Damian
Reality melted away during the exorcism rights. As the words passed Damian's lips, laced with power, his mind descended into a plane of calm, of silence. He could hear his own muttering voice and the woman's screaming - but it was distant, as if he were listening to it underwater. Removed from the chaos, he could focus, he could draw out the power that would set the woman free.
Or at least, so he hoped.
The woman was far gone, he knew it. The demons had broken her body with their own strength, forcing her to her limits. But he couldn't fail. Not in front of Samara, not when her trust was in him, not when his hope to save her hung in the balance, slowly being throttled to death. He tried not to think of Abraham's face. He tried not to think of the brief glimpse he'd had of it before he went deep into meditation: glassy eyed, drooling, almost...lifeless.
Damian couldn't let the man die. He wouldn't.
With a suddenness that startled him out of his quiet headspace, the woman went limp in his arms. He stumbled backwards, stunned at the abrupt lack of resistance, still holding her tightly. Margaux was crouched over Abraham, crying his name, holding his head. The room seemed to spin and Damian closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shift his brain back to normalcy. The exorcism had worked...but why did it feel so strange?
He eased the woman down upon the rug, torn between seeing to her and tending to Abraham. But his decision had already been made for him. The woman was still and swiftly growing cold; her eyes empty, blood seeping from her mouth and ears. The demon had fled from her, and the moment it did, she'd had no strength left to survive. A pang of regret shot through him - another victim, another life lost. Failure.
But he couldn't think of that now. There was still a life that hung in the balance.
Abraham still lived.
"He's breathing!" Margaux was weeping frantically, clutching her limp husband. "He's still breathing, please! Abraham! Wake up!"
Damian rushed to their side, moving Margaux out of his way with as much gentleness as he could. "Let me see to him," he said, his hands shaking with the urgency. The man's breath was shallow and slow, his eyes were fluttering. Dark bruises were blossoming on the man's throat, and Damian rolled Abraham carefully to his side, tipping his head back to clear his airways.
"Come on, man," Damian muttered. "Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Bring me something for his head! Samara, would you-"
Samara was gone.
For a moment Damian thought she had merely moved to a safer space in the room. But no...she was gone...gone completely. His worried eyes locked with Margaux's as he looked about in confusion.
"She's gone," Margaux whispered. "She's gone I..."
"Tell me you can sense her," Damian said tightly, pulling off his jacket and folding it up to place under Abraham's head. "You can sense her energy can't you?"
Margaux concentrated for a moment, her eyes growing distant. "No. N-no...I can't feel her at all...her energy isn't here..."
"What do you mean she isn't here?" His panic was rising. Samara must be hiding, she must have run when she saw the possessed woman - but no - no, Samara had been there, beside him, fighting along with him, armed with her cleaver. She wouldn't have left his side. She wouldn't...
Not unless she didn't have a choice.
Chills prickled over his skin. Surely she was nearby. Surely...
"Samara!" he called her name as loudly as he could. The house was almost eerily silent save for the never-ending torrent of rain on the roof. He dreaded to think what must have happened downstairs as the possession of the woman had taken hold: all the distant, cheerful conversation of the party was gone, the guests likely fled.
But Samara, where was Samara? He had to find her...
"Stay with him," he told Margaux, leaving Abraham's side. "He should stabilize, so long as he keeps breathing. Please, the moment he awakes and is able: I need their names."
Margaux nodded solemnly, moving closer to her husband and caressing his face. "They have her," she said grimly, her eyes overflowing with tears. "They have her Damian. They're so loud. They-"
As if with a sudden breath, all the lamps in the room snuffed out. They were plunged into near complete darkness, lit only by the red glow of the fireplace's embers. Margaux gasped, a whimper stifling in her throat. Damian's pistol weighed heavily in his jacket, both a promise and a threat. He could not wield it yet. Not when he didn't know where Samara was. Not if he was to face her.
That pistol would not take aim at her. It couldn't come to that.
The temperature of the room was plummeting, the fire struggling to maintain its glow. Damian took up the iron poker Abraham had held and grasped it carefully, turning his attention towards the broken door and the darkened hall beyond.
"Samara?" his voice was softer this time, cautious. He peered out into the hall, his eyes trying to pick out any shapes they could in the darkness. Everything was shades of black, nothing was discernible.
"Samara?"
Movement. Sudden, and brief, at the head of the stairway. Footsteps rapidly sprinting down and away. His first instinct was to give chase: but he had to be calm. His heart was pounding, sweat breaking out across his palms despite the cold. They couldn't have taken her. Not now. Not now. They weren't ready. Abraham had to wake up, he had to give them the names!
Or Damian would attempt an exorcism without them. The very thought made him ill, like imagining plunging off of a cliff. No hope awaited him there.
He crept down the stairway, keeping his back to the wall, the iron poker ready. Would the demons have possessed others? Or only Samara...but why was she running? Why hide? Demons were aggressive, and in her previous states of total demonic control she had always sought to be violent against him.
"Damian..."
Her voice was a whisper, floating up from below. He stopped, only a few stairs from the bottom. Samara was standing there, in the darkness of the wide open doorway. Rain poured down behind her, and she shook with the cold. Her dress hung raggedly off of one shoulder. Her hair had come loose and tangled about her shoulders, moving with the fearsome wind from outside.
Samara. His Samara. The strong, beautiful woman who had swept him up in her fire when he least expected it...
Her eyes had gone black. She gritted her teeth as she spoke.
"Get. Away. From. Me." Her every word was a struggle. She choked on them and whimpered. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. "Don't. Let. Me. Hurt..." Tears streamed down her face and her body began to twitch. He approached her slowly, hands outspread .
"It's alright, Samara," he said. "Please. You'll be alright. You're stronger than this. Stronger than them."
"So. Scared...please...She's...coming..." Her voice shook, and her dark eyes grew wide, and she seemed to struggle with herself with herself for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had grown deep, a snarl from deep within her chest. "Don't. Don't. Follow."
She turned and ran out into the rain with unnatural speed, far faster than he could keep up with. He plunged after her, calling her name as rain pelted his face and mud sloshed over his boots. She fled beyond the overhanging oaks and across the field, a blur that swiftly disappeared into the grove of peach trees. He kept catching glimpses of her, hair flying, eyes wide and dark, always too far ahead. Soon he was deep in the grove, dashing between long rows of skeletal trees, calling her name into the wind.
He wasn't going to lose her to this. Not after all this time, after they had fought so hard. He wouldn't let them take her. He would fight them alone if he had to.
He burst from the trees and stopped abruptly. Before him was a winding dirt path, bordered by hedges that had grown thick and unruly. Blackened oaks loomed overhead, their patchy, broken branches speaking of a long-ago scourge by fire. And there, beyond them, the ruinous remains of an old house. He approached slowly, winding between the hedges. The house had been grand once, nearly as grand as the one that fronted the property. But this one was blackened and burnt, its windows burst out and a great part of it roof caved in.
Samara vanished into the abyss-like darkness of the doorway.
He vaulted over the hedges, his clothes soaked through to the skin. Though the fire that ravaged that place was surely years past, he could still smell the sharp, smokey scent of ash. The porch was decrepit, its railing burnt away. He stepped up with caution, peering into the dark depths of the house.
"Think carefully before you proceed, exorcist."
Damian's heart leapt. He turned, slowly, to see two figures standing at the far end of the porch who had certainly not been there only moments ago. He was shocked again to find a familiar face: Kiiji, looking shockingly downcast. It took him but a few moments more to ascertain why: the reaper was chained, with a collar around his neck and manacles upon his wrists. Beside him, a woman with very similar red hair to his own held the chains wrapped around her hands. She was dressed all in black, and when she smiled her sharp teeth gave away her undeniable identity as a reaper herself.
"Who are you?" Damian said, barely audible over the rain.
The woman smiled wider, but it was Kiiji who answered. "May I introduce my sister? Lijiali? Royal bitch of the Upper Echelons-" Kiiji was quickly stifled, though Damian was unsure how. His words seemed to choke up in his throat and he gagged, doubling over.
The woman, Lijiali, shook her head. "Your tongue will always cause you trouble, brother. Not only for yourself, but for all others you encounter." She tsked, and glanced up at Damian. "I've decided it's high time my brother answered for his crimes: crimes that should have been punished years ago, had I been paying closer attention."
"Crimes?' Damian's mind raced. He didn't have time to stand here, he had to find Samara, and yet...why had another reaper come? Reapers did not simply appear as they pleased.
They came for death.
"Oh yes," Lijiali said eagerly. "Dire crimes in violation of the Treatise meant to protect our worlds. You see..." She tapped her cheek thoughtfully, giving Kiiji's chains a little jerk as she did. "Long ago, Kiiji made a very poor decision: he decided to save a little boy who didn't need saving. He disrupted the fates, and threw the balance into chaos. Rather than collecting the soul he was offered, he denied it. And he's gone on denying it all these years. Kiiji saved you, exorcist."
Damian said nothing. All the numerous times that damned reaper had reminded him of the Treatise, had spoken of ensuring he didn't break it. But he'd already broken it, of course he had, long ago. He'd broken it when he appeared to Amma and made known to her where she could find her lost grandson.
"Do you know what has happened because Kiiji saved you?" Lijiali said. "Because you lived, and the possession of your mother was a failure, the man known as James Carnickey tried again. He searched for other demons, stronger ones, more ancient, in his greed for power and destruction. He searched for a more suitable host, and a more suitable sacrifice. Because you lived, Carnickey found Samara, and infested her with the Legion, and summoned into her the Four Horsemen." Her voice grew bitter. "I was the one who bound the seals of those Four, many centuries ago. They were snatched from me, stolen away to earth. And though they are bound still, they are bound now in a host that gives them freedom. Freedom to destroy as they please. Because you lived, so too did Samara. You found her when she was swiftly losing control. Had you not, she would have been possessed entirely and turned violent. She would killed, oh yes, she would have killed until your human authorities put a stop to it. She would have died, and the world would have been back to balance."
Damian thought he heard his name called from deep within the house, and his head twitched toward it. Samara...she had to hold on. She had to fight. She needed him.
Lijiali had heard it too, and stared toward the doorway. "Oh yes. Because Kiiji saved you, you saved Samara. And because you saved Samara, those wretched beings have fed on her for months and months, biding their time, growing stronger. Now they are free. Samara is gone."
"No," Damian said fiercely. "She's still there. She's still fighting. She spoke to me-"
The woman laughed. "You're so foolish for a man of your caliber. You would have seen it long ago in anyone else. She's fought a losing battle, and the end has come. Samara now poses a catastrophic threat to your world, and my own. It is my duty to ensure that threat does not go on.
"I can put an end to it. Tell me their names, the names of the Four. I can cast them out -"
"No. Their names will be spread no further. But I will you a choice, exorcist."
Kiiji voice was soft, more cowed than Damian had ever seen him. "Lij, he's strong, he can save her-"
"Be silent!" Kiiji choked again, crouching down in pain. "I never would have thought you so weak for these humans, brother! Useless, shameful excuse for a reaper." She sighed, quieting her rage. "I did not merely come her to collect my brother, exorcist. I came to earth to see an end to the Legion, and the Four. Samara is deep within their clutches, and when they go, so too must she."
"You're wrong-"
"I am giving you a choice," the reaper snapped. "I know you care for this woman. You would throw away your own life for her, fool that you are. But if you so desire, you may go after her, exorcist, and you will do what needs to be done. Kill her, for she never should have lived. Kill her and have your peace. Or...walk away, and rest assured that I will end it."
Damian could feel the curve of his pistol against his chest with sudden clarity. Samara is gone...but she can't be gone...not like that...not without fighting... The reaper was wrong. She had to be. Samara would fight. She had fought her demons with more strength than Damian had thought possible, and she would fight them still.
But her eyes...those dark eyes staring at him from the doorway. The utter despair, the fear on her face as those tears had fallen. "Don't follow." Not because she wasn't frightened, not because she wanted to fight alone. "Don't follow." Because she was terrified. Because she was overcome and she knew it. Because they had won and made of her the weapon, and she was trying to point away their aim.
"Don't follow." Because she didn't want to hurt him. Because she knew she was a threat. Because she wanted him safe.
"Well?" the reaper picked her teeth with one long black fingernail. Kiiji met Damian's eyes, and his lips moved silently, I'm sorry.
"Kiiji." Damian set down the iron poker, resting it against the side of the house. "Will I die today?"
Kiiji's mouth gaped. Lost for words, truly a first. It hurt to see. Damian wanted his sarcasm more than ever, his petulant sass. But there was none.
"Walk away, Damian," Kiiji said softly. "Walk away. Please."
Damian just smiled. Lijiali looked between the two of them with growing impatience. But Damian bowed his head. "I can't walk away, Kiiji. You know that. Not even if it means you finally claim my soul."
And he was swallowed by the house, and the darkness, and the evil waiting there.