Chapter 1: Shadows Over Innocence,
Brother Marcus stepped off the dusty road and into the silent dusk of Monteverde, the little village lay folded between hills, its ancient stone church the only building still tall against the darkening sky.
He had come at dawn's urgent summons—an urgent voice in prayer, telling him a boy was lost to the shadows that no simple blessing could chase away.
Inside the dim house, a tremor ran through Marcus's bones, Candles guttered in the hearth; the air smelled of old wood and sorrow, On the narrow cot, eight‑year‑old Samuel lay motionless, his small chest rising and falling too fast. His wide eyes stared at the ceiling, but Marcus sensed they did not see the room. They saw something older. Something evil.
"Father…" whispered the boy's mother, crossing herself. Her veil trembled. "He speaks nothing but strange words. He knows things… things no child should know."
Marcus knelt. He laid his hand on Samuel's forehead and whispered the Sign of the Cross. In the Rituale Romanum, the Church's official exorcism manual, that simple gesture is the first shield against the Evil One—but today it shuddered in his hand, as if recoiling from an unseen flame.
A rasping voice answered in Samuel's throat: "Marcus… you cannot help him." The voice was old—older than the hills—and full of scorn. Samuel's body arched as if pulled by iron cords. The mother screamed. The father rushed forward, but Marcus raised his hand.
"Stand back," he said. He drew from his robes a small silver crucifix, blessed at the tomb of Saint Peter. He held it before the boy's face. In the Ritual, holy water and the crucifix are essential to rebuke demons. Marcus spoke the opening invocation: "In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I command you, unclean spirit, to reveal your name!" His voice echoed against the stone.
Silence. Then low laughter—hollow, mocking. Samuel's head turned, eyes rolling back. "You know my name," the demon hissed. "I am Methusi, ancient and unbound."
Marcus's heart pounded. The name Methusi had no place in any exorcism rite. It echoed of legends—of prophets who trafficked with darkness. He pressed the crucifix harder toward the boy.
"By the blood of Christ," he intoned, "and by the intercession of all the saints, begone!"
Samuel convulsed. The mother cried out, "Father Marcus!"
But the demon only laughed again—and with a sudden force threw Marcus backward. He struck the wall and tumbled, breath knocked out of him. The crucifix flew from his hand.
Marcus lay dazed. When he lifted his head, the room had changed. The candles burned with blue tongues. The shadows on the walls writhed like living things. Samuel sat up, calm now, as if waking from sleep—but his face was not the child's. The demon's grin split his lips.
"Monteverde will fall," it whispered through Samuel. "And you… you will join him."
Then the door burst open. Miriam, Samuel's elder sister, had returned from the market. Her basket lay spilled on the floor. She froze, horror in her eyes, at the sight of her brother's pale face and the broken form of the priest.
"Miriam," Marcus gasped, struggling up, "go… find aid."
But before she could move, Samuel turned his head. His eyes—black as stones—looked at her. "You brought him," the demon said. "Now he will stay."
Miriam screamed and fled. Marcus staggered after her, but as he crossed the threshold, the world blurred. He fell into a trance—half dream, half vision. He saw three figures in a torchlit hall: Father Zion, Monsignor Kigali, Father Jethro. They stood around a stone altar stained with fresh blood. Zion knelt, pleading; the others raised knives.
"No, brother!" Zion cried. "This path leads only to ruin."
But Kigali held Zion's arm, and Jethro drove the blade home. Zion's blood pooled on the altar. The air cracked open above them—a dark mouth roaring. Something ancient slipped through.
Marcus awoke with a start on the church steps. The moon was high. The bells tolled once, a hollow sound. Inside, the shattered crucifix lay in dust.
He rose, trembling. The boy's cry still echoed in his mind. The Vision had shown him the truth: Monteverde's curse began centuries ago, when prophets betrayed their calling and opened a portal for Methusi. And now the demon had returned.
Marcus pressed his hand to his chest. The Ritual says an exorcist must prepare his soul as well as his prayers. But his faith wavered. He was only one man against an evil older than the Church itself.
He looked back at the church door, Samuel's faint cries called from within. Marcus squared his shoulders. He would return. He would fight. For the boy. For Zion's betrayed legacy. For the soul of Monteverde.
And he would need every prayer the Church could muster.