The Windy City: Excursion at the Holy Name Cathedral

[Elven Doritos]

As I walked into the sanctuary of the Holy Name Cathedral, I instinctively lowered my  head in reverence to the altar, even bowing slightly. Only after I had begun the perfunctory motion did I come to my senses; I wasn't religious, and I certainly wasn't Catholic, so I had no business paying homage to a God in whom I did not believe.

I was caught off-guard by the approaching priest. He was rather short although quite lean, with flaming red hair that was beginning to gray at the temples. He looked up to me over the edge of his black-rimmed reading glasses and uttered a gasp that seemed more apologetic and nervous than anything else. "Excuse me, child," he said softly, his voice filled with an disarming calm, "I am Father Michael. I did not know anyone else was here. How can I help you?"

I shifted uncomfortably. I had never been very comfortable with the clergy, at least not since my departure from the Lutheran Church. It wasn't that I had something against religious people, I just didn't seem to have faith any more. I reached for my badge, showing it to the priest. "I am Detective Henry Emmerick with the Chicago Police Major Case Squad. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

The priest smiled warmly and nodded slowly. "Anything to help Chicago's Finest, officer, although I cannot fathom what the CPD would need from us." He offered serene smile. "If you will accompany me to my office, I will answer any questions you have." Without waiting for an answer, he opened a side door and stepped out of the room.

I did my best to follow the priest down the hall, noting to myself the artwork and sculptures that lined the walls, filling the otherwise gloomy and intimidating structure with a spark of humanity. My reverie was cut short when  the priest halted, opened the door to his office, and gestured for me to join him. Stepping into the office, I noticed that it was apparently his bedroom as well; a cot sat near the door next to a well-used chair for parishioners, and an old monochrome television sat atop a beaten file cabinet. Other than a rather simple desk and papers that littered the room, these were the only features. Obviously noting my surprise, the priest chuckled. "I have taken a vow of poverty," he began in his hushed voice, "but not a vow of cleanliness, so please excuse the mess."

He motioned for me to sit, but I politely refused. I had no intention of staying long. "Father Michael, Major Case is currently investigating a string of murders that we believe are connected to the Holy Mother Church. All of the victims have been devout Catholics, and each of them was killed in an identical manner." I noticed the unusual serenity on his face, the absolute calm. Apparently, he didn't care much for his flock. "We're not sure if the killer is specifically targeting Catholics, but it's likely, and we were wondering if there is anything in the killer's modus operandi that you could point out to us, maybe with some significance that we missed."

The priest nodded. "I will certainly do my best." I opened a small manila envelope I had brought with me, offering him a stack of ten different photographs.  Pushing his reading glasses down, he carefully examined the photographs, pointing to a seemingly omnipresent black book, positioned above the victim's heart. Each of the victims were decapitated grotesquely, and despite the brutal nature of the murders, the priest seemed to be unfazed by the brutality and entirely on the minute details, much like a detective would be. "The books, Detective Emmerson. What are the books?"

I reached into my overcoat and produced one of the ten identical copies. As I handed it to the priest,  I spoke quietly.  "They are all the same. Nobody we have spoken to can even discern what language it is in, much less translate it, though they noticed it has a resemblance to Old Persian and Saka."

As Father Michael opened the book, his eyes widened. Several long moments passed before he looked up from the book, his eyes full of a mixture of intrigue and genuine fear. "While I can understand the mistake of assuming it to be Saka or Old Persian, that is quite incorrect. There are few left who even know this language, and fewer still who are willing to admit to it." He looked back down to the book again, shaking his head. "This is a language without a name, although scholars have often referred to it simply as 'Abyssal', for want of a better term."

I furrowed my brow. I was no linguistic expert, and surely there were countless extinct languages I have never heard of, but this one sounded particularly odd. "I suppose I am lucky I came when I did, if so few have even heard of this language."

Looking over his glasses, Father Michael replied with a deadpan tone, "I do not believe in luck, Detective. I believe in Providence." I swallowed hard. I had forgotten I was in a Church, and to whom I was speaking. The priest looked back down to the text, and after a tense moment of silence, he spoke again. "This is a most intriguing text, Detective. I am curious how anyone came about it."

I eyed him inquisitively. I debated asking any more about the book, but knew that any piece of evidence in this otherwise cold case would be essential. Even if it meant listening to the priest babble about some ancient text and its supposed significance. "Why do you say that?"

He paused for a moment, obviously debating whether or not to tell me, as if he was about to tell some deep secret. I was always irritated by the air of mystery within the ranks of the clergy, and this must have been evident, because Father Michael soon began to speak. "Because, after the creation of the Index Liborum Prohibitorum- that is, a list of banned texts- by Pope Paul IV, every copy of this book was supposedly destroyed."

I nodded slowly. The Catholic Church certainly wasn't the only organization responsible for censoring literary works that didn't conform to its teachings, but that didn't make it particularly just. From the apparent obscurity of the language it was written in, I was beginning to wonder why the Pope would censor it- surely, officially condemning it would draw more attention to it. "Why precisely was it targeted by the Church?"

He looked to me, a strange twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps, if I can keep you for a short while, I can read you an excerpt, to give you some insight?" Although he had dodged my question, my curiosity was now piqued.  With a concessionary nod, I took a seat, not knowing how long Father Michael would read.

"In the Old Days," he began, "the sky burned and the ground shook as the forces of light and darkness waged a horrible war. For countless eons, fiends and angels battled, turning the rivers red with blood as the asphalt earth burned with supernatural energy. The battle would not last, however, for even as the noble forces of light reserved themselves, attempting to fight with honor and virtue, the treacherous creatures spawned within the dark were overwhelmingly despicable, numerous, and destructive."

It sounded like the typical zealotry present in any mythological creation story, but I stifled my yawns as I allowed the priest to continue. After all, he was giving me some insight into the murderer, who was probably a zealot of some forgotten cult or another, and any edge we could gain about this sociopath would prove valuable.

The priest went on. "The fiends finally emerged victorious, swelling in number and forcing the forces of light into their sacred realm. Sealed away by their unholy opponents, the forces of good began their forced exile, finding within their newfound isolation brotherhood, universal love, and the peace that they had longed for. They were content."

I leaned forward, keeping my eyes intently on the priest. This was certainly different from any account of the primordial history I had heard, and somehow, this one was entrapping. The wording of the book was tantamount to heresy before the eyes of the Church, but somehow, the priest was completely serene while reading it, not even stumbling over the words, as if he was completely fluent in Abyssal. Or perhaps he had read the text before.

"Within the ranks of the fiends, war began anew. It was not until the emergence of the Black Thirteen- a circle of elite lords amongst the forces of darkness- that the war ended, the demonic armies falling in rank beneath the unholy regime. The Thirteen, known to mortals by many names, were creatures of pure might, beings of the rawest power. Formless and mighty, the Great Ones ruled without pity, without remorse, without feeling."

I held up my hand to stop the priest. I was quickly catching the message that this would be a long series of cryptic parables and fables. "Father," I asked, "are the names of these Thirteen given anywhere? I'm afraid I don't have the time to stay for the whole reading." I pulled a notepad from a pocket in my overcoat, ready to take names.

Father Michael adjusted his glasses and nodded. He thumbed through the pages until he paused, offering a deferential nod to me. "It is the nature of Those Who Came After, the Lesser Wretches of the Scum Pits, to apply strictures and names to such beings of unequivocal power. Each of the Black Thirteen were revealed to the later realms of Man, after they had fallen from power and their realms seized by the weakest of creatures."

I cringed. Obviously, whoever had written the book had an utter distaste for humanity, meaning it was probably written by a sociopath similar to the killer I was tracking. The priest coughed softly, and then continued, "The first among these was Lei Kung, who wielded a hammer made of thunder; the next of the order was Thrym, the lord of the cold and the leader of the wretched giants; unholy of unholy, the third was Set, a treacherous creature of spite and malice; the following regent was mighty Hecate, patroness of magic and the essence from which it issues; the next was Inanna, the lady of war and love; the next became known as Hastsezini, the master of flame; the seventh, Kali, was known for her powers of destruction; the eighth among them was Camazotz, whose sole companions were terrible bats; the next was Gunab, whose only joy was the blackest evil; then Rahab, the drake, who ruled over the black oceans; then Druaga, a king among devils and a master of torture; the eleventh, lord Lix Terax, ruled the howling winds that could heal or curse upon a whim; the next, named Arawn, ruled the province of death; the last among these, the most eternal, was their lord and leader, the one who united the dark fiends and bound their greed into himself, the one named Baal, for he is their ruler and nothing else."

After jotting down the names, I read over them again, shaking my head in disbelief. A few of the names I recognized enough to know that each was drawn from a vastly disparate mythology, representing the darkest aspects of humanity's religions. After a long pause, I spoke slowly. "I can see why this book was banned. It is an utter heresy upon everything that the Church holds dear."

Father Michael closed the book, setting it onto his desk. He slid his glasses from his face and folded them, setting them to the side. He reached instinctively for his cross, sighing heavily. "No. It is because it is true. The Vatican chose to conceal it from the faithful, in part because they believe the knowledge within it is too dangerous for any to hold. They know that with this book, the demons that were driven by the early holy men could be resurrected, returned from their ancient tombs and once again brought forth to the world."

I looked up to him, now reaching for the book and stowing it. I was growing uneasy at his suggestions, and he either bordered on the very insane or had just revealed some terrible secret to me. I stood, offering a polite smile, and posed one last question before I intended to leave. "If that is so, then why tell me?"

Father Michael stood as well, flexing his arms. "Because, Detective, I wanted you to know the fury of Hell before it devoured you." I looked on in horror as the priest's skin turned ashen, the color draining from every inch of his body. His eyes flitted shut, and the room trembled as he uttered a raspy chant. Two red horns began to protrude from his head, jutting cruelly from his demonic visage. His eyes opened again, now pools of reddish light, and I saw two bat-like wings unfold from his back. He jumped atop his desk, his feet now cloven hooves, and summoned forth a blade of hell-red flame.

I drew my weapon, firing three rounds directly into Father Michael's chest. Amazingly, my bullets pierced through his now-stony hide, and as he fell backward, I did the only sane thing: I ran. I heard Father Michael rising even as I ran into the sanctuary, and I knew that I had no hope. As the fiend thrashed through the doorway to reach me, I kneeled before the alter, offering a desperate prayer to God.

As the winged demon entered the sancturary, I kept my gaze upon the altar. My eyes closed as I heard chanting all around me, the sounds of the Higher Powers. Father Michael screamed in rage as I smelled the searing of unnatural flesh, and then, the sanctuary filled with deafening silence. Breathing heavily, ready to thank whatever had saved me.

All I saw, though, was the departing form of a black-clad priest, holding a book in one hand and a cross in the other. I stumbled out of the cathedral, shaken by the events that had unfolded, and never again sure of my faith or my place in the world.

I can only pray that Father Michael was not right.

[Elven Doritos]

Hey guys. This originally started as me writing a backdrop for my d20 Modern Campaign, an alternative mythological history based loosely on the Buffyverse Age of Demons and a collection of elder deities. It kind of mutated into this bit of fiction, and I had a Hell of a time figuring out how to end it.

Sorry if it isn't too great. Heh.

~Elven Doritos

[Numinous]

It is awesome!  Pardon me if I sound like a fanboy, but it sounds shweet!  Oh, and I like Buffy, and angel, and all that, so I might be biased...

Does anybody have the d20 modern core books?  cuz I'm up for a game if anybody else is, :P

[Elven Doritos]

Heh. This particular piece is semi-significant because it a) represents my first attempt at defining my d20 Modern metaplot and b) it's my first real attempt at 1st person fiction. Weird, I know, but I always seem to write in 3rd, and it was kind of refreshing to switch things up a bit.

[Túrin]

w00t! Very good, I like it. So is this story the basis for a CS?

[Elven Doritos]

The story is the exposition of some of the working elements of a real-world, modern campaign, yes.

And I'm glad you liked. :)

~Elven Doritos