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The chapel wasn’t the most frequently visited place within the Ministry. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, overall piousness wasn’t a specially valued satanic virtue. There was no need for everyday masses and displays of devotion. One worships with their deeds, with their own being, their art and joy, and pleasure, not with words and gestures. And yet, there were designated members of the Clergy whose sole duty was to tend the chapel, polish the wood, sweep the floors, bring flowers and light the candles. It was lilac this time, thought Copia, garden-fresh lilac of the spring. He stood surrounded by the scent so sweet and intense it made him dazed. Lilac and the dim, warm light of the candles, and the cold calmness of the stones, each familiar as warmth of his own skin. The most unholy place providing him with the loneliness he so desperately sought.
It was the middle of the day and he wasn’t expecting anybody to be in the chapel, not when the Ministry was buzzing with uncertainty and excitement. Copia has seen all of that already. Few times since his childhood. After his own ascension to papacy Copia was sure he wouldn’t be there for the next exchange of power. Surly he won’t be in the middle of it again. He knew the price for being a Papa was death. Which doesn’t mean he was ready to go.
He definitely wasn’t ready to stay either. Not like this.
His ears were still ringing from the roar of the congregation in LA. It was only a few days ago. He lost a mother. He gained a brother. He lost the papacy. He gained… what exactly?
Frater Imperator. The Head of the Clergy. What is that supposed to mean? Cardinals were looking at him with the well-deserved suspicion. One doesn’t simply come back from being a Papa. Not to lead the Clergy, if the bastards were even willing to be led anywhere. He really hoped that papacy would free him from the everlasting schemes and intrigues, the backstabbing, false promises and all that jazz.
He came to the chapel to think. Maybe even to sulk a bit in self-pity. To be alone, for a moment. Without people telling him where to go, what to do, what to sign and why he has to wait for his own office to be ready. For someone who was supposed to be in control, very little power he actually held.
He definitely didn’t expect someone to be in the Chapel, sitting in the front row on the left, in front of the by-alter depicting his papacy. Copia didn’t even know they have already commemorate Papa Emeritus IV but there it was: a panting, rather good one, he in the center, wearing his blue and golden chasuble and mitre, with the smaller figures of Ghouls around him like some putti in the Renaissance art. And nice sculptures of rats.
The pang of longing and loss washed over him painfully. He raised hand to his face, a movement only half-conscious, missing his papal paint wholeheartedly. Seeing supplicant only made it worse, somehow. He wouldn’t question it if someone was praying under any other altar erected for the many Papas and the Damned of the Church; they were dead, burning in eternal light of Satan and therefore could provide guidance or visions. Hell, even he sometimes lit the candles for Terzo, a silent ‘thank you’ for everything he had learned from his predecessor. Seeing someone praying in front of his altar though… It made him feel like a walking corpse. It was a nail to the symbolic coffin of his papacy. It doesn’t matter that his body wasn’t stored within the halls of the Ministry; he felt like an animated cadaver, soulless and voiceless.
It made him angry.
His feet moved towards the bench, heels clicking on the stone floor, enough noise to make the man in front of the altar shudder and look over his shoulder.
He had half-long dark curly hair that fell on his face. He was pale, sickly so. And his eyes, wide and brilliant, had a feverish luster to it. He was wearing loose, black clothing with the band logo on it, an old merch but it looked brand-new on him. It was impossible to tell how old he was. Not a young man anymore but there was something in his face, some kind of bewilderment that screamed inexperience. He was slim and the way he was shrinking into himself made him appear smaller than he actually was.
He looked at Copia with something almost like fear.
"I’m sorry", he said.
That made Frater stop in his tracks.
"For what?" Copia asked, confused.
He blinked a few times.
"I don’t know if I’m allowed to be here" he started slowly. "They told me to wait here…"
Frater shrugged.
"Then you are allowed in here. Everybody is allowed in here. In fact, there is no rule about who or when can enter the chapel so I don’t think the concept of ‘permission’ applies here". He glanced at the man who started to relax a little. "New arrival?" Copia asked, taking the last few stapes and sitting one row behind him, keeping a little distance just in case.
Being Papa wasn’t just about performance. The singing, dancing, lights and costumes, it was important, yes, but as a means to an end. It was supposed to bring new converts into the fold and to guide faithful within the Church, to demonstrate the glory of Satan. And as the guiding hand, Papa must know the doubts, fears and pains of his congregation. Because of this he had learnt to recognize the signs of abuse at the first glance. And the stranger in front of him was a poster picture of that. Copia needed to be gentle with him.
Man nodded in answer to his question.
"You came here because of the band?" Frater gestures toward the Ghost logo on the man’s jacket.
He bit his lips.
"Yeah, you can say so" he admitted. "Although, if I’m being honest, I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here… It’s… not what I expected."
Copia raised his eyebrow to that.
"And what did you expect? I’m sure we can deliver."
"I would prefer you don’t do that. All the fire and brimstone I was afraid of would destroy the art" he pointed out around him.
Frater smirked. The new guy wasn’t the lost case if he still could crack a joke. And his nervousness eased a bit when he sought Copia’s smile.
The chapel was indeed splendid, so high its ceiling disappeared in the dim light, giving the impression of never-ending towering of the lean columns, with the stained glass windows and exquisite sculptures and paintings. It seems to be taken from a different place and times, maybe from Hell itself. The art depicting scenes that would cause Dante to faint, demons and humans of every gender intertwined in suggestive poses and over all of it, on the main altar, the figure of Lucifer, so radiant and beautiful it hurt to look at it. The new guy’s eyes followed Frater’s gaze.
"I just don’t understand the need for mockery" he confessed, quiet and shy. "Isn’t the sacrilege like admitting that the object of blasphemy is truly holy?" he asked, glancing at Frater as he was afraid of being punished for raising the question.
"It’s not the blasphemy for the blasphemy sake" Copia explained gently. "It helps some of the congregation members to see what had hurt them so degraded. You could think about it as a form or revenge for everything that Christians and their god did to us and the world. The bastard they worship deserves to be mocked so people would stop fearing him. He has no power, not here, not anywhere else. You could fuck on the top of Christian altar during the consecration and no harm would come to you, no divine wrath would struck you down. Beside…" he paused, looking for the right words but stopped altogether as he saw the man’s face. The utter shock on it.
"Let me guess" Copia started again. "You were Catholic?"
He nodded with hesitation, like he was confessing a crime.
"And you never thought of fucking on the altar?" Frater couldn't help himself. He was a tease at heart.
"Is it a standard practice here?" The new guy sounded panicked.
Copia laughed.
"Only if you ask nicely" he winked at the man, admiring the scarlet blush that bloomed at his cheeks.
He groaned and hide face in hands.
"There is very little ‘standard practice’ here I’m afraid" Copia took pity on the poor soul in front of him. "You can undergo the Dark Baptism if you want, attend the Rituals, but the only way to truly worship Lucifer is to be happy and free."
The man sighted and shakingly lowered his hands.
"Happy and free…" he repeated quietly.
"Yes. And", Copia returned to the previous thought, "there is no blasphemy here."
"What about the inverted cross?" He pointed out a massive Grucifix that was suspended above the main altar.
Copia raised eyebrow.
"It’s not a Christian symbol. They don’t have a monopoly for the geometric shape," he noted, putting hand on his own Grucifix, adorned with rubies. "It's a stylized heptagram, you know. It has its own meaning."
"I’m sorry, I didn’t…" he started to stutter. Copia moved closer and gently touched his arm.
"It’s okay," Frater said. "You will learn. If you stay, of course." The men looked at him with fear at the sound of the word ‘if’.
Copia sighted. It wasn’t too easy to come into the Ministry. It wasn’t entirely of the mortal world. The vail was particularly thin here, which allows the impossible architecture to exist, the never-ending corridors, monumental buildings, halls so tall you cannot see the ceilings and the general wrongness of the space, something that hampers exploration and explanation of this place. It has been his home since forever. It was familiar, safe. For an outsider though it could be intimidating. Not to mention the zeal of faith one needed to actually find their way into the halls. The new guy – Copia still didn’t ask for his name – was brought in here which means someone in the Clergy saw potential in him.
"Don’t get me wrong" Frater tried to sooth the fear. "It’s your home now. You are so welcomed here but you are free to leave at your own will if you decide it is not what you seek."
The man was silent for a long moment.
"I think I am seeking him, mostly," he pointed at the painting of Papa Emeritus IV before him. "I hoped he would explain who I am and what I am supposed to do. When I’m listening to his music it all seems so obvious. It’s like listening to a prophet. And there is joy and righteous anger and divinity, all in one psalm. But then the music ends and I’m left alone in the dark once again…"
Copia listened to it, stunned. The new guy didn’t recognize him, that was for certain. The new look and the lack of the papal paint could do that. Copia was sitting behind him this whole time and the man was avoiding looking directly at him. Now, the conversation became more interesting every minute.
"So you enjoy his performance?" He was fishing for compliments now.
"It’s much more than that", the new guy shook his head. "I know how it sounds but I truly feel connected to him. I think that’s his power… He can sing for thousands of people but in a way that makes you think there are only two of you in the room… I know it’s stupid, maybe even blasphemous but for me he is the Lightbringer…" He stopped himself mid sentence, terrified by his own words.
Copia was thrilled. His rapid heartbeat should fill the space of the chapel like a ringing of the church’s bells. Yes, it was blasphemy but oh, what a sweet one.
"Papa supposed to bring you closer to Lucifer" he said and was surprised how rough he sounded all of sudden.
"Yeah, that is the problem" the new guy rubbed his face. "What does it really mean to worship Satan?" He asked with a hint of despair in his voice.
Frater thought, really thought about it for a long moment. For him it was as natural as breathing, almost instinctive. But he was a child of the Clergy, raised within the Church. He didn’t really know anything else. There was Lucifer, the Brightest Star, one that shows the way, that provides you with what you need: solace, comfort, love, connection to world and its many beings, wisdom to appreciate it. The worship of Satan was coded into his very soul, an integral part of him.
"Come." Copia stood up and brought the confused man in front of the main altar. They knelt before it. He notices that the man beside him was shaking and wanted to put an arm around him but he didn’t know the gesture would be welcome. "Look at him," he asked. "Nostro Dis Pater, Nostr' Alma Mater" he whispered.
The tree grew behind the altar. It was tall, strong, with twisted branches and green leaves at every time of year, if something like time even exists within the Ministry. Within the branches, half sculptured into the tree and half growing from it, was the figure of Lucifer: a body at once vast and slim, fragile and powerful, man and a woman, and everything in between and neither, with a face expressing an utter bliss of enlightenment or orgasm. It looks like a living creature, breathing with the light shimmer of the leaves.
"To worship Lucifer is to believe the order of the world is unjust and to fight against it’ Copia started. ‘It is to love the unloved, the outcasts, the rejected. It is to seek beauty and joy and pleasure. To bring light into the darkness. It is to question, to undermine and to contest. For me, worshiping Lucifer is the same as to love someone," Copia confessed. "And it is to believe that there is a higher being, a force of nature or a power in the universe that puts light in us, and we call it soul. Some of the Clergy would say Satan is just a metaphor for the enlightenment. Others claim we are, in fact, Lucifer, the bond of congregation that inspires us to do right and care for each other…"
"And what do you think?" the man asked, looking at him with wide eyes full of adoration.
"I…" Copia hesitated. He didn’t talk about it with anyone, not really. Sometimes he whispers some of it to his Ghouls, in the soft darkness of Ritual’s afterglow. But the man kneeling next to him asked like Copia’s thoughts and reflections mattered. And he was looking at Frater like he was keeping all the secrets to the universe within his reach.
"I think… I hope" Copia corrected himself "that Lucifer exists alongside us and we can connect with Them, in life as well as in death. I have seen Their wonders. I experienced them. It changed me. It made me better. And I wish to improve myself even more. To become one with Satan."
The man gasped.
"Will you teach me?" He begged, kneeling before him more than in front of the altar. Did he recognize Papa Emeritus IV in Copia? It would explain the look in his eyes.
Frater turned around so he knelt in front of his companion.
"Will you pray with me?" he asked, putting arm around his waist.
They embraced each other and Copia could feel how the man shook, how hot was his skin under the clothing. He clung to Copia, their faces so close, their lips almost touching as they shared the same breath.
"Yes" he gasped into Copia’s mouth. "Yes" and it sounded as if he was agreeing to everything for ever more.
"Repeat after me" Copia said. "O grandest of the Angels, and most wise, o fallen God, fate-driven from the skies, Satan, at last take pity on our pain…". Their lips touched and caressed each other as they were talking, whispering into each other. It was almost a kiss. It was more than a kiss. "…To lepers and to outcasts thou dost show that Passion is the Paradise below. Satan, at last take pity on our pain". The novice’s breath was sweet and ragged. Copia was teasing him mercilessly, dragging hands over his clothes, all over chest and arms. "…Thou givest to the Guilty their calm mien which damns the crowd around the guillotine. Satan, at last take pity on our pain… Thou, to console our helplessness, didst plot the cunning use of powder and of shot. Satan, at last take pity on our pain…"
Their words echoed in the chapel, intensifying as the hellish choir, as well as wet sounds of their kissing. Copia didn’t stop praying as he was licking, long and slow, into the novice mouth, tasting him and loving it.
"Satan, to thee be praise upon the Height where thou wast king of old, and in the night of Hell, where thou dost dream on silently. Grant that one day beneath the Knowledge-tree, when it shoots forth to grace thy royal brow, my soul may sit, that cries upon thee now."
Every word repeated. Every breath was shared. Every moan was like a part of a prayer. Their bodies, entwined and their souls connected. Maybe Copia didn’t find the solitude he was looking for but for now he was at peace with the world, holding and caressing someone precious in his arms.