Requiem of the Pathways

The incense clung to the chapel's cold stone walls like a dense, unearthly fog as though the very air conspired to press down upon the mourners gathered within. Candlelight danced behind the stained-glass windows, scattering shards of color across the pews. Yet, no matter how bright the flicker was, it failed to thaw the chill deep in Adam's chest.

The choir's solemn voices rose in practiced unison—melodic, sorrowful, but somehow distant, too neat. Their lamentations carried little comfort, as though each note had been measured and calculated long before any soul had perished.

At the chapel's front, four coffins lay draped beneath gilded cloths bearing the Church's sigil, their lids sealed tight. No reason existed for anyone to peer inside; the tragedy needed no further witness.

They had been a junior exorcist squad sent on what should have been a routine mission. In their most dreadful imaginings, no one would have predicted an ending like this.

Adam stood in the lineup with his fellow exorcists, but he might as well have been alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces. His hand wrapped around the cross at his neck, the metal pressing into his palm hard enough to draw shaking white lines. He'd shed all the tears he could muster; now, only a hollow ache remained, echoing the memory of what had been lost.

Father Gregor presided over the congregation. His measured voice spoke of sacrifice and the unrelenting duty of those who wielded their faith against evil. He named the lost "righteous" and "heroes." To Adam, the words rang hollow, turning into a droning hum amid the chaotic swirl in his mind.

He could see nothing but the coffins, a silent accusation resting at the altar. Their existence whispered a bitter truth that gnawed at his faith:

They should not have died.

A firm hand settled on his shoulder, one of the Priests no doubt, though Adam did not look to confirm.

"You did everything you could," the man murmured. "They will be welcomed into Heaven."

Adam's lips twitched in what might have been a smile or a grimace. The word "everything" sounded emptier than the silent church.

The funeral ended. The coffins were borne away. The congregation dispersed, leaving behind a void that refused to be filled. Yet something in Adam refused to be laid to rest. It tightened in his chest with a cold, sharp resolve.

Determination.

***

32 Hours Earlier

Oil lamps sputtered and hissed in the cramped briefing room, their weak glow illuminating motes of dust that swirled in the stagnant air. A single long table curved through the center, flanked by Father Gregor and two shadowy figures. Opposite them was a man in a creased uniform, dark hair tangled, exhaustion lining his features.

Father Gregor's voice shattered the stillness. "Shinji Momotaro, not only have you once again betrayed the Church, but you have also betrayed God Himself. Time and again, He granted you the chance to walk the righteous path, yet you indulged your carnival desires, desecrating the vessel He created in His image."

Shinji clung to wide-eyed innocence. "I—I don't understand what you mean, Father. I attended all the events you requested. I even traveled to other churches searching for promising trainees!"

The shadow on the left lurched forward, voice dripping with scorn. "You dare spin lies within the Lord's house!"

Father Gregor lifted a hand, restraining the volatile figure. "Patience." He then produced a sheaf of photographs, each depicting Shinji slinking into decrepit establishments with scantily clad women. "The evidence is clear. You are charged with fornication with a lady of the night."

Shinji's feigned innocence cracked like thin ice. "Sh—Shit." He whispered under his breath. 

Father Gregor gathered the photographs, laying them on the table. Disappointment weighed on his words. "By these transgressions, you're to be dismissed from the Church and blacklisted from all associated houses of worship. Hand over your exorcist equipment immediately."

"S-She forced me!" Shinji exclaimed, attempting once more to adopt a childlike demeanor. "I had no choice—"

"You expect me to believe different women all coerced you in the same manner?" Father Gregor slid more damning photographs onto the table. "Your farce is pitiful."

Shinji collapsed to his knees, desperation twisting his face. "Father, please! I am nothing if you strip my status away. I beg you for mercy! I'll do anything!"

The enraged shadow looked ready to strike, but Father Gregor's cool glance held him in place. Then the priest's tone shifted, subtle curiosity slipping into his words. "You said you would do anything?"

Shinji hesitated. "Y-Yes?"

Father Gregor steepled his fingers. "This very morning, one of our specialists, Edward Stewart, sent word that a once-corrupted chapel is merely haunted by vestiges of devilry remnants, not active threats. We mean to send a team of our best Trainees. I want you to lead them."

Shinji blinked. "That's it?"

With a slow nod, Father Gregor fanned out five portraits: Adam Morgenstern, Leovanni Pucci, Daniel Martinez, Samuel Gavril, and Jose Sawano. Their faces glowed in the lamplight. "You will ensure Adam Morgenstern cleanses these devil remnants. The others are there as support, nothing more."

Father Gregor's thin smile turned calculating. "Succeed, and your punishment lessens to mere demotion. Fail, and consider yourself cast into the abyss of disgrace."

A flood of relief washed over Shinji's expression. "Thank you, Father. Of course, I'll see it done."

"Report to the assembly hall tomorrow morning before first light. The trainees will then be assigned to you formally. Dismissed."

Gripping the portraits, Shinji bolted from the room, hope and fear mingling in his steps. The heavy door groaned shut behind him, leaving a hush thick with unspoken tensions in its wake.

Father Gregor slowly pushed himself up from the long wooden table, the lamplight casting spindly shadows across his somber robes. He approached the threshold with measured grace, hand hovering near the iron handle. Yet before he could depart, a low, feminine voice, low as a whisper but laced with undeniable authority pierced the stillness.

It belonged to the silent figure who had lingered in the gloom throughout the briefing, a presence so unobtrusive that one might have thought her a phantom were it not for that single, decisive utterance:

"We had a more accomplished Trainee Team Leader prepared for that role, one with exemplary records. Why replace someone so capable with a candidate who only meets the minimal exorcist standards?"

Father Gregor paused, gazing toward the silhouette that flickered at the far edge of the lantern's glow. His eyes lowered to the worn floorboards, reflecting a trace of an unspoken burden. When he finally spoke, his voice resonated with a grave, almost reverential calm:

"God is all-forgiving. At times, when we fail to perceive the path laid out before us, He grants a fleeting glimpse of His infinite vision, guiding us toward what we cannot yet see."

Without another moment's delay, Father Gregor slipped through the doorway, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor. Left behind was the woman and the angry man in the shadows, her fingers draped over her lips in pensive contemplation. She watched his retreat with an inscrutable expression until, in the silence he left behind, she murmured a single, scornful word:

"Liar."

***

The hall stretched cavernously cold, its black stone walls adorned with eerie blue torches that faintly licked the dark. Ten recruits stood side-by-side, tension rolling off them in palpable waves. Daniel and Samuel flanked Adam Morgenstern while Leo occupied the space beside him, bored and playing with his nails. Samuel stood like a soldier, gazing straight ahead. Daniel stared upward, lost in thought. Adam rested his chin on interlaced fingers, mind elsewhere.

The sudden creak of a heavy wooden door drew every eye. Father Gregor entered alongside Shinji Momotaro and a woman with long white hair and golden-framed glasses. The trio approached, and Father Gregor unfurled a scroll.

"Your new assignment," he began, echoing in the frigid chamber. "The Church has decided to undertake a cleansing operation at the ruins of St. Marcella's Chapel and St. Mary Chapel. This will be the second to last test before you are deemed worthy of exorcist status."

Adam frowned. St. Marcella's Chapel had supposedly been purified ages ago. But Father Gregor wasted no time dispelling doubts. "We have no reason to suspect active devils. Still, we must ensure any lingering corruption is purged completely."

Leo let out a quiet, sardonic laugh. "We're glorified janitors, then? How lovely."

Father Gregor ignored him, continuing with a tone of brittle authority. "Your standard equipment holy water, light swords, and prayer talismans will be provided. Although we classify this mission as low-risk, you are not to deviate from your orders."

He glanced down at the scroll. "For St. Marcella's: Shinji Momotaro is hereby designated Team Leader, with Adam Morgenstern, Leovanni Pucci, Samuel Gavril, Daniel Martinez, and Jose Angel. For St. Mary: Trinity Sinan will lead Cecil Huynh, Melanie Ball, Collin Evans, Muriel Ruiz, and Kristie Hart. Both teams will depart tomorrow, well before sunrise."

Father Gregor stepped back with a curt nod, and the recruits disbanded to prepare.

Leo stretched, a wolfish grin on his face. "Easiest mission yet."

Samuel adjusted his collar, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It may be routine, but ensuring these places remain cleansed protects countless souls."

Daniel's only reply was a shrug. "Better than hunting down a real devil."

Adam said nothing at all.

***

They traveled by car most of the day, rumbling along cobblestone until they reached dirt paths that wound into the abandoned countryside. The deeper they ventured, the more the world fell silent, as though something unspeakable lurked just out of sight.

When they arrived at the forsaken town cradling St. Marcella's Chapel, the sun was slipping behind a horizon painted in dying embers.

Adam stepped onto the brittle earth, fingers tightening around the cross at his chest. A nameless unease prickled over his skin. No birds singing, no insects buzzing, no wind whistling through cracked windows merely a stillness too absolute for comfort.

Leo gave a low whistle. "Someone really let the real estate go to ruin around here."

Samuel scanned the area, vigilance in his stance. "Team Leader, perhaps we should secure the perimeter first—"

Shinji waved him off with dismissive impatience. "No need. We'll do our job and leave quickly."

Adam lingered at the threshold, reluctant. Every instinct screamed a warning in the silence. But Shinji had already pressed forward, leaving the others little choice but to follow.

Time and decay had not been kind. Statues of saints stood mutilated, their faces gouged beyond recognition. Torn holy texts littered the floor like forsaken prayers.

Leo surveyed the destruction with undisguised distaste. "Is this really routine?"

Adam pressed his hands together in prayer, shutting his eyes against the creeping dread that crept along the edges of his vision. A fragment of scripture came to him, echoing in the eerie hush:

"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." Ephesians 6:12.