Page 1 of Virgil's Demons

PROLOGUE

VIRGIL

1982- The Past

My name is Virgil Desdemone,and I… am an Exorcist.

I was born to make suffer, those already tortured souls that had unwillingly become what we most hate…demons. Those who didn't want to leave this land of the living and only survived in this realm to cause havoc on human lives. Their souls, putrid and full of hate, envy, greed, lust, pride… every sin imaginable, and even those sins that an innocent soul couldn't possibly imagine.

But I was also an emissary of a mortal sin. I had a bloodlust that was unquenchable. The adrenaline and power that came after a kill was a dark thrill I feasted on, but then there was the other side to it. The one that came after a good fuck.

The truth was, the sight of blood excited me, especially when sliding down a woman's breast, or the curve of a thick thigh. The craving came after the thrill of a good kill. The adrenaline kicked in and I went in search of somewhere, or someone to quench it.

I never wanted to harm anyone, especially not a woman. I just wanted to watch her bleed. To see a woman in the throwsof an orgasm, confusion hazing over her eyes as I pinned her down and slightly caused that tiny sting of pain, the smell of fear on them made me hard. The way their eyes grew large, pretty mouths drew open as they were introduced to a different kind of pain and lust. But they never stopped rutting on my cock, their innocence taken, and yet they whined and moaned as I licked their wounds. It was how I introduced them to my demons. It was an addiction, a torment I silently dwelled in.

This alone was why I had joined the priesthood. Oh, but I'm far from being a priest. I took the oath solely to have an excuse to remain alone and abstinent. But I wasn't put on this earth to forgive any sins. I was put here to destroy them.

Love was for the weak-minded, those of us who preyed on demons couldn't afford to love. The wicked would use that against us to make us falter, to make us sway from our faith and I needed all my focus on the the fight. One little mistake could cost me my life. And I wasn't prepared to join them in hell just yet.

Women.

Women were my weakness, and we were all better off keeping me chained away. It worked out. I didn't hurt anybody else, and in the end, they didn't leave me.

I stared down at the young woman who was tied up to the bed. She would be my third exorcism. My third attempt to cast out evil alone. In the first two attempts, I had watched as the priest who taught me had failed the souls that were commended to him. During the last exorcism, the demon took both his and the young boy's life. The priest had been too busy drowning himself in alcohol to prioritize the child who needed his help. I had tried to help but I was cast aside by a drunkard who let his demons consume him.

It seemed the Vatican chose their soldiers based on who walked the line between good and evil, and who knew demons better than those who had always lived with them on their backs.Seeing this, I swore that I wouldn't let that happen to me. I wouldn't let the Vatican or my demons stop me from what I knew I was made for.

I watched the young woman's face distort. The demon haunted her and tortured her physically as well as spiritually. I had to admit I was fascinated by how it transformed before me. It was an advantage of having one foot grounded in the living realm and the other foot burning in hell with the rest of the sinners.

The demon flickered in and out of sight, its form only half visible in the dim light of the room. Shadows clung to it like a second skin, tendrils of darkness slithered across the woman's body, twisting and tightening around her like a web. Its shape was grotesque, a twisted imitation of humanity, with stretched-out limbs that bent in unnatural angles, joints cracking with every movement. Its skin was oily and slick, much like the tar that rose from the depths of hell. It shimmered with a sickly sheen of decay, as though it was rotting from the inside out.

I felt the weight of its presence, thick and suffocating, like a pressure on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Normally, demons were nothing more than a disturbance in the atmosphere, a cold breeze or a sudden drop in temperature, a raising of the hairs on the back of your neck. But when you had them trapped like this, in moments where that thin veil between hell and earth grew thin and frail for them, I was able to see their true form.

It was the eyes, though, that haunted me the most. Two red, glowing orbs, emanated from within this shadow of a monster. They flickered like embers in a dying fire. They were unnaturally large, bulging from the demon's skull, if you wanted to call it that. It was a barren hollowness that barely contained its grotesque form. Its eyes pierced through you, seeing straightthrough to your core, to every dark thought, every regret, every fear you ever tried to bury.

They weren't just the eyes of a predator—they were the eyes of something that had tasted the darkest corners of human despair and savored every moment of it.

The demon's mouth twisted into something that resembled a grin, sharp, jagged teeth catching the light as it whispered to the woman. I couldn't hear the words, but I knew their intent. They were designed to break her, to tear at her will until there was nothing left.

The demon turned to me, those eyes evil and amused, stared back at me. A slow, malevolent smile flickered on its vile face. A shiver ran down my spine and I froze. Although the demon tormented its victims, I was the one who was left staring into those eyes. I was the one who was left to remember what waited for me if I ever faltered... if I ever made that one mistake that would cost me everything. That's what the wicked thrived on—the smallest lapse, the tiniest crack in your resolve. One misstep and I'd be next at the gates of hell.

Don't think for one second I didn't belong there, in hell. I deserve every torment that was waiting for me, every demon I've sent screaming below had a plan for my soul. I served God, but I never claimed to be a good man. I've seen what I've done, the blood on my hands. It doesn't wash off, no matter how many prayers I mutter, no matter how many demons I send back to that pit, no matter how many times a Catholic priest forgives me in the name of that God. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a man who's crossed too many lines, and broken too many rules.

I tell myself that I'm doing God's work, cleansing the world of its evil. But deep down, I know the truth. There's a part of me that enjoys the kill—the violence, the hunt. The feeling of power as I face those monsters and break them. I tell myself it's for these souls, for God, but it's more than that.

Sometimes, when I look into their eyes—those wretched, hate-filled eyes—I feel a connection. Like we're not so different. Like the only thing separating me from them is a thin thread of faith, and I'm always one step away from snapping it. Maybe that's why I do this. Maybe I'm not fighting for redemption. Maybe I'm just punishing myself. Because I know, deep down, I deserve it.

I deserve to be destroyed by the very darkness I've tried to control.

Taking a breath, I steadied myself as I reached for the weight of the crucifix beneath my jacket. The cold metal pressed against my skin, grounding me in the moment. This was what I was made for. I was a vessel of God, a soldier, chosen to cast out evil, to cleanse the world of its filth. The weight of my faith surged within me, steadying my hand, but the demon's laughter cut through it like a dull blade, grating and hollow.

It echoed in the room, mocking any resolve I held. "You. A vessel of God?" it sneered, its voice dripping with contempt as it let me know it could read my thoughts. "You believe that lie?"

I forced my voice to steady. "Tell me your name, demon."

The laughter grew, sharper now, filled with cruel amusement. "You think you command me? You, of all people?" It leaned closer, its eyes burning with malice. "You're no soldier. You're nothing but a broken man, if you want to call yourself that, clinging to a God who's already abandoned you."

I gripped the crucifix tighter, but that sliver of doubt crawled up my spine like ice. One thing demons didn't do was sugarcoat the truth. And when they did manage to tell you one, it was usually dug out of your subconscious for them to play with. Because I too believed that God had long abandoned me.

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