group gathered around the old TV set.

They had the news on and were watching with varying levels of shock and disbelief.

It was only raining outside, but according to the news there was a flash flood warning on the other side of town. A thunderstorm had rolled in from the ocean.

"It's been sitting over the forest for hours now," Seto mentioned when he saw the boss approach them.

The screen played clips of a news reporter standing outside, framing the forest behind them as it was locked in a supercell thunderstorm. They were waiting for the rare weather phenomenon to spiral back out to sea.

"So, why aren't you working? It looks like it won't hit us at this altitude," he sternly pointed out. They all watched as the weather map on the screen confirmed this.

"Grandfather... Clover isn't answering their home phone," Eiko's voice wavered with fear.

"They went for a hike this morning," Seto said, eyes tearing up.

"Merde," he rushed out the front door and jogged around the building, climbing the stairs two at a time with his long strides, and knocked urgently at Clover's door.

"Clover? Are you ok?" He cautiously called out. He would usually never come up to the apartments unless something needed repairing or maintenance.

He heard Daisy cry out and smelled blood.

"I'm sorry for this," he called out, raising a knee to his chest. He kicked the doorknob with the force of a horse, and it snapped off the solid oak door. He didn't even wait for it to hit the ground before shoving the door open.

His fears and visions were confirmed when he found the friendly purple capybara laying on the ground, writhing in agony. Her back legs were broken, and one was bleeding from where the bone had been exposed.

"CLOVER?" He bellowed out to the apartment, but there was no answer. He ran to the animal's side and began reciting, as best as he could remember, a scripture to promote healing.

He was by no means a healer, but throughout the years he had picked up a handful of useful skills. The bleeding slowed considerably as Seto burst into the apartment, out of breath.

"WHAT'S GOING O- oh it's really cute in here," he said, standing in the doorway, hands on his hips. He was gasping for air and looking around at all of the houseplants and crystals that decorated the little yellow apartment.

"Seto, can you call line 7?"

"Line 7... the True Cross emergency dispatch? Why, where's Clover? Why is Daisy..." he looked down and saw the panting capybara laying in its own blood.

"I'M ON IT, SIR," he tore off, stumbling down the last two stair steps.

Grandfather Fortune gritted his teeth. That emergency number was in case there was ever a problem with a corpse—not that there had ever been a problem he couldn't handle, but dying familiars and missing wards were beyond his capacity.

Daisy was still here, so Clover had to still be alive.

Please, he prayed.


Seto's black Converse almost slipped on the wet pavement as he tore back into the office.

Eiko was not part of that supernatural world, and as far as he knew, neither were the volunteers standing in the lobby.

He so hated to be the bad guy.

"Hey, what happened?" one of the guests asked.

Grabbing the remote, Seto turned off the TV and received a round of complaints.

"I'm terribly sorry, but everyone has to leave immediately," they all looked confused. He scrambled to think of an excuse.

"There are, um, tarantulas! Upstairs! Hundreds of them! Giant spiders, super hostile, and bigger than my face!" He waved his hand over his face for emphasis.

That surprisingly got people moving. He began dialing line 7 as they all filed out the door into the rainy night.

Eiko hesitated, but the thought of a spider infestation made her skin crawl, so she held her briefcase over her head and leapt out the door.

"True Cross Emergency Dispatch, what is the nature of your emergency?" the operator answered.

"Grandfather Fortune's Funeral Home for the Occupationally Afflicted needs help now!" Seto cried.

"What is the state of your emergency? Zombies? Ghosts?" Seto rolled his eyes, as if they didn't handle those issues on a near-daily basis.

"I'm reporting a missing employee, a tamer, and their familiar has just been found fatally wounded," he slightly exaggerated.

"Sending an officer your way. They will administer first aid," the operator replied without missing a beat.

"Can you tell me more about the missing tamer?"

"They were last seen heading into the forest in the southern region at, um," he checked his wristwatch out of habit, "approximately 11 a.m." He listened to the sound of a keyboard typing.

"Name of the missing individual, and do you have their license number?"

"Clover Celeste, and no, they don't currently have an exorcist license as far as I'm aware," he tried to quickly explain. There was a very brief pause before the clicking of the eyboard continued.

"Description of appearance? Last thing they were seen wearing?"

"About 170 cm, light brown skin, short curly hair, green eyes, they-"

"Man or woman?"

"...indiscernable." He held his breath. The operator sighed.

"Okay, and the clothing?"

"Jeans, brown boots, and, uh," he mentally cursed at himself, "a t-shirt." If only Seto had known that the hideous, overpriced shirt he sold Clover almost saved their life.

"Okay, thank you, and what is your name?"

"Seto Hiroshi Ishida," he said anxiously, tapping his fingers against the desk.

"Two first responders have been dispatched and should be there any minute now." No sooner did she finish saying that, he heard the front doors open.

"Thank you very much!" He hung up and hurried to greet the exorcists who were entering.

He frowned at the mud they were tracking inside.

There were two men in the uniform trenchcoats. The shorter one had a medic's satchel. The taller one wore a flintlock pistol and a grim expression.

"Are you Mr. Ishida?" the dragoon inquired. Seto nodded vigorously, walking past them and holding the front door open.

"The familiar is upstairs; we have to take the back steps," he explained quickly. They followed him up to the apartment.


There were five apartments in total, Clover's being at the very end of the hall. The other four were rented out to students during the school year, but were currently vacant for the summer break.

They entered apartment #5, and the shorter exorcist approached the capyabara, relieving the weary funeral director of his overexerted healing attempt.

He stood to his full height with some trouble. He didn't want to rely on a walking stick just yet. He turned to face the startled exorcist, who had pulled out a pen and notepad.

"We just need to clarify a few things," he said, clearing his throat. Grandfather Fortunate crossed his arms.

"Missing civilian Clover Celeste, certified tamer without a license. Last seen at the southern forest wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Wounded familiar found in vacant apartment; anything else?" He tried to drill through the information quickly.

His walkie-talkie buzzed with coded chatter, but he ignored it.

"They haven't answered their phone all day, and may have been caught in the flash flood," Seto added, pointing to the untouched landline hanging on the wall.

"We can handle the familiar, but you should leave the search and rescue to the professionals; we're stretched thin enough as it is with the sinkhole."

Grandfather Fortune raised his giant hand politely.

"Seto, wait downstairs," he ordered. The unusually sharp tone threw him off, but the receptionist complied.

"It's not just about search and rescue," he said, pulling out his wallet and showing them his ID to take down.

"Haruto Am, Amo…" the dragoon struggled.

"Haruto Amour Uesugi DeCroix," Grandfather patiently pronounced his absurd tongue-twister of a name.

"Certified medium, licensed supernatural mortician, and funeral director," the exorcist continued.

"And you believe this is a matter for True Cross, because...?" he impatiently prompted.

"Clover Celeste is being hunted by a high-ranking demon."

The man stopped writing and looked up. Even the medic trying to reset Daisy's back legs looked up at him.

"What makes you think that?"

"I've seen the miasma of a powerful entity trailing my intern for days now. I had to reinforce the barriers on my property. It's not completely uncommon for a spirit to linger around the property or our staff, but I'm certain now that this was no spirit," he explained carefully.

"Unusual but not unheard of, has Celeste themself complained about this affliction?"

"No. My intern is somewhat... sensory impaired regarding the supernatural," he sighed.

"I assume that is the reason for lacking a license?" He asked in a rhetorical manner. No immediate response prompted the man to look back up, and he nearly pissed himself.

The giant, skinny old man had taken on a dark expression and was glaring holes into the exorcist's skull. His stature, black hair, and black suit almost bore a resemblance to the grim reaper. (The actual reason he refuses to use a walking stick is because he knows it would make him look all the more like the Grim Reaper.)

The startled man slapped his notepad closed and turned around; grabbing his walkie-talkie from his belt, he buzzed the dispatcher.

"This is Dragoon S. Ikeda, requesting backup for search and rescue, over," he released the button.

"Dragoon S. Ikeda, request received. What is your location? Over." The enchanted box crackled out a response immediately.

"Southern Forest, 1 reported civilian missing in a flash flood, reasonable concern for demonic involvement, over," he replied.

They waited for a response.

"Request approved, search and rescue efforts have been dispatched. TA 10 minutes. Over."

The dragoon turned to face both men.

"I'm going to meet the S team on site; Doctor Miyake will stay here with the familiar, so please allow him space to work," and with that, he left the building in a hurry.

The mortician couldn't help but wonder how they traveled around so quickly.


I'm tired and need to plan out the next chapter.

Thank you for reading thus far!

Feel free to ask any questions or point out typos grammar mistakes!

Until next time!