Denial of Death “A Failed Exorcism” Part 2.

A continuation of the official short story.

A gyration of devious motions came from underneath the linen; demonic screams filled the room and the echoing of its terrible noise bounced off every wall, forcing the priest to cover his ears out of agony. Blood began to stain the white cloth, and a mass of tentacles slithered out from between her legs. Chunks of blood, uterus, and cephalopod-like suction cups formed a ball of wretchedness that the priest had never seen in an exorcism before. This thing that resided inside the girl had given birth to a monster that barely eked a pulse, but the very thought of it coming to life was something the priest could not fathom. Beyond the evil that already that was transpiring, she took the crucifix and let out a boisterous laugh. The image of Christ was becoming the subject of fellation. She began deep-throating the cross--barely letting out a gag or a cough. Her eyelids twitched in delight, and one may assume that she had an orgasm, if it were not for the amassed abomination wrought from her womb.

      There was sheer disgust for what the priest witnessed. He could not bear to witness any more defamation of the God he served. The priest released a loud yell and hurled himself on top of the demon girl. Holy robes and white gowns clashed; an entanglement of bodies writhed in fluids that smelled of sulfur, blood, urine, and death itself. He mustered enough strength to pin the girl down by her wrists. Sweat poured from his forehead, his arms trembled from adrenaline, and the child of this demon wrapped its tentacles so lovingly around his legs, to which he cared not for its vile caress. She writhed back and forth and thrashed her body in a sexual connotation. Brief moments of beauty morphed escaped the demonic eyes she now bore, in an attempt to seduce this man of Christ. The priest was a soldier of God, and no attempts at seduction could persuade him from loosening his grip.

      The girl spat in his face blood so thick that it coated his eyeballs. He screamed; he fell backwards onto the floor; immediately, he began to wipe his eyes of the mucous. Gripping the crucifix, the demon lunged forward and shoved it into his sternum. His eyes opened from the shock, though his sclera were now burned from the fluid traversing his optic nerves. The demon girl slowly plunged the cross into his chest. With each driving wedge, she smiled a devious smile, and the gnashing of her teeth was like the jackal that bore the Antichrist. He couldn't help but think that he witnessed the end of the world, and maybe this thing--this demon--was the mother of the abomination writhing on the floor. And, perhaps, he would be the first to witness a new world of pure, unadulterated chaos. His eyes began to close from loss of blood, and his arms that trembled from determination, were now flailing out of survival. HIs closing images were now the face of the demon that had seemingly defeated him. With the tilt of its head, this being was satisfied watching a man of the cloth suffer--not only from blindness, pain, suffering, and humiliation...but from defeat. A hand eclipsed what was left of his vision, and his eyelids were now forcibly closed.

...and he slept...or so he thought. A dream of fire, brimstone, and the dancing of succubae around a great cross surfaced from the darkness...

      The eyes that were forcibly closed opened, slowly, to a scene he could not make out. He was blind, but where one sense failed, another stepped in to compensate. His ears were full of the screams of men and women bellowing throughout what felt like a valley. The flapping of wings, the smacking of gums, and the laughing of demons circled him. His feet were above ground, and his arms were suspended in a horizontal fashion running parallel to the ground. His heart--barely beating--knew that he was the victim of a crucifixtion. The demons and the demon girl whom conquered him danced around the cross. A great and hot fire encircled Satan's posse; it was so hot that the flames began scalding the priest's flesh. The cross that still remained inside his sternum now shined. Just like the sunshine he saw a time ago, the light reflected off this once holy relic with the embodiment of Jesus melting. And as with all things of irony, this priest was beginning to melt from his humiliating pedestal. The demon girl raised her arms high in the air, with a smile as black as night, and eyes as white as snow. The demons danced, sang, and spoke in tongues that were older that time itself. With the last parts of him melting to sludge, she walked up to her victim. She gave him one, last smile before the skin completely fell from his bones. She spat blood onto him, and with this degradation, the priest fell into a puddle of skin, bones, blood, and defeat.