Twenty-five years ago, Chiclayo woke up every morning wrapped in a dry, relentless heat. Church bells competed with the noise of mototaxis and the constant murmur of the city. In the midst of that rhythm lived Sumaq Atilano Bonilla Rojas, a twenty-seven-year-old Catholic priest.
The church where he celebrated Mass was ancient, with thick walls and wooden pews worn smooth by generations of faithful. Incense always floated in the air, mixed with the smell of melted wax and old dust. Sumaq spoke with a calm voice, without flamboyance, without theatrical gestures. He did not need to raise his tone: his conviction was enough.
—The Bible does not say that we must worship her —he explained calmly—. The path is Jesus. It has always been Him.
His words did not provoke shouting or open arguments. What they left behind was something more uncomfortable: silence. A tense silence, heavy with contained disapproval.
In the corridors of the temple, beneath stained-glass windows that barely filtered the light, the older priests murmured in the shadows.
—That boy takes too many liberties —one whispered, adjusting his clerical collar.
—He isn't saying anything false —another replied, glancing around before speaking—. He just… doesn't know when to stay quiet.
Sumaq heard those rumors the way one hears the wind: he knew they were there, but he did not stop for them.
He preferred to walk along the margins. To sit beside those no one wanted to listen to. To accompany those who were avoided. Even the LGBT community, whom he treated with the same closeness, respect, and dignity as any other parishioner.
For many, that was a provocation.
For him, it was simply coherence.
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Park of Chiclayo
That afternoon, the park seemed suspended in time. The leaves on the trees barely moved, and the warm air felt thick, almost motionless. The sounds of the city arrived from afar, muffled by the murmur of pigeons and the whisper of wind through the branches.
Sumaq sat on a rusted iron bench, resting his elbows on his knees. That was when he saw her.
A young woman was crying silently a few meters away. She did not sob or draw attention. Her tears fell slowly, one after another, as if she no longer had the strength to completely break apart. Her posture spoke of exhaustion: slumped shoulders, a lost gaze, hands clenched tightly on her lap.
That hurts, he thought. No one breaks like that without carrying something far too heavy.
He hesitated. He did not want to intrude on someone else's pain. Even so, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and approached with slow, careful steps, as if afraid of shattering something fragile.
—Excuse me… —he said softly—. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but… in case you need it.
She looked up. Her eyes were red, swollen, dim. The world seemed to have run her over. She accepted the handkerchief with trembling hands.
—Thank you —she murmured—. I'm Eliana.
—Sumaq —he replied—. Nice to meet you.
The silence between them was not uncomfortable. It was gentle. Almost necessary.
—I think I've seen you before —she said after a few seconds—. Aren't you the guy who picks up stray cats?
Sumaq smiled shyly, lowering his gaze a little.
—They don't ask for help —he replied—. Someone has to notice them.
Eliana let out a small, broken laugh, but real. The air seemed to lighten just a little.
And without either of them knowing it yet, that moment had already changed their destinies forever.
Love did not arrive all at once. It slipped in slowly, like a soft light at dawn. In long walks through dusty streets. In conversations that began with laughter and ended in deep confessions, beneath flickering streetlights.
—I don't know when it happened —Sumaq confessed one night, while the distant noise of the city surrounded them—. I only know that with you… everything feels clearer.
Eliana lowered her gaze. The silence weighed heavily before her response.
—It scares me too —she admitted—. But when I'm with you, I don't feel alone. And that… weighs more than fear.
Tradition was a solid wall. Cold. Inflexible. A priest was not meant to love anyone but God.
Even so, they chose each other.
—I love you —Sumaq said without drama, with weary certainty—. And if loving is a sin… I will learn to carry it.
Eliana rested her forehead against his chest, listening to his breathing.
—I don't ask you to renounce your faith —she whispered—. Just… don't renounce me.
In 2006 they married in secret. Without music, without a church, without unnecessary witnesses. Only promises spoken in low voices.
Rosita, Sumaq's mother, blessed them with restrained tears. César, Eliana's best friend, swore to keep silent.
Nothing more. No one else.
But even the smallest secrets leave traces.
The room was cold, austere. The bare walls seemed to observe everything. The air was heavy with tension and judgment.
—You didn't just break a rule —one said—. You betrayed your vocation.
—That woman led you astray —another spat—. She pulled you away from God.
Sumaq took a deep breath. His voice did not tremble.
—She didn't pull me away from God —he replied—. She taught me how to love better.
A sharp blow against the table echoed like a hammer.
—Sumaq Atilano Bonilla Rojas —the head priest pronounced—, you are expelled from the priesthood.
Sumaq raised his gaze, without resentment.
—Love does not stain —he said—. Peter had a family. And Scripture says that two shall become one.
—Get out of here —they ordered—. To us… you no longer exist.
As they left, insults followed them like dark echoes.
"Heretic." "Unworthy." "Traitor."
Sumaq shielded Eliana with his body as they walked. Chiclayo was left behind, dissolving into dust and heat. Lima received them without promises, but with space to survive.
For a time, there was calm. Fragile, but real.
Eliana became pregnant. The small, modest house filled with silent hope.
—It's going to be okay —Sumaq said, resting his hand on her belly—. All of this will be worth it.
But on March 14, 2007, the world shattered without warning.
The labor was long. The air in the hospital smelled of disinfectant and despair. The hours stretched until they became unbearable.
Eliana did not survive.
Neither did little Eli.
Sumaq did not scream. He did not cry.
He only felt something inside him go out forever.
Over the years, Rosita died as well. And then there was no one left.
No wife. No child. No mother. No faith. No home.
Only a constant, silent, endless pain.
Lucifer Morningstar descended upon Lima after an argument with Charlie. The city at night shimmered with cold lights and long shadows.
He was not looking for anything.
Until he saw him.
A man sitting in the darkness. Still. Empty.
—You have suffered too much —Lucifer said—. And no one gave you justice.
He extended an apple. Red. Perfect.
—This will not erase the pain —he whispered—. But it will give you a purpose.
Sumaq held it. There was no doubt. No hope.
Only exhaustion.
He bit into it.
He died.
Lucifer took his soul and molded it without mercy. Guilt, loss, suffering… everything was twisted until what remained was broken.
—Your name will be Ishnofel —he declared—. You will be the embodiment of the pain no one wanted to carry.
That day, Sumaq Atilano Bonilla Rojas died.
And was born
the demon of suffering.