Chapter Text
France, 1853
He ran. He ran like never before in his life, with nothing to guide his footsteps but the bright full moon illuminating the way and the command of his lord and master Satan burning within his consciousness. Dust swirled up as his feet wrapped in thin brown leather sandals touched the ground of dried out dirt and grass and tickled the inside of his nose. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and soaked the inside of his also brown wool robe, making it scrape uncomfortably against his bare back. Aside from his sharp inhales for breath and the faint clatter of armor far behind him in the distance, the town around him was quiet. At least something that was in his favor, no eyewitnesses to worry about. He clung his arms around the heavy book he just stole from the towns’ library, the musty smell of the old, yellowed pages clinging to his nose, making it even harder to draw clean breath. But he mustn’t stop now. The only goal to be reached tonight was completing the ancient rite his lord and master had sent to him in a dream on one fateful night three years ago.
“Believe in one God, Satan almighty. The uncreator of heaven and soil, and the invisible and the visible.”, he murmured under his breath, tightened his grip around the exfoliated binding of the book and picked up the pace, the sweat and dirt now stinging in his eyes. Luckily, the forest that held his target location within, was already in sight. He dashed right towards it and ripped through the bushes growing at the outskirts, not paying attention to the thorns tearing through his robe and scratching at his legs. He couldn’t be followed under any circumstances, so after making sure the guards were not hot on his heels anymore, he continued making his way to his destination. At this point, he knew the way through the forest to his little hidden chapel of ritual by heart. Up the hill, the wooden treads embedded into the soil, brittle and slowly rotting from humidity, past the prominent oak tree that sported a distinctive knothole and finally through the thicket onto a clearing surrounded by more massive oak trees, shielding it from any disturbance. In the middle stood his beloved little chapel, built with his own bare hands in the span of the past couple of years, solely for the one purpose he came to fulfil on this night.
The decorated oak doors swung open with a press of his slightly trembling elbow and immediately, the smell of the familiar incense of bergamot and lemongrass engulfed his very being. He closed the doors behind him and finally took a deep breath, letting the incense soothe his strained lungs. The chapel was dimly lit with black candles decorating a square altar at the end of the room and the moonlight falling through the colorful high windows. He made his way to the altar and was relieved to finally place down the massive book he’d stolen. Wiping away the accumulated dust that had been sitting on the cover for over 100 years he examined the book in awe. The words The Grand Grimoire were printed on the cover in big black letters and a big pentagram granted it an even more ominous aura. He felt the ever-present entity in his consciousness stir, it was just as excited about completing the rite as he was. Without hesitating any further he opened the Grimoire on the right page and began preparing the ritual.
After exchanging the sweaty brown robe with a black one embellished with embroidered silver upside-down crosses, that was already prepared on the altar and putting on a black mitre, also embroidered with the same silver crosses as his robe, everything was ready. He took one last deep breath and grabbed an athame with a black handle and held his wrist over a silver goblet standing ready on the altar. Gritting his teeth he drew the blade swiftly over his skin, allowing blood to drip down and being collected in the goblet. He repeated the process with the other wrist, ignoring the stinging pain emerging from the cuts and carried the goblet to the center of the chapel, where he proceeded to draw a summoning circle on the stone floor with the blood he’s shed. His hands shook, the wounds stung and dark edges tugged at his vision, but he pushed through, finishing the circle and standing at the base of it, stretching out his one hand, holding the ancient grimoire in the other and started chanting:
In nomine Dei nostri Satanas Luciferi excelsi
In the name of Satan, ruler of the earth, king of the world, I command the powers of darkness to grant me their infernal might
Open the gates of hell and come forth from the abyss to greet me as your brother
A deep rumble ran through the ground he was standing on, shaking the walls of the chapel and sending tremors through his very being. The summoning circle started glowing brightly and caught on fire and the flames engulfed him without burning his skin or his clothes. Lava spilled out from the burning lines of blood, swashing over his feet. A truly grotesque scene to anyone not enlightened, but to him, it was soothing his body and mind, liberating him from all strains. Two gigantic claws made of fire emerged from the circle, propped themselves on the ground and a giant horned head made of the same fire appeared. He immediately disregarded the grimoire, dropping it to the ground and kneeling on one knee, bowing down his head. “Master, you have arrived. I rejoice in your presence.” A low growl emerged from the fiery creature, rattling through the chapel and resonating in his consciousness.
“Exquisite work, my servant”
“I am ready and eagerly awaiting your further instructions, my Lord.”
“Go forth and disseminate my word throughout the human realm. The more folk become aware thereof, the mightier we shall become.”
“Your wish is my command.”
“Furthermore, I shall bestow upon you my power and might, freeing you from your human limitations.”
He felt the hellish flames piercing his body, and filling every single cell with its heat. He gritted his teeth, pressing his eyes shut as infernal power twisted his very core. The heat made its way into his left eye, burning it up from within and causing an agonizing white-hot pain that left him dazed. Not being able to hold back anymore, his roaring screams filled the small chapel, resonating off its walls and creating an almost neverending echo. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, the excruciating pain stopped. His insides still felt warm as he rose on unsteady knees, staring at his trembling hands. The incisions from the athame slowly closed themselves right before his eyes. He lifted his head to finally look upon his Lord and Master.
“As of now, you are reborn. What title will you choose for yourself?”
He took a breath, savoring the air filled with ash, smoke and the smell of brimstone. It felt liberating, as if he hadn’t drawn proper breath in years.
“Papa Emeritus Evocatio”