Chapter 36

Draft

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[Author:]

Happy New Year! Next, I should be able to update diligently for a while, every day or every other day~>3<

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Lemuel will be fine, he must be hiding.

Lemuel spent the ten years on the battlefield well, he's a formidable veteran, well-trained and experienced. Lemuel's very cautious. You just told him not to come out. He's been living in your house for nearly a year, many believers and postmen have knocked on your door, and he's never made a mistake. Therefore, it must've been an accidental sound made by Lemuel, and even if it wasn't, he wouldn't have been found when the monk with a gun opened the door.

There isn't much to hide in the guest bedroom, you know that the Holy See's search team won't let go of the bed or the wardrobe, and the window has a fixed guardrail, not enough for a fully grown adult to get out. You have absolutely no idea where Lemuel could hide. But he'll be fine, you can't think of it but he can, he will. Lemuel is so amazing- this idea keeps going back and forth in your mind, you don't know if it's trust or wishful thinking.

The bedroom door isn't as tricky as the door, you watched the entire process of the door lock being disassembled in action. The yellow-robed monk is holding some kind of special appliance, and with a click, your bedroom door was pried open, like a clam that wasn't strong enough.

Don't be silly, You keep begging in your heart, hoping that Lemuel could hear it. Don't come out, hide, don't do anything stupid. You don't know what to do that'll be smart enough, but you know what to do at the worst times.

That happened just as the door opened.

You can't instantly see what's going on inside the door from where you are, you can only see the monk falling into the door, being pulled in. Then gunshots sounded. You hear a thump, you hear a landing, a slight sizzle, a familiar grunt. The latter two are very soft, but they are deafening to your ears.

The tallest monk withdrew from the bedroom and gestured to the other three with his left hand. "Enemy attack, demon", that's what it means. He stoops slightly, his face expressionless and his right hand hanging at an unnatural angle, apparently broken. He makes another gesture, seeking treatment, and the gutter-nosed monk steps forward to treat the expressionless wounded man, first dealing with the abdomen and then the arms.

After this is done, they'll deal with whatever "that" is in the room.

You can't see what's going on in the bedroom, you don't have to look to get an idea. From their hooded robes to their seemingly mundane wooden shoes, every place is tattooed with prayers of exorcism of the highest grade, using the most precious materials, far surpassing even the crusaders who have to fight demons head-on- The monks in yellow robes have a low status in the Holy See, no one cares about their names or lives. However, when they're responsible for welcoming the Son back, they became a kind of sacred symbol.

The Holy See has a clear division of labor, there are special people who deal with corpses, they just need to take you away. Now that they're still there, Lemuel must be alive, but the situation was definitely not good. Even if he's safe and sound, he wouldn't just sit by and watch the two monks at the door deal with their wounds. Do you really not know? Lemuel won't flee without a fight.

You hear whispers, coming from behind and in front of you, you just hear the first few syllables, but you can tell which verse the prayer came from, and how it'll work once it's done. They aren't as good at silent praying as you are, but the group of four is like a meat grinder made of four parts, and that new unfinished prayer isn't enough to resist. They don't ask why there's a half-blood demon in the room, and they don't intend to ask you for an explanation. The worker bees have no right to judge you, all they know is that the devil kills without mercy.

"Please stop." You take two steps forward, trying to keep your tone steady, "I've made an important discovery about it, the Sanctuary will handle it, you're not qualified to handle this."

They stop and look at you.

After taking a few steps forward, you could already see the inside of the toom. You is Lemuel struggling on the ground, as if being pressed down by an invisible weight, there's a big wound on his arm, but no blood oozing, it seems like he's being pressed by a soldering iron. You don't dare to look too carefully, you just look up at your brethren, sweat seeps through your undershirt but your face is calm, just like theirs.

We're the same, the people of God, You repeat in your heart, like someone who has strayed into the kingdom of the dead, praying that his skin is cold enough. We're the same, I have a purpose, I don't want to protect him, I didn't lie, I didn't deceive the shepherd of God for a half-blood demon, for my forbidden lover- You try to hypnotize yourself, as if that would convince you and everyone around you.

You know that the Holy See has a clear division of labor, each joint is independent and doesn't share information, so you can just make up a reason that sounds decent. There's a half a chance that they'll obey, but it's also very likely that they'll directly take Lemuel back with you, which may be worse than death for Lemuel. But now you can't think about this, your every nerve is screaming, your various thoughts and movements constantly collide, and there's only one thought above this mess: Lemuel has to live.

They look at you for a second, and the three turn to look at the man with the compass. The monk holding the compass hesitates for a moment and makes a gesture.

Your heart falls.

The search team that brought back the Son doesn't have the authority to know what the Son is going to do, nor did they need to cooperate with what the Son is doing. Their mission is just to take you back, plus, as all clergymen know, the devil kills without mercy.

This rigid dogma ends up with a rigid result, they're going to kill him.

The brief moment stretches long, and your head rumbles. Don't be like this, it's not true, it's so bad that you're praying in vain, begging for a turnaround. Lord, please help me! You say in your heart. Ninety-nine percent of your life, you've been an obedient and pious lamb. You obey the Lord's will. Didn't God let you leave and made you meet Lemuel? Why does God want to bring you back and take him away? You'll go back, you'll go to the Lord, you'll spend the rest of your life and eternity hereafter serving God, you'll no longer desire things that don't belong to you and shouldn't desire, but only Lemuel, Lemuel must live, even if you'll never see each other again. You know he loves the world more than heaven. If you're a domestic pigeon, he's a wild pigeon, and he cannot survive in a prison, no matter how magnificent the cage is. You can only pray, pray for God's mercy and grace... Otherwise what else could you do? Nothing. Lord, Lord, don't forsake me!

The prayer ring out, and there's no turning point now.

You finally look down at Lemuel, no matter whether you're noticed or not. Lemuel doesn't struggle anymore, he's looking at you.

You belong to them, you know what gestures mean. Lemuel didn't know them, but he knew you, and when he caught the momentary change in your expression, he knew his verdict. The prayer has already sounded, and it'll be completed soon. He'll be "purified". The burning pain would've covered Lemuel, but he just looks at you with extraordinary calmness. You see in it an expectation unlike the kind of expectation in which you for beg God's mercy, but some kind of desperate urge.

As if countless times before, he stops and waits, looking back at you.

So you understand that the accident isn't an accident, he made noise on purpose. Lemuel won't run away without a fight, let alone watch them take you away. Admit it, you know.

God is silent.

The reverse prayers that have been scrutinized and studied these days built up in your ming, and you comb them like a skilled weaver pulling at threads. There's no more distractions, only the places where the enemies are, the battlefield, and your weapons. You recite words of repulsion aloud, as firmly as you used to chant exorcism mantras. You have no idea if it'll work, and before waiting for the results, you dash back and knock down the monk with the compass.

He's the leader, the means of communication must be on him. He stretches out his hand to protect the compass, so you can put your hand in his pocket, smashing the flares, and shreding the dove that hasn't taken off yet. You've been gone for nearly six years, yet six years are just a blink of an eye for the ancient Holy See, the things you know haven't changed at all. You know how to dismantle those guards, just as they know how to dismantle your door.

The sturdy chain is missing a cornerstone, Lemuel breaks free as fast as lightning. Your continuous incantation resonates with the runes that have been inscribed on Lemuel some days ago, becoming his armor, his sword and shield against the divine. You hear sounds of fierce fighting behind you, the voices guarded by prayers of all kinds, but the sleeping streets won't know what is going on in the priest's house.

You aren't looking back, you are focused on the enemy in front of you. These monks aren't civilians, they are the Holy See's army, and they have no mercy when have need ofr none. Another monk in the back probably kicked a rib or two on you, but you held on tight, taking both of them on. You've received the best training. You entered the battlefield at the age of eight, and you've stayed there for twelve years; You're treated as the highest sacrifice, as jewelry that needs to be wrapped in layers of soft cloth, but many people forget that precious stones are often extremely hard.

The compass finally falls to the ground, a corner shatters and the smell of blood spreads. You can vaguely see something bright red inside, but it changes color as soon as it touches the air, giving off the smell of carrion. The monk with the compass is knocked unconscious by you with the corner of a table, and the other have been pulled into a fight with Lemuel earlier. You turned around and see Lemuel fighting with two monks, one is thrown around and hits the wall with a bloody head. When you turned, the man had gotten up and is shooting Lemuel. One shot misses, and the other shot grazes past Lemuel's shoulder, where a bloody flower spreads.

They want to hurt him, they want to kill him, right under your nose.

How dare they?

The red never left, it burned your eyes and made your vision scarlet. You repent, obey, plead for mercy, and you back off until there's no turning back. The bottomed spring finally fills again, and beyond panic and sadness, anger bursts forth from your bones, your blood is on fire.

You hit the shooter like a cannonball, knocking the man to the ground, his gun flew out, not too far. You grabb his neck, and out of the corner of your eye you see his hands still fumbling to reach for the gun. The table has been knocked over, and the things on it has been spilled all over the floor. The pen that's meant to be used to leave a letter for Lemuel lays quietly besides the gun, the cap is gone, and the nib glows with a sharp metal light.

No one should dream of hurting Lemuel in front of you, no one.

You pick up the pen, holding it high and thrusting down hard. After all, the nib of a pen isn't the same as tip of a knife, it's not enough to use it as a weapon, but if it's aimed at the eyes it would be another matter. You stab, pull it out, stab again, ruthlessly and accurately, and each strike hits the same spot. The monk finally screams, ink and blood crisscross on his face. Look, he's just flesh and blood.

The more he struggled, the harder you attacked. The monk's blood splashes on your robe and falls on your cheek. You hold up the pen like a believer of an evil god. But this has nothing to do with right or wrong. At this moment, all rules and faction, all right and wrong, life and death, have returned to the anger of chaos. What drives you is only anger, and the purest love and hate. The gun isn't far away, Lemuel can't move for a while, the monk is struggling, he's bigger and stronger than you, so you have to completely incapacitate him- so that he can no longer do any damage, so that he can no longer move, that's your only thought and purpose.

This went on for a long time.

Or maybe short, who knows? Time feels chaotic in your head, like gibberish, a noise, all you know is the constant chanting of prayers and swinging of the pen, without anything excess. You finally stop when someone grabs you and pulls you off the ground. "Okay!" He says, Lemuel says, "It's all right, he's dead."

You roll your eyes dully, realizing that the man had long since stopped moving. Your room falls silent again, and everyone is lying on the ground except you and Lemuel. Lemuel pulls your head back, holding your face and kissing you forcefully. On those gentle claws, the blood coating it hadn't yet cooled down.

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PastTimer: Made a mistake, three more chapters to go!