Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Vielo the Priest.

Part 2:

“I was once a priest that was possessed by a demon called Seraf. I knew of the demon’s presence before the possession was complete, and I had finished a prayer to banish Seraf at the same moment he possessed me. The mixture of dark and holy magic melded him within me, his soul now attached to mine. Without a pure soul to run the body, I started to age and decay.
                “I spent more and more time away from my people and more within the confines of my studies, trying to find a way to purify my soul and get rid of Seraf without arising suspicion. I was afraid that with an unclean soul they wouldn’t trust me, and I truly loved it there in Swallow. I used to pray for hours on end, but prayer now hurt, as the demon’s soul was now mine and he was not holy. It wasn’t until a month passed that my fellow priests and took notice. My brothers by god, Father Aztha and Father Leo, attempted to exorcize the demon from within me. It was only then did I realize the power within me. The demon was powerful, and he was mine. I did not want him to escape me. Luckily, my conscience had since withered away and I gave in to the demon’s promises. As our two souls became one I rose and escaped, killing Aztha in the process.
                “I was banished for the death of a high priest, and left for six years searching for a home. I practiced the dark magic’s mixed with holy magic. The ability to separate a soul from its body is a great tool when they speak of blasphemy. My flock became large and even those who perished could rise to follow me. I returned to Swallow no longer as a priest, but as a god. My minions ran through the village converting its people. It did not matter to me or my flock if they were alive or dead. Priests and nuns and monks ran out to defend their people, but their holy magic’s could only withstand my influence for so long. I entered the cathedral setting it aflame. On the balcony I saw Father Leo, now a legend and hero among his people.
                “Leo and I fought a glorious battle, dark vs. light, eternal death vs. eternal life. We were perfect for each other. A counter for every swing, a parry for every thrust. It could have lasted forever. There was only one moment of mistake. Leo had stepped back, sword in hand, and raised it toward me and started to utter an incantation. A sword such as his went into his back and out his chest, his partner Aztha, now a member among my flock holding the blade.
                “I put my hand of death onto Leo’s brow, telling him that he will become my disciple and will join Aztha soon.
                “The church was razed to the ground and the people there were now among my flock. I cursed the ground to make sure no life there grew again. I no longer felt it right to call myself Vielo, he was a priest, where I am a god.
                “I am Veraf, the sum and murderer of Vielo the high priest, and Seraf the demon. Necromancer and death dealer. Shunned by demons as a holy man, shunned by people as cursed. And you are the only one who has escaped my grasp, the one I have hunted hoping you would follow me as a disciple, and it is you who has come to kill me… Yet it is I who have you trapped, Drave, the demon hunter. Stripped of both your revolvers, surrounded by lava, and now only holding a femur in your left hand as a club, you still fight a god. You have sent both Aztha and Leo to the afterlife right before me, but I forgive you. I am confident their deaths will be a fine price to pay for someone such as you.”
                Veraf stuck out his hand, now nothing but bone with a purple glow on his index finger. As it came close to Drave’s brow, Drave dropped the femur and pulled his third revolver and fired two silver bullets into Veraf’s chest. He fell to a knee, for the first time in a long time feeling real pain. Drave fired a third shot that sent the priest onto this back.
                Drave stepped onto the priest’s chest; it protruded a dark, coagulated blood. Drave took a fourth shot into the skull, Veraf’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. With a small kick, Veraf rolled into the liquid fire, a brief scream let out before silence.

                The cowboy walked back to the bar where he sat, his whiskey still on the step. He took a swig and then dumped out the remains. He took a parchment from his jacket pocket. The paper was thick with a note already written. He rolled it up and slid it into the bottle and then sealed it. He took off his hat and placed it on a nail on one of the posts. He then slid off his jacket and hung it on another. Lastly, he took off his belt, along with the two revolvers and hung them on a third.
Drave set the bottle with the parchment in front of his effects. He turned around and never looked back.

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