The exorcist had laid the beautiful red head upon a niche in the wall, possibly intended for candles, and he’d patiently listened as she gave her account of the story.

The next thing I knew... the emerald eyes glanced downwards in search of a thing that was no longer there.

… I was in this form that you see now.

She glared at the casket on the ground.

… Attached to that monster.

The sun was already set, and there was nothing around them but Mystvale darkness.

‘... Thank you,’ he said at last when she was silent, ‘for telling me.’

And for listening, I thank you.

The rest of the story was up to him now.

The exorcist went over and inspected the magic formula around the casket again. All this time he had thought that Edmund had done something to suppress the ghost from rising, but now that everything had been laid before him, the truth turned out to be the very opposite. He just had to go to the source of all the mysteries.

He looked back to the maiden named Fionnghuala.

Edmund had done this to her.

‘... Did you awake first, or did the ghost of your body? Do you maintain enough of a connection to perceive these things?’

The redhead seemed thoughtful.

… It couldn’t truly be said that I awoke first, said she musingly, for I had spent the first many years within a dreaming state… before I was ever aware of what I’d become.

Her expression turned dark.

… When I’d finally regained my composure, my body had already awoken.

She looked at him with resolution, and conviction.

It was probably awoken by my feelings of despair and hatred.

The exorcist went silent. He could imagine the feelings she must have gone through.

‘... I have said this before, but you retain far greater clarity of mind than the usual... risen.’ He tried to comfort her, but soon regretted not thinking his delivery through.

Fionnghuala smiled. She could guess what he was going to say originally.

It’s… strange, but I believe I have this chapel to thank for it.

… Your faith is foreign to me, but I have heard of the ideals of its founders. Perhaps that is what had helped me suppress the negative emotions within me-

'One cannot suppress another's internal demons for them.'

The exorcist rose, and met her eyes with seriousness.

‘Faith can guide the way, but choosing to walk it is our decision.’

Her emerald eyes lit up warmly in the darkness.

Thank you.

The exorcist then smiled mischievously. ‘You shouldn’t be putting your faith in this rundown chapel anyway.’

Fionnghuala could not follow his meaning.

‘Can you hear that thudding?’ he pointed to the ceiling.

… Yes.

‘That’s your body in its desperate pursuit of reuniting with you’, he laughed curtly, as though it was a compliment. ‘I’m afraid my contacting you has announced your precise location to it. It’s tearing down the chapel barrier as we speak. I had tried to reinforce the barrier, but the thing was originally so weak from Edmund redirecting the power of prayer into raising you that it probably won’t hold for long.’

The redhead seemed a little overwhelmed.

… I am not an authority on these matters of the occult, but I can confirm that I—we—sense a surge in energy whenever people come to pray… to Edmund. Though all I could do with it was to keep myself awake.

The exorcist smiled bitterly. It explained why the ghost had kept growing stronger.

He slowly approached her, very reluctant to do what he was about to do.

‘Fionnghuala,’ he said formally, standing before her, ‘I have been requested by the people of Mystvale to suppress the ghost. However, it has gotten far too powerful, and I can no longer be certain of my success. The ghost will continue to grow if I cannot stop it now, and it will bring about great terror to the world.’

He bowed, doubtful whether he even had the right. ‘And so, I would like to ask for your assistance—your connection—to make it submit. I… fully understand if it might be hard for you, however...’

Green eyes met black.

Tell me what I can do.

•••

The mute noise of thudding grew louder and louder, slowly being replaced by discreet sounds of cracking upon the invisible dome that had surrounded the little chapel.

The rest of sleepy, mist-tucked Mystvale heard nothing, for the ghost was concentrating her powers.

Finally, the silence shattered.

Mist flooded into the chapel like into a drain.

Aaaiiiieeeaaeeee!

Not water. Wind. Wailing, wuthering winds, as they tore past the glass of the windows and the wood of their frames.

Sounds of wreckage exploded everywhere.

The ghost descended into chapel premises with its ragged wings of cloth behind it, and flew straight past the front door yawning suddenly open.

The old priest screamed horrifically as he curled behind the wooden lectern.

The spectre ignored him, and flew past the rows of banks to a hole on the ground, carrying the wight mist with it.

At the end of the underground passage before it was a man in a casket.

Headless.

Aaaiiiieeeaaeeee!

With a tormented, ghoulish screech, the demonic wings behind it stretched into tentacles, piercing into the male corpse.

Impaling it.

Again, and again, and again.

‘Now.’

Black mist emerged from the corner of the room, rapidly encircling the ghost’s body, restraining it.

Aaaiiiieeeaaeeee!

The exorcist stepped out, a fiery head of hair gently cradled within his arm.

Her emerald eyes glew eerily in the darkness and the mist.

The instruction the exorcist had given her was simple. All she had been doing with her portion of the energy was think, and all she had to do, was think.

She was the head, she told her body what to do, not the other way around.

The exorcist tightened his smoggy grip around the violent flailing body, as it produced horrifying screams like the ones that had disturbed his sleep.

He inched closer, reinforcing his magic.

As the ghost struggled less and less, Fionnghuala’s head beside him grew brighter and more vibrant.

She was producing strange whispers of her own accord, probably words of her native, ancient tongue.

When he was within reach of the body, he extended his arm towards it.

He was going to send a pulse of his magic directly into it now.

Paralyze it from within.

But before his fingers could touch the motley, decaying skin of the corpse…

Aaaiiiieeeaaeeee!

Visions flashed for the fraction of a second inside his head.

Fionnghuala’s colours grew fainter, her voice more faded.

The body shook free from his control, and the blast from its surge of power pushed him flying away.

He collided into a shelf by the wall, sliding with its broken contents to the damp floor underneath.

He could taste wet iron leaking from the corners of his mouth.

Are you alright? Fionnghuala cried out to him.

The exorcist crawled back up to his feet. ‘I can still go another round or two’, he coughed.

No, you cannot! My connection is not strong enough from this distance.

You must attach me to its neck!

The exorcist froze. ‘I know I said the body listens to the head—but are you sure you can control the violent temper of that thing!?’

Fionnghuala looked up at him.

… I should be able to restrain it for long enough for you to destroy it—

‘Absolutely not!’ he shouted to her.

‘... Do you understand what that could mean?’

Fionnghuala smiled at him.

‘You would die!’

… I am dead, but you are alive.

… Let me do one good thing before it all ends.

‘... By dying?’

She let him look into the determination in her eyes.

The exorcist could say nothing further.

He averted his eyes, and looked at the ghost.

It had recovered from the damage he’d inflicted now, and wasn’t going to let itself get caught unaware a second time.

It turned to him with animal fury.

Ragged whips lashed out towards him.

He ducked and rolled, extending back his own strings of black mist.

The ghost deflected them with more whips of rags.

They all suddenly curved in the air, aiming for where he stood.

He ran.

He ran towards the ghost right in front of him.

The piercing projectiles all missed narrowly.

He was before the ghost.

No…!

An outstretched, decaying limb stabbed straight ahead, digging through layers of garment into his flesh and licking the sweet liquid within.

The exorcist suppressed his groan with a smirk.

Masses of shadow enveloped his body, and swallowed that of the ghost.

Within the small dome of darkness, he returned Fionnghuala to where she belonged.

•••

Visions flashed within his mind…

An old man upon a bed…

Giving him an ancient volume…

Telling him to leave…

Then falling asleep…

There were lonely nights...

Cold nights within damp caves…

And colder nights beside large fires…

Surrounded by wolves…

Their eyes not so different...

From those of humans…

Human eyes and human hands…

That drive you away…

Human mouths…

That never opened but to hurt…

Bruises all over…

Everywhere...

Loneliness…

Fire…

Everything burns…

No one putting it out...

The shadow of an axe…

Then darkness…

And loneliness again…

•••

The shadows had withdrawn into the exorcist’s body, as the limbs of his opponent had gone limp.

Fionnghuala was whole in body now, her figure collapsed to her knee, her arms despondent.

The colours of her faces were struggling not to be drained into the violent, lifeless miasma beneath it.

… Hurry…!

Her glow was becoming weaker and weaker.

The exorcist knelt before her.

His face was wet with tears.

What was he even going to do, he asked himself, in spite of knowing the answer.

He had enough experience in his line of work.

This was what he had come all this way into the northern wastes to do.

He knew how to end things.

This wouldn't be his first time.

He looked into her spectral, glowing eyes.

...She wasn't even alive.

In a sudden breath of resolution, he placed his hands upon the division upon her fragile neck.

‘I’m sorry.’

Darkness coursed along his body into his arms.

The pulsating current flowed into the flesh along the deathly fissure.

Puncturing it.

Suturing it.

Fionnghuala sent a cry of pain into his mind.

… What are you—

‘I’m reconnecting the tissue of your body!’

But why—aren’t you killing me…!?—

The exorcist turned to face her confused expression.

‘This way, you can live!’

He wasn’t going to abandon her. He couldn’t. It would’ve meant abandoning himself.

He knew what it was to be alone

Ostracized.

To be misunderstood.

The scenery for him had been different.

But the emotions were the same.

Fionnghuala didn’t want to die.

Nobody did.

That night when he had first seen her in his dream, she had reached out for him…

Whether she was conscious of it or not…

If she died...

A part of him would die along with her.

…

Dark-green magic leaked from the corner of her eyes.

… I’m not strong enough!—

‘Then let me help!’ he cried.

He laid his forehead against hers.

‘Use my strength.’

…

…

…

A small pillar of light rose from the chapel of Mystvale that night. Visible to all those who had the courage to see.