The essence has been siphoned away.
1347 Words
163 years ago, a crimson moon graced the sky, its brilliance unmasked even by the sun's glare. From that moment forth, legendary creatures of malevolence began to stir in the world: werewolves, vampires, deer-headed spirits, and dark entities emerged in abundance. In tandem, the church unearthed a plethora of extraordinary rituals long buried in the annals of history.
Every church constructed a sacred chamber beneath its foundation.
The walls of these sanctuaries and the floors of the hallowed halls were adorned with intricate magical circles.
These circles could capture the light of faith emitted by the fervent prayers of the faithful, purifying it into a liquid that was stored within the sanctuary.
This radiant essence remained invisible to the mundane eye, only revealed to those who had transcended into the realm of the extraordinary.
The holy water sold within the church, said to cure all ailments, was merely this divine liquid diluted with water.
Zack Town was modest in size; the annual accumulation of faith could only afford one or two sacred baptism rituals. Thus, Nick could not help but feel a pang of regret.
“Your being has been cleansed of a great deal of black mist during the baptism—residual soul toxins left by the malevolent spirit. Without these two purifying baptisms, such impurities would accumulate within you, destined to transform you into a deranged villain,” the priest remarked with an air of gravity.
With a knowing expression, he continued, “For just 100 gold shields, you have been granted a new lease on life—truly a bargain for the long journey ahead.”
Upon hearing this, Crowne felt entirely reassured, his anxieties dissipating at last.
As for the so-called debt, he chose to dismiss it entirely.
If necessary, he would embrace the role of a rogue; having been a law-abiding citizen in his past life, he found it refreshing to explore alternative life experiences.
...
As night descended, three bonfires blazed in the church's square, where the priest officiated the cremation of the faithful who perished in the incident involving the malevolent spirit.
Eighteen individuals from three families had lost their lives, and familiar neighbors had gathered to pay their respects, filling the square with a dark throng. Candles adorned the stone ground, as people believed that the candlelight could illuminate the path of the souls toward divine paradise.
Crowne stood beside one of the bonfires, his expression somber.
Having fully absorbed the memories of the original host, his emotions were entirely genuine at this moment.
The flickering flames mirrored in his eyes as he clasped his hands over his heart and silently prayed, “May the flames purify our sins, cleanse our souls, and may there be no sorrow in paradise.”
Occasionally, familiar friends would approach him, offering hugs or gentle pats on his shoulder, to which Crowne responded with grateful smiles.
As the flames gradually dwindled, the night breeze brushed coolly against his forehead.
Crowne placed his family’s ashes into a black ceramic urn, planning to bury them in the wild cemetery during the month of budding life and plant a towering pine.
According to the teachings of the Lord of Flames, humanity arrives in this world to endure various tribulations, repaying their sins; after death, they find purification in the flames, their ashes scattered upon the earth to nourish the growing plants, which in turn become the seeds of fire that illuminate the mortal realm, allowing the cycle of life to continue.
The nuns prepared the ashes of the other two families, who had no other relatives.
As the crowd gradually dispersed, the flickering candles in the square also began to extinguish.
At that moment, Nick approached: “Houses tainted by malevolent spirits must undergo purification before they can be inhabited again. Tonight, you shall stay in the gatekeeper's cabin; tomorrow, I will purify the house.”
Crowne bowed his head in respect. “Thank you, Father. Will there be any charges?”
Chuckling, the priest replied, “No need this time. It is my duty to bathe the dwelling of the faithful in the light of our Lord.”
Seeing as you owe me quite a sum, consider this a free service!
After a brief pause, Nick offered some comforting words: “The departed are gone; the living must remain strong. May the light of the Lord of Flames shine upon us!”
“May the Lord's light shine upon us!” Crowne echoed.
...
The gatekeeper was an elderly man with a face lined with wrinkles and hair like silver.
Once a solitary soul, he had received this job out of compassion from the priest three years ago, following the church’s construction.
Though the pay was paltry, the church provided three meals a day, which were decent.
The priest must have informed him, for when Crowne arrived, the old man kindly gestured toward a small door within the room, saying gently, “You’ll sleep in there tonight; the bed is a bit narrow.”
With a sigh, he added, “It’s a pity old Moya passed away in his prime.”
Crowne felt a lump in his throat and lowered his head slightly. “Thank you!”
He said no more, stepping into the inner room and softly closing the door behind him.
The interior was cramped, accommodating only a narrow bed, a chair, and a wooden stand with a mirror about a foot wide, marred by two cracks.
Crowne placed the urn beneath the bed, contemplating retrieving his belongings from the constabulary the following day.
As soon as he lay down, he fell into a deep slumber.
He was unaware of how much time passed, but moonlight filtered through the small window, illuminating the face of the sleeping man.
Suddenly, Crowne awoke, sitting upright in bed.
Barefoot, he approached the mirror, tilting his head to examine his reflection.
The eyes staring back shifted from dark brown to a light hazel, gradually elongating and flattening into eerie slits.
His face sprouted several thick tendrils, and as he smiled, elongated fangs protruded from both the upper and lower jaws.
This transformation occurred solely in the mirror; outside, Crowne appeared entirely unchanged.
Emerging from the depths of the reflection, black smoke poured from his ears, revealing a monstrous octopus-like entity adorned with tentacles and sharp teeth.
The creature’s appendages gripped the mirror’s edge before it sprang forth, rippling the glass’s surface.
As Crowne closed his eyes, his body felt weightless, drifting back to the bed.
The entity’s form gradually became transparent as it ascended, passing effortlessly through the ceiling.
Beneath the eaves of the gatekeeper's cabin hung an ancient copper bell, roughly the size of a water jug, its surface intricately adorned with swirling flames.
The bell emitted a clear chime, only to abruptly fall silent.
Wrapped in a fur coat, the elderly man, who had been dozing at his post, was jolted awake by the bell's ethereal toll.
He perked up, straining to hear, but was met only with the faint rustle of wind outside.
Shaking his head, he tightened his coat around him and sank back into a deep sleep.
...
At dawn, Crowne emerged from the cabin, one hand on his waist, a look of distress etched on his face.
I merely took a nap; why do I feel so weak and drained?
Walking felt as though he was treading on cotton.
“What’s wrong with you? You look unwell,” Nick inquired, his face filled with concern.
Feeling as if his essence had been siphoned away, Crowne managed a wry smile. “I’m not sure why, but after waking up, I just feel incredibly weak and fatigued.”
It seemed that the malevolent spirit’s power exceeded expectations, as the sacred baptism had not fully eradicated its influence.
Nick squinted thoughtfully.
Crowne gave his waist another gentle thump, inadvertently glancing upward, and suddenly froze.
Doesn’t the church have ample funds?
He pointed toward the copper bell hanging beneath the eaves, voicing his curiosity, “Father, why doesn’t this exquisite bell have a clapper?”
- Writer
