Chapter 13

Draft

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Your mind is in chaos.

You know how to treat demons, you know how to treat humans. Your behavior is impeccable, and your etiquette is perfect. Your world's made up of flat rules, observing them is your way of life, your life's path, and this path had collapsed in a corner.

177, Lemuel. What is he¹? Who is he? If he's a human being then your world that you've built by "following the rules" has been disturbed like a rigorous machine gone wrong. It didn't need much disruption, just a wire, thrown in between those perfectly lined mechanical parts; it was enough to make the apparatus fall apart. Everything went wrong, everything went wrong, you made a mistake, you felt great fear.

The resulting fruit of evil².

The voice is like your father's, any of all of your other teachers, and sister and brothers in the church. There'll be the resulting fruit of evil! The magnificent voice resounds in your head, like the voice of end. You don't know what the fruit of evil is. You can't remember what their warnings are at first, you were too young at that time. In fact, you couldn't imagine what aspect of the fruit of evil could even make you afraid. Yet now you're panicked and at a loss, like a computer running the wrong program. This is wrong, you mustn't violate it... This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong.

"Oh my God, good priest, what's the matter with you?"

You raise your head in a daze and saw Mrs. Lynch's concerned face.

You had unknowingly wandered a few streets and found yourself at Mrs. Lynch's grocery store. The 70-year-old lady lives alone and always suffers from insomnia, she'll open shop early in the mornings the illness strikes her. Bustling in the early hours of the day, she's obviously suffering from insomnia again.

"I'm seeking God's guidance." You say, grudgingly smiling at her.

Mrs. Lynch's a devout believer, a kind and good person. She humbles and asks you warmly, entering the shop and making a cup of hot tea for you. The hard cardboard is put into your hands. You thank her, mechanically taking the cup and a sip.

Salty, it doesn't feel like hot tea, but more like some kind of instant soup. Mrs. Lynch is talking about her secret soup, the trick's cream and pepper. "You who serve the Lord should pay more attention to your body!" She says, "There's been more and more villains holding blasphemous intentions towards the material³, people like you who are devout..."

Drink some hot soup, take a bath, go to sleep. Tomorrow, everything will get better.

Your stomach begins to cramp again and you can't drink at all. While holding your cup, you suddenly interrupt, cutting off Mrs. Lynch's chatter.

"Will half-blood demons born to humans be a human?" You ask.

"Of course not!" Mrs. Lynch answered without hesitation, "How could the bloodline of damned devils be considered human?"

"But," You say dryly, "If they were born like a human, and grew up in a human society, should they be treated as such?"

Mrs. Lynch looks at you worriedly, like she's wondering if you had broken your head somewhere. She sees your pale face, her expression softens.

"Good priest, you're still young after all." She says lovingly. "Now, the army's fighting with all their strength. They've blocked the demons in the south, so the young people today don't even know what demons look like. Ridiculous! When I was young, demons ran around, raping, and looting everywhere..."

Her voice sank, and her ever kind and amiable face becomes hardened.

"At that time, everyone knew that the devil's seed will also be a devil, no matter whom it was born from. The farmers had bad luck, and any cow or sheep that became pregnant had to be slaughtered. The devil can't be born or it'll eat people! I used to live in a village further south, the fire in the village square was lit every day. Fortunately, the newly-born demons were afraid of fire." Mrs. Lynch said, shaking her head, "Those poor women, alas, they screamed so miserably, I still dream of that voice to this day."

It took you a beat before you realized what she meant.

"You..." You say, "Burn them to death?"

"It was purification, priest, every time there would be priests chanting the scriptures by the side!" Mrs. Lynch emphasized, "What could we do? They're demons that can't be killed even with a thousand blades! The devil's children cannot be allowed to live, abortion is a great sin, and the Lord would be furious about it... Women that had been defiled by the devil are already irretrievable, we can at least save their souls and allow them go to heaven. Oooh, my poor daughter..."

Mrs. Lynch takes out a handkerchief, a few tears were squeezed out from the gully of her eye sockets.

You're indeed very young. You've fought with powerful demons for many years, and you know how to deal with the high-level monsters known to man. But you didn't know about the chores outside the battlefield that don't need to be handled by elites like you. Your father didn't tell you how to deal with the demons being born in front of a crowd. You never knew what and how many were burned on the torture stands in the past. When you first knew about it, the common sense shocked you.

Those women, you think in confusion, aren't they women who were violated by the devil and forced to conceive, aren't they innocent and unfortunate victims? Are they not our sisters? Shouldn't we help them and take care of them so that they'll never be again harmed by demons? The devil is wicked, the devil needs to be purified, but...?

"Was this the right move?" You mutter to yourself.

"That was a righteous act!" Mrs. Lynch exclaims, she wipes the tears from her face, the brilliance of faith shrouding her face, "We have ensure that no demons will dwell in our midst, we cannot let the bastards of hell harm us! There were some women who had gone completely mad, they hid the children of the devil. Oh father, those demons who pretends to be human are even more sinful! They pretend to be like us and walked among us, deceiving us and tricking others into giving birth to more of their kind. Dirty-blooded bastards, letting this pollution spread secretly in our world! Ah, is there anything more hateful than this? How many good followers must they defile before they're discovered!"

"So," You say, "They aren't humans?"

Mrs. Lynch shakes her head with a hatred in iron for not being steel⁴, her skinny claws holds your hand and pats it a few times. "Don't get into the horns anymore, good priest!" She says, "You're always so kind and soft hearted, but you have to distinguish who you're giving that kindness to⁵. A devil is a devil, no matter how thin the bloodline is, can tainted white paper be restored to its original state? Everyone at that time follows this truth, and everyone in this world knows it!"

"Everyone..." You repeat.

"It's a well known axiom!" Mrs. Lynch is firm, she shakes her head, "Oh my, Father Sire, you must've been immersed in the seminary before, right? How could you not know even this....."

Is that it?

You can't understand, you don't understand, but you don't need to understand or see through many things. You don't have to know why, as long as you follow the rules and common knowledge, everything will run smoothly without a hitch. This had always been the case, the Lord's kingdom is in black and white. Enoch, why question it? Your father looked at you reproachfully, your lips fluttered gently, repeating the iron law: No need to question, just follow.

You lack correct judgment, fortunately, this world is made up of rules. The Lord has distinguished right from wrong, so the mortal world doesn't need to worry about it. Neither the scripture nor your father had said anything on how to deal with 177's existence, but Mrs. Lynch has already told you. She told you how the world treats demons lurking besides you.

Just follow.

In that case, you'll never make a mistake, there'll be no blemishes, your life will be flawless, and your world will be as smooth as ever. You've wasted a sacred object on a half-blood demon, a big mistake, pity that it might be difficult to pay back. You can't squeeze much value out of it anymore, it's basically just a tattered residue, but in any case the matter had been resolved and everything is back on track.

But.

But......

His name is Lemuel, he was born in Southern County, his sister's name was Maria, and he has a friend named Fern. He should've had a nephew or niece, and he liked to smoke. You have no parents, you don't know where you were born, you have no siblings (no, those people aren't your siblings, you've never love each other, you don't even really know each other), you have no friends, you don't know what you want. If one of you wasn't a human, if one of you was an alien⁶, it wouldn't be him.

On your way back, the people who need to get up early for work were already up. They greet you, thinking that you're about to go out instead of in. You find that you've forgotten to lock the door, you run in a hurry. The bathroom door wasn't locked, if Lemeul attempts to commit suicide again, he'll really be dead.

You go into the bathroom, but there's no one's there. You stand there for a few seconds by the door, before turning around, and walking back to the living room. You stop by the sofa. The bedroom door was locked, the living room was not, Lemuel's curled up on the sofa while hugging a cushion.

You don't know what you wanted to see more when you crossed that door; a live Lemuel, or dead flesh and an empty room. But when you saw this person still breathing on the sofa, you find yourself relieved, you squat besides it and touch Lemuel's hand. His hand is very warm.

Your hands are cold, to be precise, you're covered in cold sweat. Your hands and feet are still cold, and so is your stomach. Lemuel is sleeping very deeply, you think about it and push him awake.

He opens his eyes, not moving much, maybe he's not awake or his head's still faint. You open the package, take out a cigarette, put it in his hand, and ignite it with a lighter. Lemuel looked at the cigarette for a long time, he adjusts his grip on the cigarette, and puts it in his mouth to take a sip. Ashy soot fell from the tip of the cigarette and onto the floor of the living room.

I need to buy an ashtray, you think.

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Notes:

1- The first question was one of individual identity, the second was of classification identity, its hard to explain but both translates to What is he? so I just changed that

2- 恶果 A Buddhist term, evil fruit. The bitter fruit from evil deeds; evil consequences (Baidu)

3- A lot was changed, but the meaning is still there

4- Being disappointed at someone for not meeting your expectations of them

5- Provided context

6- Same with 5

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PastTimer: Hello everyone, thanks for being so patient, this story will now be updating every Thurs, it's sharing Inherited Estate's update schedule so this will be deadlocked till the end. The change to second perspective and present tense was jarring, its been long since I've done this, so please be gentle. Thank you for waiting, I hope that you won't be disappointed, our journey is only just beginning so hold on tight! ❣️