by Lincoln Cole
Niccolo didn’t have a good response to that. He felt sick and helpless in the situation, and they had vastly underestimated the bishop and his agenda. Though he had recognized that something terrible had happened in Everett, the scale of what the bishop had planned seemed much bigger than he could have imagined.
And seeing Jeremy, and what he could do ...
Terrifying.
“Now, you kill me?”
“Oh, no,” the bishop said. “Kill you and waste such a valuable resource? Heavens, no.”
“What, then?”
“I shall convert you.”
“I’LL never serve you.”
“Not willingly,” the bishop said. “But you will serve me. You’ll make an excellent host.”
“For what purpose?”
“I need an ally inside the Vatican. Someone who can report back to me on a regular basis about how the Church responds to my campaign.”
“You intend to put one of your demons inside me?”
“Not just any demon,” the bishop said. “Do you remember Rose? The demon inside her went by the name of Vasric. He’s looked forward to having a more personal conversation with you ever since you exorcised him in Everett.”
Niccolo went weak in the knees when the idea of becoming possessed washed over him. Just the mention of it horrified him. The priest would rather die than ever let one of those demons inside him.
“You can’t win,” Bishop Glasser said, watching his expression with satisfaction. “You can’t stop me. The Church can’t stop me. Arthur will die in only a few minutes, and you will become my slave. Or, maybe, I won’t kill Arthur. Maybe I will convert him as well. I could use an inside man in the Council, and he has quite the skill-set.”
“Let me go after Arthur,” Jeremy said. He stood in the doorway, looking out at the shipyard with a hungry expression. “I can bring him back in here with no trouble at all.”
“You lost him once.”
“He has more strength than I’d expected. I won’t underestimate him again.”
“No,” the bishop said, patting Jeremy on the head. “You’ve done enough.”
“But you said I could—”
Bishop Glasser flashed the kid a look, silencing him.
“I know what I said. You will get your chance soon enough, but right now, we need to get moving. We need to join your brothers and sisters aboard the ship. The time has not yet arrived to make your presence known.”
Jeremy huffed but didn’t object.
“Can I at least put the demon inside him?” He pointed at Niccolo.
Bishop Glasser glanced over at the priest. “Yes. Tonight. And then we will send him on his merry way back to the Vatican. Though not until I punish him for what he did to us. He cost me years of work when he dismissed Vasric in Everett.”
More gunshots sounded in the distance as the mercenaries disappeared to the north. Niccolo prayed that Arthur remained alive and that they hadn’t managed to trap him.
Arthur’s unwillingness to kill had put them in this situation, and Niccolo’s consternation and dislike of Arthur when first they met had inspired that attitude.
The irony of the situation proved twofold—Arthur’s refusal to kill anyone would get them both killed, but, more importantly, Niccolo had learned that some people needed to die in order to end things.
Nothing good could come from letting a man like Bishop Leopold Glasser live.
“Why do this?” Niccolo asked.
“Do what?”
“This,” Niccolo said, gesturing toward Jeremy. “These are children.”
A look of anger flashed across the bishop’s face. “Of course they are children, but that doesn’t make them stupid, or useless. They have gifts and should receive respect.”
“They should grow up as children, allowed to make decisions for themselves.”
“As a society, we have trained ourselves to view children as weak and defenseless creatures, needing our protection and constant tutelage and capable of nothing valuable. We pretend they are ignorant to the ways of the world and need our guidance, but the truth is, they aren’t the innocent little vessels we pretend. They are capable of so much more than we give them credit.”
“It is our duty as a society to protect and nurture them.”
“What do you think I’ve done? I’ve nurtured gifts you would rather pretend they don’t have. I ask a lot of these children, true enough, and in return, they exceed my expectations. I ask you—why do some children grow up successful members of society while others fail? Because of expectations. I expect much from my children, and in return, they deliver beyond my wildest dreams.”
“You know this is wrong,” Niccolo said. “What you do goes against everything for which we stand.”
“We?”
“The Church.”
“Does it? Does my way truly go against what the Church stands for?”
“You conspire with demons and torture children.”
“The demons serve me. They serve us, as they should always serve us. There was a time when the Church understood this.”
“The demons kill people.”
“We kill people. Does that make all humans evil, simply because of the actions of a few?”
“I’ve never heard of demons doing good things.”
“That’s because you’ve heard so little. The Church has indoctrinated you into believing demons embody evil and that special children bring an abomination that must get hidden away. The Church views us all as tools, little exorcists, and nothing else. The Church is at war with demon kind, and thus, they lash out. Could you expect anything else during wartime?”
“What utter nonsense.” Niccolo shook his head. “Nothing you say is true, and I can tell that even you don’t believe the nonsense you espouse. This just makes a poor justification for what you do, because you know it is evil.”
Bishop Glasser shrugged. “I don’t need to convince you. You are your own weakness, which is why you failed to stop me and will continue failing. I know you will not bring me to justice, no matter how evil you believe me to be, because you remain unwilling to do the necessary.”
Niccolo’s hands trembled. “You are a monster.”
“One society’s monster makes another society’s hero. I shall wake the world and will not stop until everyone’s eyes open. Even if you killed me—which you would never do—you still could not stop me. My ideas are bigger than my body and will continue on long after I die.”
The dread of the situation sank in on Niccolo, enveloping him like a blanket. A slow reality settled in and made him weak.
He should never have come here. He should never have believed that he could act as a soldier for God. He should never have thought that he could stop the bishop or put an end to any of this. Only a priest, an exorcist, Niccolo believed he made a poor one at that. This fell outside his world, and he had nothing to offer against an evil like this.
This world belonged to Arthur, dealing with threats that crossed the boundaries of human decency. For that reason, the Church had and needed such soldiers at their disposal. It gave the raison d’être for the Council of Chaldea and other such organizations—to do the unspeakable things required to keep the world safe.
Until this moment, Niccolo had never truly believed them necessary, and now he understood that, sometimes, no other recourse remained. Occasionally, the only way to stop evil was with evil.
He had done harm to Arthur’s identity and contributed to the guilt that put him in this weakened position. The priest held no illusions that he held partial—maybe most—blame for Arthur’s newfound inability to kill, and as such, Arthur had to face-off against two heavily-armed men with only a tranquilizer gun with which to defend himself.
Niccolo had never felt so helpless or wrong in his entire life. They would both die here in this shipyard because of decisions Niccolo had made. The bishop would walk free and continue his crusade against the world, and Niccolo could do nothing about it.
&
nbsp; ARTHUR HAD NEARLY RUN out of places to hide. He’d managed to stay one step ahead of his pursuers, but they now tightened the noose around his neck, and it wouldn’t take long before they got a clear shot on him.
The two men pursuing him took an incredibly methodical approach, working as a team to make sure that neither of them ever became over-exposed. He had hoped to isolate one of them and take him down, but they made that difficult.
Several times, he might have managed to get a clean shot at one of them, and maybe even drop one, but it would expose him to a clear shot from the other guy. He couldn’t take the risk of letting one of them get a few shots with the assault rifle. In that case, he wouldn’t be asking for luck—it would be suicide.
Not only did Arthur need to isolate one of them, but also to close the distance. How could he get close to one of them, though, without getting seen?
He slid his tranquilizer gun away and scanned the area around him. His best option, he realized, lay in going up on top of the containers.
Made of metal, they would make his climb loud, though, and in the silent shipping yard, any sound echoed. If he tried to climb atop one, and they knew so, then he would, basically, have turned himself into a fish in a barrel.
Luckily, even though it had stopped raining, it remained fairly windy. If he timed his movements perfectly, he could get on top without the noise carrying.
The problem with that, though, lay in that he didn’t have a lot of time to climb slowly and time his movements, and he didn’t want to get caught on the side of the container.
He had to risk it, though. Otherwise, eventually, the mercenaries would catch up to him.
Jaw tight, he climbed the side of one of the containers, moving slowly and carefully so as not to make any extra noise. The containers stood about ten-feet tall and stacked one on top of another two rows high. If the guard rounded the corner behind him while he climbed, he would become a sitting duck, but he still couldn’t risk going too fast.
Luck stayed with him, and the overly cautious actions of his pursuers played to his advantage. He slipped over to the top of the shipping container, rolling flat onto his stomach and into the shadows only a few seconds before one of the masked men rounded the corner behind him.
Prone, he steadied his breathing and ducked his head out of sight, focusing entirely on listening to the world around him for the man’s approach.
The guy moved fairly quietly, but Arthur could still hear him coming from down below. Also, though faintly, Arthur heard his friend another row over, moving steadily toward a crossing point where they would converge once more. They wanted to flush him out, and it grew clear they didn’t know he had gone up above.
Arthur would only have a few seconds of advantage once he gave away his position before the other man rounded the corner and had a clear view of him, so he would need to make sure those seconds counted.
He waited until the masked man reached only a few steps in front of and below his hiding spot before sliding forward. The man tensed, hearing Arthur move, but too late. He swung his weapon up toward Arthur but too slow.
Arthur dropped from the top of the stack of containers onto the mercenary, kicking him hard on his shoulders and knocking him sideways.
The man staggered into the shipping container, and Arthur landed on the ground. He hit the pavement a lot harder than he would have liked, but the attack partly broke his fall. The jolt ran up his legs, and he let out a grunt of pain, but he had to ignore it for now.
He rushed forward before the demon could recover, punching the man in the throat and shoving the tip of his assault rifle away so that it aimed away from his body.
The man pulled the trigger anyway, attempting to swing it back toward Arthur. The air filled with the sudden thunder of multiple gunshots firing into the air. Arthur held the barrel of the weapon away from his body and lashed out again, punching the man hard in the chest this time.
The mercenary staggered back, trying to create separation between him and Arthur to use his rifle, but the Hunter didn’t give him the chance.
Instead, he stepped in closer, kicked the man in the ankle, and then yanked the barrel of the gun forward. He couldn’t take the gun from the man—he had it clipped to his vest—but that wasn’t the point anyway.
Able to use the momentum of the jerking motion, Arthur dragged the guy forward and off-balance. He glanced to the side. The second guard rounded the corner and came in at him.
This demon didn’t seem too concerned about his friend’s safety. He raised the gun up as soon as Arthur came in sight and fired at them both.
Arthur reacted quickly and dragged the staggered man in between him and the shooter, using the man as a body shield. He wore Kevlar, but the heavy rounds ripped right through the first layer as if no more than a t-shirt.
They weren’t quite strong enough to make it out the back side of the armor, though, and Arthur could feel them ripping around inside the man’s body as they bounced off the armored plates.
He could only imagine the pain and devastation those bullets did inside the man’s chest cavity. He tried not to think about it too hard.
The other attacker kept firing, and the brunt of the bullets pushed him backward and down. He stayed low, waiting until the clip ran empty and the man had to reload.
Then Arthur shoved the limp body forward, drew the pistol he’d taken from Niccolo, and fired off all four shots. He aimed for the man’s kneecaps, crippling the body with the first two shots, and then the last two, he put into the left shoulder so that the guy couldn’t fire the gun.
The man collapsed to the ground and screamed in agony, clutching his knees and writhing in pain.
The screams sounded genuine, but Arthur couldn’t tell for sure. He drew his tranquilizer gun and approached cautiously. Was this some trap?
The guy thrashed and screamed, and when he saw Arthur, he groaned in pain and crawled toward him.
“Please,” he said. “Please, help me. What’s going on? Please, you have to help me!”
“Has it gone?”
“Has what gone?”
Arthur had an easy way to find out. He aimed in and fired off the tranquilizer dart, hitting the man right in his exposed neck. The man fell limp almost at once, completely unconscious.
“Guess he told the truth.”
Arthur rushed forward, grabbed the bottom of the man’s shirt, and ripped off a piece to use as a tourniquet. Four shots had been a lot, but he felt confident they wouldn’t kill him outright. If he bled out, though, that would be another story. Arthur would need to get the guy to help quickly to have any chance of saving his life.
THE SHOOTING STOPPED outside, and a heavy silence descended over the office. The bishop stood still in the center of the trailer, listening, and then turned to face Niccolo with a smile.
“Looks like Arthur is no more,” he said. “A pity. I would have loved to use him for my own purposes, but he remained too dangerous to—”
“I don’t sense them,” Jeremy said, still staring outside the front door of the building. He turned to face the bishop, a horrified look on his face. “I don’t sense them anymore.”
The bishop frowned. “What do you mean?”
Without responding, Jeremy turned and ran out of the building and toward the shipping containers. He rushed down the ramp and out of sight.
“Wait!” the bishop shouted, moving to follow him.
Niccolo seized the distraction on an impulse, rushing forward and grabbing the bishop around the waist. He tried to tackle the man to the floor, but again, he found out that the bishop had considerably more strength than he appeared to have.
Leopold Glasser turned and shoved Niccolo against the wall, slamming him hard against the wooden interior wall of the building. Niccolo shoved back, pushing Leopold off him and trying to kick him.
They punched and scrapped, each trying to get the upper hand. Finally, the priest managed to tackle the bishop around the waist successfully. Niccolo lifted th
e bishop and threw him to the ground, and in the motion, the gun in the bishop’s waistband popped out and went skidding across the floor.
The bishop punched him in the jaw and tried to jerk loose, crawling toward the gun. Niccolo refused to let go, dragging Leopold away in the opposite direction and climbing to his feet.
The bishop stood as well, launching a flurry of punches at Niccolo to force him backward. Niccolo did his best to hold his own, giving ground, and then he kicked the bishop again in the knee. This time, the bishop hit him low, aiming for his knees and knocking him over.
They both hit the ground, and then Niccolo rolled over top and past the bishop, climbing to his feet and rushing forward to where the gun lay on the floor of the trailer. The bishop came right on his heels, but Niccolo managed to get hold of the grip of the gun, spin, and raise it into the bishop’s face.
Leopold stopped midstride, the gun only inches from his nose. He had a bloody lip and a cut on his forehead, but otherwise, he looked all right. In submission, he held up his hands, taking a step back.
“All right,” he said. “You win.”
“On your knees,” Niccolo said. “Put your hands behind your head.”
The bishop stood there for a long second, an ugly smile spreading across his face. Slowly, he lowered his hands to his sides.
“I said, on your knees!”
“You won’t shoot me. That would be murder, and cold-blooded murder at that. You would never stoop so low.”
“I’ll do it,” Niccolo said, his voice higher pitched than he would have liked. He didn’t sound that convincing. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
“You can’t, though. You can’t do it. Even after all of this, even after all of the things I’ve done, and the things I will do, you still can’t kill me.”
“Last chance,” Niccolo said. “Get on the ground.”
“Or what?” the bishop asked.
Suddenly, Leopold stepped forward, reaching out for the gun to try and grab it from Niccolo. The priest didn’t think, only reacted.
He pulled the trigger.
