After lunch with the other priests, Raphaniè intended to retreat into the silence of his room, surrounded only by the soft shadows filtering through the blinds. The day had been long and exhausting, and he longed for the solitude that precedes spiritual warfare. He knew the battle was approaching—he could feel it in the air, like thunder about to split the sky. To pray, to purify mind and body, to immerse himself in God's presence—that was all he wanted.
But the calm didn't last long.
Around two in the afternoon, someone knocked insistently on the door. It was Edwald Kelley, his face pale, hands trembling, eyes wide with urgency.
— Father, it's an emergency — he said, almost breathless. — A woman has entered the church... she's shouting blasphemies before the altar.
Raphaniè straightened slowly.
— Blasphemies?
— Obscenities — Edwald continued, distressed. — Dirty words, screaming. She's out of control.
— Do you think it's possession?
— I have no doubt. — His voice wavered between fear and conviction.
— We need to take her to a private room. Get two strong men — the priest instructed, already picking up his rosary.
— Don't you think the two of us can handle it?
Raphaniè looked at him with grave serenity.
— I guarantee you can't. Possessed women, my dear, have a strength that does not belong to this world.
They crossed the corridors in hurried steps, and upon reaching the central nave, they were confronted with a scene as profane as it was disturbing.
A strikingly beautiful woman, with black curly hair cascading over her shoulders, stood before the altar. She wore a short denim skirt, and her right hand disappeared beneath the fabric—she was pleasuring herself without the slightest shame, moaning between hoarse laughs, her eyes fixed on an invisible point.
The scandal had drawn a small crowd. Seven elderly women murmured prayers in horror, while three young men kneeling at the back of the church seemed frozen, torn between fear and curiosity.
— She's possessed — Raphaniè diagnosed, his face darkening. — We must restrain her immediately.
He called two young men who were watching the scene, asking for help.
— I want you to take her to a private room — he ordered.
— What did she do wrong? — one of them asked, stunned.
— I am an exorcist, and this woman is under the influence of a demon! — the priest shouted with authority.
— Just tell us where to take her — one of the young men replied, standing up.
— Edwald, show them the way. I'll be right back with what I need.
The three men grabbed the woman—two by the arms, one by the legs—but when the last one lifted her, he looked away and, for a brief moment, seemed startled. She was completely naked beneath the skirt.
— Let me go, you idiots! — she screamed, her voice shifting into a guttural tone. — Or the demon will beat you to death!
Raphaniè shuddered.
— That's a vulgar spirit — he murmured, hurrying toward his room.
In the corridors, he crossed paths with a tall, broad-shouldered Black man carrying a worn backpack.
— Good afternoon, Father — the stranger greeted with a discreet smile.
— Good afternoon — Raphaniè replied, glancing at him. Something about the man's face seemed familiar, but there was no time to dwell on it. He continued on, grabbed his exorcism case from the desk, and returned to the nave.
When he arrived, Edwald was waiting, pale as wax.
— Father, I've never seen anything like it. She destroyed everything in her path — he stammered.
— Take me to her.
They found the woman in a small room beside the sacristy, screaming and thrashing like a wounded animal. The three young men struggled to restrain her.
— Bring ropes — Raphaniè ordered.
Within minutes, Edwald returned with pieces of rope. The exorcist instructed them to tie the woman to the only chair in the room. Then he dismissed everyone.
— Leave me alone with her — he said firmly.
— Father, I can't — Edwald protested. — It's dangerous.
— Do you have experience with exorcisms?
Edwald shook his head.
— Then leave. And pray.
— Want to fuck me, Father? I know you're turned on... — the woman said, arching her body.
Raphaniè closed his eyes.
— Exorcizo te, immundissime spiritus... — he began in a low voice.
Carnal provocation was one of the enemy's favorite weapons. Possessed women knew how to exploit the thin line between the sacred and desire. He took a deep breath, reached into his bag, and withdrew the silver aspergillum.
— Stick that inside me! — she shouted, laughing with malice. — It's the perfect size!
Raphaniè remained impassive.
— Adjuro ergo te, draco nequissime...
With each word, he made the sign of the cross on her forehead, tracing the consecrated oil with the calm of a surgeon.
Suddenly, she stopped. Her face relaxed, and her voice changed completely.
— Father... what time is it? — she asked sweetly.
— What did you say? — Raphaniè blinked, surprised.
— The time — she repeated, smiling. — Can you tell me what time it is?
The clock read nearly five in the afternoon.
— It's five — he replied cautiously.
— Great... The show is over... He only paid me for one hour. Can you untie me?
Silence fell like a blade.
— Who are you? — the priest asked, incredulous.
— Ashley. I'm an actress... adult films. But this is my first time doing this in a church.
— Who hired you? — Raphaniè demanded, stepping closer.
— Relax, Father. It was just a job—and I was very well paid.
Blood rushed to his face.
— This is a house of God, not a stage for filth! — he shouted. — You will answer for this before the Lord!
She laughed, sarcastic.
— If you want, I give discounts to priests: one hundred pounds an hour. Fifty if it's just oral.
Raphaniè raised his hand, seized by a rage he hadn't felt since his seminary days. For a second, he wanted to strike her until she bled—but he restrained himself.
— Miserere mei, Deus... — he murmured.
He turned and left the room. Edwald was waiting, stunned.
— Get this woman out of here. Now!
Fifteen minutes before the scheduled time, Saul entered Temple Church. He liked churches—not as places of faith, but as sanctuaries of silence. The smell of wood and incense, the stained glass casting fractured light across the floor—all of it brought him peace.
If he had arrived a few hours earlier, he would have witnessed hell itself.
He sat on a bench near a marble statue and observed the faithful: five elderly women praying the rosary, a man kneeling before a saint, an elegant couple discussing wedding details with a priest.
Churches are becoming emptier... he thought. And yet they remain stages for human vanity...
— Catching up on your prayers, Saul? — Raphaniè asked, approaching.
— Thinking there are rituals even atheists don't dare abandon — the journalist replied, standing up.
— It's the voice of God calling even the unbelievers. — The priest smiled. — What exactly are you referring to?
— Marriage — Saul replied. — The triumph of appearance over essence.
— It depends on the hearts involved. — Raphaniè sat beside him. — Rituals only come alive if the feeling is true.
— And what's new? — Saul asked impatiently.
— A woman pretended to be possessed. I was called for an exorcism, and in the end, she was a porn actress hired to ridicule me.
— Sounds like the same people who threatened you — Saul deduced.
— That's what I believe.
The journalist crossed his legs.
— And the enigma of the coats of arms?
Raphaniè took a deep breath.
— I spent the night studying John Dee, the Queen's astrologer. A man who claimed to speak with angels and created an entire language to communicate with them.
— Didn't know priests studied black magic — Saul mocked.
— I study it to recognize the enemy—and in this case, he's wearing a disguise of light.
The priest continued:
— These angels of Dee—or demons, perhaps—claimed to have instructed Enoch, the biblical patriarch. They taught him secrets about the universe, but their revelations were fragmented. To this day, no one has fully deciphered them.
— And what does that have to do with the Apocalypse? — Saul asked.
— Everything. Some believe Dee hid, between the lines of his work, the keys to a new Apocalypse—the "Dark Apocalypse." Whoever finds them could rewrite the End of Days.
— The Antichrist — the journalist murmured.
— Yes. The chosen one of darkness. The key figure of the third enigma.
Raphaniè recited:
— "The truth lies beneath the seal. The crowned lion claims his throne. He comes from the Root of Jesse."
Saul leaned forward.
— So if we discover who this person is, we win the race.
— Exactly. — The priest made the sign of the cross. — And perhaps we can prevent the devil from taking human form.
— And expose the Ipsissimus — Saul added.
For a moment, both remained silent. Outside, the distant sound of bells echoed over London like an omen.