“Who is it?” The frail voice, barely audible through the heavy wood door, had the distinctive lilt of an accent.

“Mrs. Green?” The voice of the priest carried a similar, but subtlety different lilt. “I’m from the Archdiocese.”

The old door creaked open to reveal a tiny woman, old and hunched, squinting from the dark interior of the house into the setting sun.

“Oh, good,” she sighed. “I told them to send an Irishman. Priests from the fatherland understand the old ways best.”

A smile appeared on the weathered face of the priest. “Indeed, ma’am,” he replied and tipped his hat. “The sons and daughters of Eire have always had a way with these things.”

The old woman stepped back, giving the lanky priest a wan smile. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “I’ve put the kettle on.” She croaked through a hoarse throat. “Can I offer you-?”

“Maybe after I’ve dealt with your boy, ma’am.” The priest interrupted and removed his felt hat as he crossed the threshold.

“My grandson,” the woman sighed. “He’s been acting strangely for weeks, but I thought…”

The priest placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “No need to be hard on yourself, the devil’s wiles are subtle even to his strongest disciples.”

A grateful smile crossed the woman’s face, and she patted the Priest’s hand. A rosary was tied around her hand. The priest caught the crucifix at the end in his tattooed palm. “Your faith is strong, Mrs. Green,” he murmured as his slate-grey eyes wandered the intricate detail of the nailed figure. “It will see you through this tribulation. Now, where might I find your grandson?” the priest asked softly, letting the crucifix fall from his grip.

“Upstairs, in his room.” Mrs. Green pointed at the staircase, then pressed a key into the priest’s hand. “First door on the right. I had to lock the door; he was-”

“Thank you,” The priest interrupted with another smile. The smell of sulfur, un-mistakable to the priest’s trained senses, would have led him to the boy even without her help.

The old stairs creaked under the priest’s feet as he climbed, the stench becoming stronger with every step. As he got closer, he could hear the ramblings of the boy.

“God… dead and rotting… maggots will chew…”

As the priest approached the door, other scents emerged. Feces, urine, vomit, and blood. The muttering from inside became shouting when the occupant heard the key in the lock.

“I’ll drag you to hell!”

The priest opened the door, stepping into the reek of the room with deliberate steps.

“Fuck you, priest!” The bulky young man was crouched in the corner, savagely tearing at the savaged flesh of his arms with his teeth. The young man was maybe in his mid-twenties. The priest had never been good at judging human ages, especially when the face was soaked in blood.

“I’ll crucify you like your precious lord,” the possessed man howled, revealing a mouth of jagged and broken teeth. “I’ll put maggots in your eyes and fill your throat with spiders!”

Spying a chair that appeared mostly clean, the priest set his satchel on the floor, then began to undo the buttons of his long jacket. Folding it with care, he set it on the seat of the chair, and placed his hat on top.

“This one is mine!” Bloody saliva splattered from the man’s mouth as he continued to scream. “I’ve already eaten his soul, and I’ll shit it into God’s mouth!” He lunged forward, then danced backwards, like a dog harrying its prey.

“Be silent, whelp.” Any trace of accent had vanished from the priest’s voice, replaced by a low growl. He opened his satchel, removing sheets of paper printed with Latin script, a hammer, and a box of nails. Holding one of the sheets against the door, he positioned a nail and drew back the hammer.

“A holy barrier!” The man cackled. “First I’ll tear your throat out priest, then rip through that and shred that old bit-”

Wham!

With one sure strike, the priest drove the nail into the wall, hanging the first page.

“Be silent,” the priest snarled, “or I will burn that tongue from your mouth. You do not know to whom you speak.”

Wham! Another page hung.

The man laughed. “I am speaking to God’s whore! I will send you to hell and fuck you with-”

The tattoo on the priest’s hand flashed and a gout of flame, the deepest shade of orange, erupted from the possessed man’s mouth. He screamed as flesh melted and enamel shattered in the heat.

Wham! The final page hung.

“Have you even seen Hell?” The priest growled as he turned toward the possessed man, who was now clutching at the ruined flesh of his mouth. His eyes were filled with pain, confusion, and fear. “Or were you one of those mass-produced abominations Lucifer churned out to feed his war machine? Chewed up and spit out into the mortal plane before you could even learn what Hell was. What its purpose, its true purpose, was?”

The priest dropped his hammer to the ground, and began rolling up his sleeves, revealing forearms crossed with scar-tissue and more tattoos. “I have. Before I took my post, I walked the Cinder Barrens with the Light-Bringer. I helped quarry the bedrock of the Umbral peaks to raise His Onyx Palace, His seat of authority. I looked over His domain, the domain I helped to build, and I knew true joy. Joy as only someone who knows their purpose can.”

Behind the priest, the pages ignited with power. The delicate script burned a searing red, bathing the room in its ruby light. The possessed man began to panic, thrashing on the ground, scrabbling backwards, trying to get as far away from the pages as possible. On the ground, a circle, filled with runes and alchemical symbols began to char itself into the floorboards.

“But the Morning-Star, for all his wisdom, could not look past his embarrassment at his banishment. He and his generals sought only to build an army to conquer what he believed was his by birth. I consoled against them, and for that I was banished to the deepest pits of the Abyssal Depths, to shepherd the Beasts that Writhe.”

The circle complete, the priest, his tattoos alight with power, reached out and seized the possessed man in his fist, dragging him into the circle. The possessed man hissed and fought, scratching and screaming, but the priest’s grip was of iron.

“Maybe I should have protested, maybe I should have disobeyed, but I did not. For millennia I performed my duty, focused entirely on my task of keeping those primordial titans bound. Maybe, if I hadn’t focused so entirely on that, I would have seen it coming. But I did not, and when Lucifer threw open the gates of Hell, and unleashed his Legions, I was helpless to intervene. Too late, I watched as God smote down the Light-Bringer, and scattered the armies of hell to the winds.”

The skin of the possessed man began to bubble, and smoke poured from his mouth and eyes. The priest raised the man to eye level. The man’s eyes had turned jaundice yellow, and the pupils had morphed into the vertical slits of a cat’s.

“We finally meet, Ny’sacth,” the being dressed in priest’s vestments growled. His own eyes had become the crimson of clotted blood. “I ask again,” he snarled in a deepening voice. “Have you truly seen Hell?”

The possessed man began shaking his head frantically. The demon in priest’s vestments grinned, for the first time since entering the room. “You will. Its plains are empty, its cells are barren, but I’ll see Lucifer’s folly undone if it’s the last thing I do.”

The man in priest’s clothing held the demon’s gaze. “You see, Ny’sacth, Hell is not a kingdom. It’s a prison, and I am its final jailer.”

​

*****

​

“-don’t think you understand, Mrs. Green, the Archdiocese sent us, no one else.”

The priest buttoned the last button on his coat, picked up his satchel, and began descending the stairs.

“But I’m telling you,” Mrs. Green said to the two priests dressed in elaborate purple robes at her door. “I let him in over an hour ago. He’s upstairs.”

The creak of the stairs alerted the three to his presence. “Father,” Mrs. Green said, turning toward him. “These two men say-”

“Your grandson will live,” the priest interrupted, settling his hat on his head. “However, he’ll need immediate medical attention.” The lilt had returned to his voice. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a handful of silver coins. “You will have to replace the floor in that room.” Placing the coins into Mrs. Green’s hand, he gently slipped past her, pushed through the priests on the front steps, and walked away into the night.