The cleansing
The old cathedral loomed before Damien, its Gothic spires reaching into the night sky like grasping fingers. He sat in his wheelchair at the base of the steps, a mix of anticipation and dread churning in his stomach. The cool night air carried the scent of decay and ancient stone, fitting for a meeting that could determine the course of his eternal life.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Damien began the arduous task of ascending the steps. Each movement was a struggle, his weakened body protesting with every inch gained. By the time he reached the massive oak doors, he was panting with exertion, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his pale skin.
The doors swung open silently, as if pushed by an unseen hand. Damien hesitated for a moment, then steeled himself and rolled forward into the cavernous interior.