Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
Urgent pounding shattered the early-morning silence inside the otherwise peaceful house.
A mature, slightly weathered man opened the front door.
Surprise flickered across his face when he recognized the elderly woman standing on the porch.
“Mrs.
Morgan?”
The exhausted woman was one of the most devoted members of his congregation.
She attended Mass regularly and often came to the church alone to pray.
Father Alexander Anderson knew her well—or at least as well as someone carrying memories from another life could know anyone in this world.
“What happened?” he asked.
The moment Mrs.
Morgan saw him, she clasped her trembling hands together.
“Father Anderson, please save my daughter.”
“You mean Sarah?” Anderson’s expression became serious.
“What happened to her?”
He remembered Sarah as a quiet young woman with a gentle voice who usually accompanied her mother to church.
Beyond that, he knew very little about her.
At the mention of her daughter’s name, Mrs.
Morgan’s eyes immediately reddened.
“Yes, Father.
I think something evil has possessed her.”
She struggled to control her breathing before continuing.
“She’s speaking in a man’s voice.
She attacked me and Sandy.
We didn’t know what else to do, so we tied her to the bed.”
Her voice cracked.
“Please help her.
I can tell she’s suffering.”
Anderson’s eyebrow twitched.
At that exact moment, a cold mechanical voice sounded inside his head.
Another random mission had appeared.
[Exorcism]
[Rescue the girl from the demon’s grasp.]
[Mission Reward: 5 Points]
[Accept Mission?]
Anderson accepted without hesitation.
A mission worth five points shouldn’t be especially dangerous.
If the system had offered a hundred points, he would have needed to reconsider before walking into the house.
“Mrs.
Morgan, don’t panic,” he said calmly.
“Sarah should still be safe for the moment.”
The elderly woman stared at him uncertainly.
“But she—”
Anderson gave her a gentle, confident smile.
“Have faith in the Lord.
He does not abandon those who place their trust in Him.”
He removed the crucifix hanging around his neck and placed it in her hands.
“This crucifix has been blessed and treated with holy water.
Go home and hang it above Sarah’s bedroom door.
It should help contain the situation until I arrive.”
His steady voice and the familiar weight of the crucifix gradually calmed her.
Some of the helplessness faded from her expression.
“All right, Father.”
“Go ahead.
I need to collect a few things, and then I’ll meet you there.”
After receiving his instructions, Mrs.
Morgan didn’t waste another second.
Anderson watched her hurry toward her car before closing the door.
He crossed the living room and entered the room on the right side of the house.
Mrs.
Morgan lived in the neighboring district.
Because Anderson was a priest who lived alone, she often brought him homemade food after attending morning prayers at his church.
She was a kind, compassionate woman.
Even without the system mission, he would have gone to help her.
Her concern had been one of the first genuine acts of kindness he’d experienced after arriving in this world.
It had given him something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of belonging.
More importantly, this was his territory.
He wouldn’t allow a demon, ghost, or any other supernatural creature to disrupt the peaceful life he had built here.
Malevolent entities were disturbingly similar to contagious diseases.
Once one appeared, others often followed.
If paranormal incidents weren’t contained quickly, they tended to multiply.
Anderson walked to the center of the ordinary-looking room and crouched.
His fingers found a thin cord hidden beneath the edge of the carpet.
He pulled it.
A square section of the floor lifted, revealing a concealed staircase.
Anderson lowered himself through the opening and began descending.
He had constructed the hidden basement specifically to store his exorcism equipment.
Firearms, custom ammunition, and certain other tools couldn’t be left where an ordinary visitor might discover them.
After thirteen steps, his shoes touched the concrete floor.
The strong smell of gun oil and cleaning solvent filled the air.
Anderson followed a narrow passage until it opened into a warehouse-sized chamber.
More than thirty wooden shelving units stood in neat rows, making the underground space larger than the room above it.
To an outsider, it might have looked like a cluttered storage facility.
It was anything but ordinary.
Firearms, ammunition, ritual equipment, medical supplies, and handmade weapons covered the shelves.
Anderson surveyed the collection and pressed his lips together thoughtfully.
Based on Mrs.
Morgan’s description, Sarah was most likely suffering from demonic possession or interference from a hostile spirit.
Fortunately, Anderson had plenty of experience dealing with both.
He passed several racks loaded with guns and boxes of specially manufactured ammunition.
Some rounds were packed with rock salt, while others used silver, cold iron, or blessed lead.
He stopped in front of the third shelf.
This section held his religious equipment: bottles of holy water, crucifixes, rosaries, blessed salt, holy oil, St.
Benedict medals, an aspergillum, and a well-used copy of the Roman Ritual.
They were the same kinds of tools commonly seen in classic American exorcism movies.
Anderson remembered watching those films during his previous life and shook his head with faint amusement.
Reality was far less theatrical and considerably more dangerous.
He picked up a heavy backpack and began placing one item from each category inside.
For an ordinary priest, the contents of this shelf might have been enough.
Anderson’s methods, however, were not exactly conventional.
He shouldered the bag and moved to the next rack.
Unlike the religious shelf, this one was packed with glass bottles, sealed containers, sterile syringes, and carefully labeled medical compounds.
Without the surrounding weapons, someone might have mistaken the basement for an underground clinic.
“A fast-acting hallucinogen,” Anderson murmured.
He picked up a small bottle and placed it in his backpack.
The compound could trigger intense visual and auditory hallucinations almost immediately.
“Strong tranquilizer.”
A second bottle went into the bag.
He added several other medications and chemical agents as well.
Each one had been specially prepared by him.
They were powerful enough to incapacitate a violent target, but carefully formulated to minimize the risk of permanent harm.
“One last thing.”
Anderson returned to the first shelf.
The rack was crowded with firearms: Desert Eagles, revolvers, shotguns, rifles, and long-range weapons.
Among them sat several compact dart guns designed to resemble ordinary pistols.
He selected one, checked the chamber, and slipped it into the backpack.
His preparations were nearly complete.
All that remained was his clerical clothing.
Anderson opened a storage case and removed a black cassock reinforced with protective material.
The moment he put it on, the system displayed its information.
[Basic Clerical Robe]
[Defense: 6]
[Durability: 6/10]
Anderson adjusted the collar and closed the case.
That would do.
Mrs.
Morgan lived in Boston’s South End, only one district away from the Tremont neighborhood where Anderson’s church and home were located.
Tremont had deteriorated considerably in recent months.
Gangs had become increasingly bold, teenagers skipped school to loiter on street corners, and drug users could be found in nearly every abandoned alley.
Anderson had walked a little more than halfway through the neighborhood when he noticed a group of young men gathered beneath a pedestrian underpass.
They looked exactly as expected—school-age delinquents smoking cigarettes when they should have been in class.
Anderson had no intention of getting involved.
He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and continued walking.
Then one of them called out.
The young man had a buzz cut and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
He stood roughly thirty feet away, surrounded by several laughing friends.
“Hey!
Father!”
Anderson glanced in his direction but kept moving.
“I’m one of your loyal followers!” the buzz-cut man shouted arrogantly, making no attempt to lower his voice.
His friends snickered behind him.
“Can I ask you a question?”
End of Chapter 1