• The interior of the church was long unoccupied. The stained glass still allowed for light to shine through, but the dust film on the windows made sure that not even the fire of the Holy Spirit could shed much light into the abandoned sanctuary. Drafts inexplicable wafted through the church, kicking up the acrid yet still fresh dust. A slight groan as the wood in the pews started to buckle. A louder groan echoed throughout the church as its main door opened inward, ushering in purer light to which the space had become unaccustomed.

    The church’s external appearance was whitewashed long ago, but even then in vain, as the sin contained within the little prayer hall shown itself in the external rotting. And yet the being which opened the door was unafraid. Whatever evils took residence failed to daunt this presence. The being's form was of a man. Appearance, maybe his late thirties. Brown hair in a thick matted mess, unsuited for the heat. Scars breaking a tanned face betraying his Mediterranean heritage. Blue eyes too pure for a man born of the line of Adam. In he walked, carrying with him a duffle bag the size of his arm, black, laden with whatever contents or tools the man worked with. As he walked in, the drafts and dust bore witness to his strange attire – a scarf about his neck, black gloves, a shirt of clerical design, black jeans, work boots, and a white duster coat with what appeared to be a yin yang symbol on its back, the symbol surround by eight figures made of three whole or broken lines. The design looked arbitrarily planned.

    The man walked to the center of the church. He dropped down onto his right knee and opened the duffel bag. Its first revealed item – a cruciform object with pointed edges sharp enough to cut. Its material tempered silver. He threw the cross down, longest leg lodging itself in the warping wooden floor. Barely missing his left foot. The dust scattered, and a deep groan echoed beyond the sound of contact.

    The man could smell sulfur.