Chapter 32

Draft

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There are always warning signs before a disaster, but it's often difficult for those immersed to realize it.

The urgent news of the Liberation Front attacking the Holy See broke the calmness of the night. The next day, His Majesty the Pope appeared on TV to pray for blessings. The Holy See and the heads of various countries condemned the cult. Everyone in the interview seemed to have the same hatred. The news buzzed in the town for a few days, but soon, like other distant news reports, it became an occasional topic for dinner.

The Liberation Front, which had been denounced as a cult, wasn't young. Several banned or exterminated political parties, illegal assemblies, civil organizations and heretical sects have gradually merged over the decades to become this large but loose multinational organization. It has grown stronger and stronger under the pressure and suppression of the Holy See and local government forces. It hasn't yet been able to confront the Holy See, but it has never stopped various secret activities. As a priest, you've never heard the preaching of the Liberation Front, but you still hear their names from time to time in various news reports.

People who care more about life than you are naturally more used to it.

It's not an earth-shattering event. The liberation front has long been struggling with the Holy See, and it didn't start today. Didn't it attack the Western Holy See before? They were always thunderous and rainy days, and this attack, although successful, only knocked down a few houses - ah, of course, the damage to the Sanctuary is unforgivable! But His Majesty the Pope is safe and sound, so believers don't need to panic, the casualties have been controlled, and the attackers were killed on the spot, so there's no need to worry too much. The people in your small town commented on the incident, and then went back to their own lives soon after, the audience is often forgetful.

Strangely, the media also seemed to have gotten amnesia this time around. The scale of the explosion in the centre of the Holy See was so large that people on the other side of the city could see the glow from the fire. But when the living Pope appeared with the Holy See's public statement, the media either kept silent or unified their calibre, all saying that the explosion isn't as serious as it seemed and that only empty buildings were attacked. Then, the conversation quickly turned to the miracle of "a lamb born with an angel" from somewhere. The media burst into enthusiasm with it, and the attack was rarely mentioned again.

It seemed that it was the end of the matter.

You're not sure.

You remember that every attack on the Holy See would eventually ferment into a world event. When it comes to dealing with heresies, the Holy See definitely doesn't have the tolerance to present their right cheek after being slapped on the left¹. The louder the opposition over the years, the tougher their wrists will be, and all the casualties will be maximized. You know that the Cathedral isn't just an aesthetically pleasing shell, a considerable number of troops are stationed there to protect His Majesty the Pope. The explosion was so huge that it couldn't be concealed, you don't believe that no one was injured.

The Holy See has been uncharacteristically calm, trying its best to show that business is as usual.

On the same day, some media said that the Abbey of Radiance Monastery in the outer suburbs of the Western Holy See was also attacked, but the next day it was said that it was just false rumours.

The Abbey of Radiance, an insignificant little place, a retirement home for an old clergyman—that's what it is for the outside. To you, it's called the Chapel.

It's hard to say what solid evidence you've found, scattered bits of information flicker in the corner of your vision, but most of them can actually be found a normal explanation. Your unease might come from intuition, or it may just be unfounded. The Pope is safe and sound, the Holy See is calm, and you're in a border town far away from the eye of the storm. This is none of your business, isn't it?

Lemuel doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary. He watches the TV report and sneers when the Holy See's spokesman appeared. After knowing of your past, his disgust with the Holy See suddenly became obvious, but also because of you, he still doesn't directly express his thoughts on the Holy See and religion. Lemuel just rolls his eyes, sneering, sighing, and pouting. You only need to look at his expression to know that he's happy to see the Holy See being unlucky.

You told him that the existence of the Holy See and the continuation of the Holy Son is what had resisted the invasion of the devil, and even if there's sacrifice, it still represents goodness and justice. Lemuel said that good and evil aren't two boxes that either have to be just one or the other and that you can't throw people from all over the world into just two categories.

"People can't be divided like this." He sighs, "Do you think I'm a good person?"

You nod without hesitation.

"I've gone to good places, I've saved a lot of people and killed a lot of pests." Lemuel scratches his nose, like boasting makes him a little uncomfortable, "But I've also stolen and robbed, I've beaten someone for money. For people who have no grievances and no enmity with me, and the dead that didn't deserve to die, I'm a bastard and a villain. Even if I save ten people, I'll still be wrong if I've killed ten innocent people. Do you understand?"

"But you're still fine," You say. "You're especially nice."

"Stop the sweet talk and your holy puppy eyes, else I'll kiss you!" Lemuel warns, "I mean, yes, even if the Holy See is as pure as a lamb to everyone else- it's not by the way- it treated children like that and you... Then it still sucks, it sucks for me, it doesn't matter who they like or who they are good or bad to... oh fuck it."

He eventually loses under your watch, throwing away the stumbling elaboration, and starts kissing you in resignation. You're huddled on the sofa, nose to nose, like a playful pair of squirrels.

As always, the unease leaves while you snuggle and returns when you calm down again.

You never stopped researching prayers, you only stayed for the minimum hours in church, ditching your schedule completely, you devoted all the time you could to experiment. You've run out of thick stacks of manuscript paper in a few weeks, and after each stage, you burn off the previous manuscript paper. Lemuel has a lot to say about your sleeplessness, but considering that you've stopped going to the confessional, he doesn't bother you with your obsession with work.

"You're a workaholic, aren't you?" He says, "I'm not in a hurry. It doesn't matter if I'm stuck in this house for another year or two, it's just a vacation..."

Lemuel knew what you were doing, you promised to give him back the sun. He doesn't understand prayers but he trusts you, so he easily believes that, given the right way, a holy prayer can make a half-blood demon live amongst humans.

You remodelled the prayers in the bedroom so that Lemuel could sleep there; you carved runes all over the garden so that Lemuel could move freely in it. But what you're trying to do is much more difficult than before, if what you did was previously like building bridges over lava, now you're trying to make clothes entirely out of lava. You can't rebuild all the places Lemuel wants to go, and the power of prayer, which should only produce a negative effect on demons, could only be applied directly to him. You're trying to bless a half-blood demon with the blessing of God so that he could walk under the sun, in the scrutiny of others, and even under the holy light.

Any clergyman would think that you've gone mad, it's enough already enough to get you burned alive, they'll step over your ashes to warn those who come after you. You don't have time to think about this, you're too busy, and neither the consequences, the sins, nor Lemuel himself, can distract you for the time being.

"Don't worry, really." Sometimes Lemuel will complain, "It's fine to stay at home, as long as you don't come back and immediately hole inside the study... Tsk, you make me sound like a housewife with an emotional crisis."

You're sorry about that, when you have to concentrate on work, when Lemuel is close at hand, when he waits boredly, and when he suffers from the experiment, you feel the same pain. But you can't stop, you love him, he makes you happy, and it makes you chase after that sense of catastrophe. No, Lemuel shouldn't be to blame, it's entirely your problem. The poor aren't afraid of thieves, but the rich are unavoidably worried and uneasy.

You can't stop, and a prayer of reform is the only way out of your anxiety. You're like a young seagull, puffing up at the smell of a storm, not knowing when and where the storm will come. You don't even know if it'll come.

As Thanksgiving approached, you've finally completed the rudiments of a new type of prayer.

You've managed to minimize the negative effects of the prayer on Lemuel, and despite only being able to last a few minutes and having many limitations, your invention really made him look human. This transformative evil invention, and the short time it consumes, is enough for it to go down in history. However, among you who saw its birth with your own eyes, one thought it was alright, while the other was exhausted and didn't even show much joy.

It's not over yet, it's a new beginning. How to turn minutes into hours, days or even longer? How can a vague camouflage that needs to be veiled work in any situation, even when exposed to powerful divine prayers? You have a little idea, and you need a lot of time for verification. As you burned through all the manuscripts, you scribble at your desk, jotting down some key points.

You worry that you'll have an accident and that your research will be interrupted, so you write these things down. You're worried that someone would suddenly come to your house and find the notes, so you use a bunch of army codes that Lemuel taught you. You're also worried that Lemuel will test your hypotheses on his own on a whim, so you force him into a basic prayer class. And while he's complaining that you must've been a "terrible guy who stays up late on the first day of vacation to finish all his homework," what else could you do? Countless bad possibilities alternate in your head, and you're all but powerless in front of them. You're exhausted and excited, like a drowsy insomniac.

"You might as well worry about a meteorite landing here and wiping out all of humanity!" Lemuel laments, he throws the pen and climbs under the table.

Of course, he didn't go to pick up the pen.

You fall asleep or pass out soon after ejaculating, the strings on your mind and body have become taut for too long. The next morning's alarm doesn't wake you up, but Lemuel pushes you to wake you. "No intention to disturb, Father." He pokes at you, who's having sleepy eyes again, and smiles, "Today's Thanksgiving, if you don't leave, someone will soon be knocking on the door."

Before you know it, it's already Thanksgiving and you're in a hurry. You wash up and leave, it's too late to have breakfast so you bring a sandwich made by Lemuel. The sun is shining and the wind is warm today, the radio station is broadcasting news of the Pope meeting with the Son-only at this time did you realize that today is the anniversary.

The fiftieth year of His Majesty's reign, the fiftieth year of the Holy Son situation. Half a century ago today, when the current Pope ascended the throne, the Holy Son no longer lived with the people. What a memorable day. You remember that ten years ago, you heard about the arrangement of the fiftieth anniversary on the battlefield with your brothers and sisters.

You were able to live till ten years later, the days that used to be quite distant have become old calendars that could be torn off at will. You've stayed until the fiftieth anniversary, but your heart is peaceful. You're neither sad nor happy to hear the news of the Sons returning to the Holy See to meet the Pope. In fact, you almost forgot about it.

This makes you happy for some reason. You can forget them, which seems to mean that they can forget you. His Majesty the Pope, the Son Isaac, Son so-and-so, it all sounds like someone else's story. Believers are decorating the church, and some volunteers are handing out flyers. The choir of the town is having one last rehearsal before the celebration. There are no professionals here, and the chorus would always be a little out of tune. It's not a big deal. There's a smell, it might've been turkey, it might've been roasted meat. You work absentmindedly, thinking of Lemuel's oily lips.

It's been a busy and fulfilling day, and the end time is quite early, after all, most people want to go back and reunite with their families. You go home with turkey given by a believer, Lemuel made a pumpkin pie, and you don't touch your notes for the day. You have a lot to say to Lemuel, about the invisible giant chasing behind you, and your feelings, but you don't know where to start. Maybe one day, you can tell him clearly and plainly.

"What's wrong?" Lemuel notices your gaze and asks.

"I love you." You say.

"Ah?" He was caught off guard by the food, coughing so his face flushed red, it took him a long time to recover. He says "Me too," vaguely, still coughing meekly, so sleek that you don't even notice if he blushed or not.

The footsteps of the giant beast behind stopped, and it seemed to stop chasing you.

On that same day, the meeting place of the Pope and the Sons was attacked. It was reported that the Pope and the Sons were "blessed by the Lord and safe and sound", but the other casualties were unknown.

Till the end of the month, the Holy See relentlessly insisted that the Holy Sons had been watched over by the Lord but kept the exact numbers secret.

In mid-December, His Majesty the Pope, who hadn't shown up for half a month, fell ill. The spokesperson doesn't give a clear answer to the question of "whether His Majesty the Pope can attend Christmas Mass as scheduled".

The Clergymen's Channel began broadcasting the same hymn around the clock, calling on the faithful to pray for His Majesty the Pope. Plaza radios in every town also began to loop the tune, it could be heard from the centre of the town to the outskirts of the city. That hymn was very uncommon, many people were hearing it for the first time, and many more wondered why such a cold tune is being played, yet for you, it's all too familiar.

At the end of a Son's free time, at the beginning of meals, before morning and evening prayers, before naps and bedtime, after every battle... from birth, this had been your calling bell. When this bell rings, every time Son knows there is a need to go back.

You haven't heard this tune in years, and when you heard it again, like before, your mind goes blank. By the time you come back to your senses, it's getting late, and it's been at least a few hours since you walked home from work. You find yourself standing in the middle of nowhere, moving your legs awkwardly in one direction.

You see a road sign dozens of meters away, you're heading towards the West Holy See. Yes, you have to go back. Your legs are too slow, you should hitch a ride. You find transportation, just in time for the last train. You take a step, stop, and kneel.

The staff panics and asks if you're okay, you told him you're fine, maybe your blood sugar level was just too low. He asks where you're going, your stomach twitches, your tongue's glued to the roof of your mouth, and you reach out tremblingly, pointing in the opposite direction.

You get in the car and go back to town.

The beast's footsteps stopped because it was close enough to put its front feet on your shoulders. You hear heavy breathing close at hand, and it took a long time to realize that it was your own.

You aren't stupid, by now you more or less understand what's going on. The previous attack on the Liberation Front probably blew up the Chapel and the Ossuary whose location you never knew. Then, they must've killed out the Sons of God who came back on the anniversary and seriously injured the Pope. The details might vary, and there are certainly many things you don't know, but you don't need to know.

In short: His Majesty the Pope is dying, and he needs the Holy Son- the Relic.

You need to go back.

The Pope has nothing to lose, you are the Son, probably the last one remaining right now. The prayer's prototype has been completed, and you're fully prepared for accidents. Isn't this fate? The bell rings, free time is over and you should go back. Go back for this is your destiny, this is your mission, and you were born for it. Go back, go back, go back. You just...you...

You open the door, the lights are still on, and Lemuel is asleep. You stand there, you suddenly didn't know what to do. Why are you running back and forth? Your ears ring badly, and the song is still playing. Go back, go back- go- yes, you have to let Lemuel know you're leaving, or he'll wait for you. You have to explain what you've prepared for him, that you're prepared.

Lemuel is in the bedroom, separated by a door. You approach but stop at the door. The thought of saying goodbye to Lemuel somehow makes your heart clench just thinking about it.

You decide to-

A. Say goodbye to Lemuel

B. Leave a letter for Lemuel

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Notes:

1- Being forgiving or lenient

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PastTimer: 5 more chapters to go!