Sunday morning arrived, and Aivilo entered the grand church. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the polished floor. The scent of burning incense filled the air, mixing with the hushed whispers of the congregation.
At the front of the church, Father Paulus stood at the altar, leading the mass with solemn grace. His voice echoed through the vast chamber, reading the sacred scriptures, his hands lifted in reverence. The congregation followed along, bowing their heads in prayer.
Aivilo took a seat near the middle pews. As he settled in, he noticed the woman beside him. Her presence was unsettling. She clutched a book bound in black leather, the eerie symbol of Setanic etched onto its cover. The faint murmur of incantations escaped her lips as she traced her fingers over the pages.
Sensing his gaze, she turned to him, her piercing eyes locking onto his. "What are you looking at?" she asked, her voice smooth yet laced with malice.
Aivilo smirked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing much. Just another lost demon pretending to be human."
Her lips curled into a knowing smile before she returned to her book, whispering once more.
Aivilo shifted his focus forward, trying to ignore the unease settling in his chest. The mass continued, and as the moment for Holy Communion arrived, the congregation slowly rose from their seats, forming a line to receive the Eucharist.
Aivilo stood, but the woman beside him remained seated. She muttered faster now, her voice a twisted symphony of ancient tongues.
Aivilo walked forward, taking his place in the line. His heartbeat quickened as he neared the altar. Then, something strange happened.
As he looked down, he noticed the feet of those in front of him. Some were planted firmly on the ground, standing as they should. But others… others hovered just slightly above the floor. Their toes barely grazed the marble, their bodies motionless but unnaturally elevated.
Aivilo swallowed hard. Those aren't people.
He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. He couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. Not here. Not now.
Step by step, he moved forward, feeling the weight of unseen eyes pressing against him. The air grew colder. The closer he got to the altar, the heavier his body felt, as if something unseen was wrapping around him, trying to hold him back.
Then, just as he was about to receive the host, he felt it.
A breath—hot and rancid—right behind his ear.
A voice, deep and guttural, whispered, "Your first time, isn't it?"
Aivilo froze. The priest stood before him, holding the consecrated host, waiting for him to receive it. His hands trembled slightly. He could feel the presence behind him—so close, so real.
His mind screamed at him to move, to act, but his body hesitated. Should he take it? Would he even be able to swallow it?
The whisper came again, more insistent this time. "Go on… take it. Let's see what happens."
The woman in the pews was still chanting. The floating figures remained motionless. The priest, oblivious to it all, gently spoke, "The body of Christ."
Aivilo clenched his fists. He had come here seeking answers. Perhaps this was one of them. His moment of decision had arrived.
Slowly, he opened his mouth to receive the Eucharist, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
And then—
The moment the host touched his tongue, the church shook.
A deafening, unearthly scream erupted from behind him, reverberating through the chamber. The floating figures convulsed violently before vanishing into thin air. The candles on the altar flickered and went out, casting the church into an eerie dimness.
Aivilo staggered, his entire body feeling as if it had been struck by lightning. His vision blurred, and in that split second, he saw them—shadows writhing along the walls, clawing at the edges of reality, their twisted forms recoiling as if burned.
The woman with the Setanic Bible hissed, slamming her book shut. Her face contorted with anger, her eyes flashing red for just a moment before she bolted from her seat and stormed out of the church.
The priest, unaware of what had truly transpired, continued with the sacrament, blessing the next person in line.
Aivilo swallowed hard, stepping aside, his mind racing. What just happened?
The whisper was gone. The weight on his body had lifted. And yet, something deep inside told him—
This was only the beginning.
After receiving the host, Aivilo walked slowly back to his seat. He refused to look back, even though he could feel a cold gaze following his every step. His breath was slightly restrained, but he tried to stay calm and keep his eyes straight ahead.
As he sat down, Aivilo noticed something strange—the number of people in the church felt far fewer than when he first entered. Earlier, the church had been full of worshippers attending the service, but now only a few remained who seemed real.
His heart pounded.
One by one, he tried to recognize the faces around him. None of them were familiar. Worse, some faces looked… unnatural. Their skin was pale, too symmetrical, and their eyes were vacant, unblinking.
The woman who had been sitting beside him had disappeared. There was no trace of her leaving.
Aivilo felt a chill creeping down his spine. Something was wrong.
The mass finally ended. Father Paul stood at the altar, giving the final blessing before the congregation slowly left the church. Aivilo waited until most people were gone, ensuring he wasn't alone before approaching Father Paul.
When Father Paul saw him, it was as if he had been expecting him. With a calm yet piercing expression, he gave a slight nod.
"You're Aivilo, Benedictus' younger brother, aren't you?" he asked in a deep, steady voice.
Aivilo was slightly taken aback. He didn't recall introducing himself.
"How do you know that?" he asked, suspicious.
Father Paul observed him for a moment before replying, "Benedictus has spoken about you… and I can sense something within you."
Aivilo frowned. "Sense something? What do you mean?"
Father Paul gave a faint smile before his tone grew more serious. "There are things that cannot be explained by logic. You experienced something during the mass, didn't you?"
Aivilo tensed. He didn't answer immediately, but Father Paul seemed to already know the truth.
"Come with me," Father Paul said, turning toward a room behind the altar.
Aivilo hesitated for a moment, but his instincts told him to follow. Something inside him whispered that this was only the beginning of something far greater…
Aivilo followed Pastor Paulus through a narrow corridor behind the altar. The atmosphere there felt quieter than the main part of the church. The dim yellow light flickered on the old stone walls, casting moving shadows as they walked.
Pastor Paulus opened a heavy wooden door and gestured for Aivilo to enter. The room looked like a private prayer chamber, with a large crucifix hanging on the wall and a few wooden chairs arranged in the center. A faint scent of incense lingered in the air.
"Sit down," Pastor Paulus said in a low voice.
Aivilo obeyed, though he felt a bit uneasy. There was something in the priest's eyes—a look of understanding, as if he had known for a long time something Aivilo himself had yet to realize.
"What happened during the mass?" Pastor Paulus asked.
Aivilo took a deep breath and began recounting everything—about the woman beside him holding the Satanic Bible, about the people who suddenly disappeared, and about the voice whispering behind him as he received the host.
Pastor Paulus listened carefully, not showing a hint of doubt. When Aivilo finished, the priest was silent for a moment before saying, "You've started to see them."
Aivilo frowned. "See them? What do you mean?"
Pastor Paulus looked at him intently. "What you saw earlier were not humans. Some of them were demons in disguise. They can enter the church, but they cannot receive the holy host. That's why some of them floated, while others remained seated when the rest stood. You noticed the difference, didn't you?"
Aivilo shuddered. He still didn't fully understand the situation, but he knew that ever since his ex's death, strange things had been happening around him.
"What does this mean?" he asked, his voice unsteady.
Pastor Paulus gave a faint smile, but there was a serious tone in his voice. "It means you have a role in this war, Aivilo."
Aivilo tensed. "What war?"
Pastor Paulus stared deep into his eyes before saying, "The war between light and darkness. And you… you may be destined to fight it."
Aivilo fell silent, his heart pounding. He had never imagined himself being involved in something this big.
"What should I do?" he finally asked.
Pastor Paulus took a deep breath before answering, "First, you must believe. Believe that this is real. Believe that you are not just an ordinary young man. And believe that God has chosen you for something greater."
Aivilo swallowed hard. He wasn't sure if he was ready for any of this. But deep down, he knew there was no turning back.
Aivilo drove home, his fingers tightly gripping the rosary given to him by Pastor Paulus. The small wooden beads felt warm in his palm, as if carrying a strange energy. He kept glancing at it, his mind heavy with unanswered questions.
Upon arriving at his apartment complex, Aivilo parked his car and made his way inside. He entered the elevator, pressing the button for his floor. Just before the doors closed, a young man slipped in.
Aivilo noticed his unease immediately. The man shifted from foot to foot, his fingers twitching slightly. His face was pale, and sweat glistened on his forehead despite the cool air inside the elevator.
Aivilo observed him carefully, his instincts warning him that something was off. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, his eyes landed on the man's forehead. His breath caught in his throat.
A crimson cross had appeared on the man's skin, the blood seeping downward, tracing a thin, trembling path down his nose before dripping onto the elevator floor.
Aivilo's pulse quickened. He had seen strange things before, but this was different. This was happening right in front of him, with no warning, no whispers in the air—just cold, raw reality.
"What's your name?" Aivilo asked, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.
The young man turned his gaze towards Aivilo, his expression blank yet filled with an unsettling sorrow. "Bryan Wishton."
Aivilo hesitated for a moment before asking, "Who do you live with?"
Bryan's lips barely moved as he whispered, "Alone. I'm still in college."
Aivilo felt something tighten in his chest. He had the urge to ask more, to dig deeper into whatever darkness was wrapped around this stranger. Instead, he simply said, "I will pray for you."
The words left his mouth before he even thought about them. Bryan did not react. He only nodded slightly, his eyes flickering to the rosary in Aivilo's hand for a split second.
The elevator chimed softly. The doors slid open, and without another word, Aivilo stepped out. He could feel Bryan's gaze lingering on him, but he didn't turn back.
He walked down the hallway, unlocking his door and stepping inside his apartment. The moment he entered, an exhaustion he hadn't realized he was carrying pressed down on him. Without bothering to change, he fell onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The room was silent, but the images from the elevator replayed in his mind. The bleeding cross. Bryan's vacant expression. The whisper of a deeper, unseen force at work.
Aivilo exhaled sharply and closed his eyes. Sleep would not come easily tonight.
At Night Aivilo woke up to the sound of ambulance sirens wailing in the distance. Feeling uneasy, he glanced out the window and saw a crowd gathering below. Several police cars were parked with their red and blue lights flashing, casting an eerie glow over the silent night.
Unable to ignore his curiosity, Aivilo quickly went downstairs and approached one of the police officers who seemed busy talking to his colleague. With a concerned tone, he asked, "What happened?"
The officer turned to him and replied seriously, "A young man was found dead in a tragic way. He committed suicide."
Aivilo was shocked by the news, but his shock deepened when the officer continued, "This person was actually a fugitive we had been searching for. He was involved in a murder case at his campus. Based on our investigation, he was bullied by a group of students, and in a state of distress, he ended up killing one of his bullies."
Aivilo fell silent, feeling a heavy weight in his heart. He tried to recall something.
Flashback A few hours earlier, Bryan Wishton had rushed into his apartment room. His face was pale with fear, his hands trembling as he hurriedly stuffed clothes into a bag. He was planning to run away, to leave behind all the chaos haunting him.
But as he tried to think clearly, terrifying visions began to flood his mind. Whispering voices echoed in his ears, taunting him relentlessly, reminding him of his sins and mistakes.
Cold sweat drenched his body. His breathing became erratic, his eyes wide with fear. The whispers grew louder, as if something was speaking directly into his soul.
Bryan took shaky steps backward, his balance unsteady. Panic paralyzed him until he suddenly found himself standing at the edge of his apartment window on the upper floor.
"Stop... please..." his voice trembled, his hands reaching out to grab something for stability. But the whispers only grew stronger, reverberating in his mind like an inescapable curse.
In his desperation, his foot slipped.
"NO!"
Bryan fell backward. In an instant, his body plummeted through the cold night air. His face was frozen in terror before—
Thud!
His body crashed hard against the ground. His life was gone.
Back to Aivilo Aivilo swallowed hard. He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling his encounter with Bryan in the elevator earlier. "I will pray for you," he had said.
But now, Bryan was gone.
Aivilo clutched the rosary given to him by Pastor Paulus tightly, questioning in his heart—was this just a coincidence, or was there something far greater at play behind all of this?