…“The owner has control over this vessel, not you! So why don’t you pack your FUCKING bags and get OUT!” Father Garamond spits with a sharp tongue as he proudly holds out a crucified cross and thrusts his other hand, pointed towards the doorway. The meek creature stares at him with terrified eyes, casting a fevered glance over towards its host, before back to the black clad holy figure.
The priests nose twists, and his lips curl as he tightens his grip upon the cross. “YOU DARE IGNORE THE WORD OF GOD ALMIGHTY! YOU DARE REFUSES TO LEAVE! I WILL THRUST YOU INTO THE VERY BOWLS OF HELL ITSELF, WITH MY OWN HANDS!” he bellows as he reaches out and grabs the creature by its ear and lifts it into the air with disgust. “FOUL BEAST YOU WILL G….” But his words come to a halted stop in his throat as he finds himself no longer standing in young Michael’s room, but a disease and decaying alley way.
“W-W-What manner of t-trickery is t-t-this,” he stammers nervously, as a sea of sweat cascades down his brow.
“Why, it is no trickery at all dear father, it is but a means to an end,” a voice hisses gleefully from the darkness.
Garamond crosses finger over finger and holds them out in front of me. “THY WILL REPENT BEFORE HE WHO IS THY MAKE!” he spits valiantly. “THY WILL RELEASE THY HOLD ON HER S….” But his words are stolen into cries of agony as his fingers are twisted and broken by the very air itself.…