I am a Priest at the Vatican, we are going to summon a Demon (Part 4)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
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Father Hammond closes the door to the hidden prison as I examine Bishop Ricci to determine if he is still alive. I curse myself under my breath, I should never have been a party to this madness! At this moment a demoness with abilities I can only imagine is now running wild across the Vatican. Worse yet, we have none to blame but ourselves. I stand back as a pair of paramedics rush Bishop Ricci onto a stretcher though I am unsure if they can do anything for him. Father Charpentier informs them that the Bishop suffered a nasty fall, and for the time being they do not ask for clarification. Resting against the now sealed door of the prison level, I do my best to take stock of the situation.
“We left no one down below, did we?†Father Hammond asks me.
“No Father,†I say as I shake my head, “the only ones down below are the prisoners.†As I say this I am filled with doubt, however, as I can overhear the sounds of something scratching at the sealed door.
“Then what is that?†Father Hammond asks.
I spring myself away from the door and face it. Father Charpentier, Hammond and I ready our crosses and holy water.
Behind the door I can make out a voice and further scratching until there is a clicking noise, and it creaks open. I pick up a latino accent in what sounds, at first, like English but his words seem to shift and change as he talks, regardless I have no issues understanding any one phrase but, as odd as this sounds, I cannot place what language he is speaking in. “Well that was easier to pick than I thought!†the door opens and I identify a middle-aged man of Latino descent. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and jeans, and a pair of boots. The most noticeable items on him is a necklace with a strange stone in the middle, and what looks like three round bottles strapped to his side.
“Who in the name of God are you?†Father Hammond asks.
The man before us looks to each of us in a state of bewilderment before cracking a jovial smile and waving to each of us, “Oh, hello Fathers!â€
Again I cannot place what language he is using. I ask now, “Who are you? How did you get down there?â€
The appears as if we’re keeping him from something, motioning to head down the stairs as he speaks with us. “Oh, well my name is Jorge Chavez! Heh, um… I know this will sound funny but where are we right now?â€
Father Charpentier responds, “La cité du Vatican.â€
Jorge nods, and makes the sign of the cross over himself, “I didn’t mean to intrude then… uh… but that makes little sense. We were chasing a demon.â€
“We?†I interject.
From the steps below abrupt heavy footsteps echo from the stairs at an inhuman pace. I listen as each footfall grows louder and angrier. Before I can say much else, a man standing six foot three with black short hair and striking blue eyes is standing in the doorway. He wears a black trench coat over a simple white cotton shirt. The shirt is form-fitting, his well-toned muscles show he’s a physically fit man. A pair of simple pants and heavy black boots are the last normal items on his person. On his side are a row of the rounded bottles on his belt, on the other side is a large knife with an ornate handle of brass and ivory. His voice strikes me with harsh disapproval.
“What have you fools done,†he demands.
Father Hammond now moves to shut the door to the office we are all standing in. “Now listen here, whoever you are-†Before Father Hammond can respond, Jorge interjects.
“Oh, this is Saint Timothy Crestfall.â€
Timothy casts a chastising glance at Jorge, “Chavez, we discussed this.â€
Jorge rolls his eyes, turning to Father Charpentier, “He’s modest.â€
“Saint Timothy?†Father Charpentier asks.
Timothy shakes his head, waving his hands exasperated, “Where is it? Are you hiding it? Or are you all compromised?â€
I gaze toward Timothy and try to think about how to answer and play things coy. “Where is what?â€
Timothy grows frustrated and grabs me by my robes on either shoulder, lifting me up with ease, and forcing my back to the wall. “The Amber. The demons call it Sanguine Amber. Someone used it for something. I need to know what!â€
Pinned to the wall and unable to do much else, I reach into my pocket and show the small half dollar sized disk I had grabbed from the prison below.
Timothy releases me and plucks the Amber from my fingers. “Thank God…â€
Jorge also looks relieved, “When we noticed it had power channeling through it, it worried us.â€
Timothy places it into his pocket, calming as a smile crosses his face. “Yes. The last time this even crossed onto the physical plane a demon prince tried to pull himself into existence.†Timothy looks to each of us with relief washing over his face. “I’m glad we found this before someone used it for some dark purpose.â€
The mood of the room was that of disgrace and silence. Not one of us could speak or admit what we had been culpable to. I looked to the floor, ashamed.
Despite not looking at him, I could tell a grave mood settled over Timothy. “... What happened?â€
The first of us to break our silence was Father Hammond, “The warlock, Immunda, he summoned a demon for us to interrogate.â€
Timothy gazes at me appalled as I nod my head, “we were gaining valuable information until she broke free of our bonds.†I soon experience a fist to my gut. Father Hammond and Charpentier are flanking me, trying to defend me.
Timothy has moved on after hitting me with a powerful strike. Timothy clenches his fist “Was it possession or did you fools pull him into our world?â€
Father Charpentier answers, in English, “It was a she, a succubus.â€
“A follower of Asmodai.†I gasp as I regain my breath. “She escaped with Sister Fatima as a hostage.â€
Timothy closes his eyes and I swear I catch a faint voice in the back of my mind. “Sister Fatima? Where are you?â€
I peek around but cannot place the voice’s source.
Timothy’s eyes bolt open and he rushes out of the room.
Jorge, I and the other priests are soon in tow, but keeping up with Timothy proves difficult for all of us.
Timothy dodges and weaves through halls of people and objects, traversing with an inhuman grace to each step. We all follow him to a massive room with a high ceiling with ornate archways and artwork adorning the walls and ceilings. Timothy is standing in the room’s middle as we catch up with him. He glances to us all, “She’s disguised both herself and Fatima.†He pulls a bottle from his pocket and closes his eyes once more.
I glance around trying to detect the deception. Someone I haven’t seen before, someone I do not know or I find out of place.
Timothy’s arm lashes out into a group of nuns and drags a dark-skinned woman from the group, it tilts his bottle over the struggling woman’s head and steam erupts from her brow, and a familiar inhuman scream echoes through the chamber.
The nun grabs her face and the cloth that were her habit wrap around her, turning from black to purple, gaining a leathery texture. The form of the succubus soon bursts from behind the wings, Fatima’s hands bound by her tail. “Will you people leave me…†she takes a deep breath, shouting and with unholy resonance, “alone!†her voice echoes through the chamber and I can hear stained glass cracking and shattering in some windows.
Everyone inside the chamber panics and rushes to the doors, many injured by the falling glass, some far worse than others.
Everyone except Father Charpentier, Father Hammond, myself, Jorge and Timothy, that is.
Timothy stares the woman down, his hand on his bowie knife. “No.†he declares.
The succubus now rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Then let me spell it out for you! I’m not going back, not now, never! I’m free, if you can’t leave me the **** alone then you will get a free sample of what I’m leaving!†with a deep breath she spews a black flame at Timothy’s feet. The fire rushes up to engulf him while the rest of us dive to the floor to avoid the flames.
I roll onto my back and prop myself up with my arms as I shield my eyes from the black flames. The flames swirl, and lift from the ground, they seem to pass over Timothy’s head as they land in front of him, black smoke rising from his ruined trench coat.
It is not the deflected fire that has my attention, however, nor is it the fearful stare that has crossed the Succubus’s face upon the flames being blocked by the heavy coat. My attention is on a pair of flawless silvery wings attached to Timothy’s back.
My mouth is agape as I observe the image before me. An Angel, Saint Timothy that is what Jorge meant when he introduced us.
Timothy now brandishes the large blade of his knife. “Submit, demon!â€
“Oh are you ****ing serious right now…†the Succubus’s wicked voice has a hint of hysteria. “What the Hell… you guys were all dead! No one down there will stop bragging about it! What hole did you crawl out of?†it seems she’s stalling.
Timothy narrows his eyes, “I liked that coat, demon. I will make a new one out of your wings.â€
The Succubus looks to her wings, and spreads them, “Oh yeah, those.†She jumps into the air, her wings hurtling her toward the ceiling.
Timothy follows suit, his own wings empowering him upwards.
Sister Fatima cries out in fear as it pulls her into the air.
“Release the woman!†Timothy shouts, swinging his blade only to have it knocked back by the Succubus’s hoof.
“Sorry choir boy! She’s my snack for the trip!†The Succubus reaches the ceiling, by some unholy power standing on it as if it were the floor. Her cloven hoof beats down against the ceiling, causing it to crack. “You’re lucky caroler! If they had summoned me wearing my armor, I’d rip your damn arms off! Instead…†her hoof crashes down against the ceiling again, portions of it falling apart. “I’ll just use your own compassion.â€
To my shock and dismay, I spot large chunks of the ceiling rushing toward my fellow priests.
The Succubus lets out a vicious chortle as Timothy’s flight diverts to the priests and me.
Timothy pushes Father Hammond and Father Charpentier out of the way by Timothy.
I feel a wave of relief wash over me until I watch Timothy running towards me. My attention turns upwards just in time to notice a huge slab of the ceiling heading towards me. My eyes shut as I make my peace with God before I catch a crunch, a snap, and a gasp of pain. I notice Timothy’s straining face inches in front of mine. Timothy collapses after I crawl out from underneath him, the slab on his back. With a yell to Father Charpentier and Hammond I get their help, and with the help of Jorge, we pull the broken concrete off of Timothy.
Timothy’s left wing looks to be bent at an odd angle and his arm appears broken, he wheezes and coughs, though I spot no blood escaping his mouth.
Jorge moves to his side, and helps Timothy to his feet, acting as Timothy’s crutch, “Can you walk?â€
Timothy nods, but after a step, he falters.
As I rush to his other side I catch him, acting as his crutch for his other side, but being careful of his broken wing and arm. I give a grim stare toward Jorge, “Where can we take him?â€
Jorge grunts, “There’s the Temple of the Guardians. We can heal him there.â€
“Where is the temple?†I ask.
Jorge frowns “It’s at the bottom of those stairs.â€
After an arduous journey, Jorge and I got Timothy back down into the prison level. The sight before me is shocking. Affixed to one wall which was bare is a pair of double doors.
“That’s the entrance to the Temple,†Jorge grunts.
I heave Timothy into the doors, and as I do, I overhear Immunda chortle behind me from his cell.
“Oh, papist… you know not what you will discover. Your hopes, your dreams, they lay broken behind that door.â€
For once, I heed his words. I regard the room we are now standing in, seeing a pair of massive marble statues illuminated with bright spotlights from the floor.
Before I can assess the room more, Timothy looks to the doors as they shut behind us, Timothy appraises me “None… of you… are worthy to enter.†He fades out of consciousness.
“We have a way to go,†Jorge says.
He is right. We move to the right of the doors leading us down a series of lengthy staircases and a labyrinth of corridors. After twenty minutes of walking down yet another flight stairs I consider my surroundings, noticing that despite the beautiful marble, the angelic and gothic architecture, there is nothing else here.
“Where is everyone?†my voice echoes against the hallways.
Jorge stares at me horrified, “Please don’t Father. No one hears you here.†His expression is that of disappointment, “At least not anymore.â€
I fear more and more isolated in this strange temple. While there is no tomb like air or scent the atmosphere is empty and I the lack of any kind of any population inside is unnerving.
Jorge looks to Timothy as he comes back to consciousness again, “Almost there Timothy.â€
We round a corner and I spot a massive fountain. A fountain is an understatement, but no other word fits. Waterfall? The entire wall has crystal clear water streaming down it into a massive basin. There are steps leading into the water and again it is the clearest water I have ever laid my eyes upon.
Jorge lays Timothy down near the basin’s edge and gives him a shove.
“Are you insane? He will drown!†I protest.
Moments later, however, a bright shimmering light bursts out from the water’s depths. Timothy breaches the water, both wings spread wide and healed. His eyes are an even brighter shade of blue and he clamors out of the basin, gasping for breath.
“Chavez!†he shouts.
Jorge heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Jesus…â€
“Never do that!†Timothy’s eyes are glowing and he grabs his head as if his skull is about to burst open and his hands are the only things keeping it from doing so. He grunts in pain, water dripping down his body.
I avert my eyes, his white shirt translucent and displaying more of his physicality than I am comfortable viewing without my sin tainting the image. I speak to both while looking away. “We need to call in reinforcements… as it involves the Angels thanks to our foolhardy meddling.â€
Jorge discloses, “Well… we are the reinforcements.â€
I hear Timothy groaning in pain behind me, hearing him shift and groan.
“What do you mean?†I inquire as I turn to Jorge.
Jorge motions to Timothy, “You see Father… This is the last Angel on earth.â€
I turn now, the gravity of the statement distracting me from all other things. “What do you mean?â€
Jorge motions around, “We’re in the realm of the Angels. The Guardian Temple of Enoch.†Jorge points to Timothy. “That is Timothy of Enoch. Great Grandson of Enoch himself…†the last words reverberate through the empty halls of the temple and strike my neres to their core, “and the last surviving angel in this temple.â€


Source.