Before reading, I would like to explain how to interpret the text correctly:
"Text" — character's dialogue.
"Text„ — character's thoughts.
Thank you for your attention and enjoy reading!
Drip… Drip… Drip… Drip… — drops slowly streamed down the roofs of old London houses and, falling down, shattered against the granite stones of the pavement.
Thick green-yellow fog enveloped the city, leaving only faint visibility. The cutting smell of waste and horses seeped into the nose.
On the almost empty streets, drowned in the darkness of night, a figure appeared, breaking through the dim light of gas lamps.
His steps were confident. His hands rested calmly in the pockets of a black jacket. Suddenly, he stopped near a small medicine stall. Slightly raising his head, two different-colored eyes gleamed under the fedora: the left — green, the right — light blue.
He reached out to the door handle and tried it — surprisingly, it was open, though at such an hour it should have been locked.
"Strange… It's too late for visitors„ — thought the stranger and slowly opened the creaking door.
"Mister Virgil, you came a bit earlier than we agreed. He-he…" — came an old man's voice from behind the counter.
He was standing with his back to the door, so he didn't notice the visitor right away. But upon feeling the foreign energy, he suddenly turned around.
"You're not Mister Virgil… What did you do to him? Who are you?!" — he said, bracing his hands against the table.
"Your voice is trembling, vile spawn of Hell," — replied the stranger, lifting his head and meeting the old man's gaze.
For a moment, everything stopped. Even the wall clock, swinging side to side, froze.
The old man whispered:
"Those eyes… Could it be…"
And instantly rushed to the hatch beneath him.
The stranger darted after him so fast that all the candles in the stall went out in an instant.
A second later, he landed in a long stone corridor illuminated by lonely torches. Ahead, the old man was crawling on all fours.
"So, you've shown your true nature… I wonder what you really are, old man?„ — flashed through his mind.
Slightly bending forward, the stranger activated his power: his legs burst into scarlet-red flames. One step forward — and a lightning-fast dash, leaving behind clusters of fire and crimson sparks.
"No… No… It's definitely him… The Wandering Exorcist… He's Death… The Son of Hell…„ — panicked thoughts rushed through the old man's mind.
Suddenly, he felt someone's touch on his back. A moment later, the ground vanished beneath his feet. They flew through the corridor until they crashed into the wall.
BANG!
Brushing dust and debris off his head, the old man coughed. Black, magma-like blood poured from his mouth.
He raised his gaze: around him was a vast pit where all the waste from the streets of London flowed.
"Where are you?.. I had nothing to do with it!.. THEY FORCED ME! I'M HUMAN!" — he screamed.
"Really? Look at yourself. You can't even hold your fake form. Arrogant old liar," — said the stranger.
The old man stared into the darkness in panic and suddenly noticed his reflection in a puddle of water. His face was distorted, glasses had grown into the rotting skin. His hair was tangled into clumps, most of it long fallen out. Bald spots covered his head. Most of his teeth had turned into crooked fangs pointing in all directions.
He wanted to say something…
And at that very moment, a heavy boot smashed into his face.
"How many have you killed? Who do you and your Virgil serve?! Where is your hideout?!" — the stranger kept throwing questions, accompanying them with heavy blows. He hit until he heard a wheeze.
"Go to hell… exorcist… Soon… we'll meet… in hell… Lucien Graves…"
"I see. You've made your choice.
And finally… your stall smells awful. You should've cleaned it more often," — those were the last words the old man heard before death.
6:21
Piiiiiiiiii! Piiiiiiiiii!
I covered my ears with a pillow, trying not to hear that damn bird's annoying screech.
"Shut up! Shut up already! I'm getting up." — said Lucien, angrily rising from bed.
Half-asleep, he walked to a small table at the edge of the room, next to a blue-golden bird sitting in a cage and screeching.
On the table lay food in a green package. Lucien took it in his hand, poured half a handful, and tossed it inside the cage, saying:
"Here, eat!"
"Thaaank youuu…" — stretched the bird.
Lucien suddenly jumped up.
"Still can't get used to you talking."
"Alright, I need to make something to eat, since yesterday didn't go so well,„ — he thought.
Walking a bit further, he reached a massive oak door with thin iron-forged lines curved in all directions.
Beyond it — a small corridor leading to the kitchen and bathroom. Though the apartment was small, it was cozy.
Washing his face, Lucien looked at his hands and recalled yesterday's fight with that old man.
"Damn, I still couldn't find out who they serve. None of the previous ones answered my questions either. I must find those three!„ — Lucien thought, clenching his fists.
Walking down the corridor, he noticed gloves lying on the floor beside a chair, on which his neatly folded jacket, trousers, and fedora rested.
He smacked his forehead and whispered quietly:
"I completely forgot to wash my gloves."
After all the morning routines, Lucien finally reached the kitchen. Approaching a two-meter refrigerator of violet-red color with white fangs protruding as handles, he reached out and released a bit of hellish energy. The door clicked softly. Lucien smiled and opened it — inside was empty.
His cheerful expression quickly turned gloomy.
"Oh come on, unlucky again… What a damn awful day," — mumbled Lucien, heading to the corridor for his clothes.
He threw on his jacket, put on his trousers, and then his polished black shoes. Leaving the house, Lucien locked the door and slipped the key into his pocket.
"May as well drop by Ellie's,„ — he thought and walked down the same road as yesterday.
The weather was gloomy. From the sky, covered in dense gray clouds, fell a light rain. In Lucien's eyes reflected the ever-hurrying people.
After some time, he found himself near that same old man's stall. Coming closer to the door, he quickly shifted his gaze from the sidewalk to the shop. Inside stood a couple of people: a woman with short yellow hair, beside her a crying boy.
"Nooo! Grandpa! Where's my grandpa George?! Did he leave me?!"
In the middle, ahead of them, stood a tall man dressed entirely in black. His light gray hair hung loosely, pale skin and a golden monocle on his right eye immediately caught Lucien's attention.
"Don't cry, kid. Your grandpa will be back soon, trust me." — though he spoke to the boy, his red, cold eyes were fixed on the stranger passing by.
For a moment, their gazes met — and the stranger vanished behind the wall of the stall.
"Wait… He's not like other demons. Maybe he's one of those I've been searching for all these years,„ — thought Lucien. Quickly turning around, he rushed to the entrance.
But inside was empty. That pale man had disappeared. Only the woman and the little boy remained, now standing behind the counter.
"How can we help you, sir?" — she asked.
"Sorry, wrong door," — replied Lucien.
Leaving the stall, he continued on his way.
"That was definitely one of them… He vanished in seconds. Even suppressed his energy so well that only a handful of exorcists could sense it. Few are capable of that. And he even managed to use hypnosis on those people,„ — thoughts poured through Lucien's mind.
❗️Thank you for reading the chapter. I'll be glad for every comment and will gladly answer your questions. You can learn more on the Discord server. I'm really looking forward to seeing each of you there.❗️