Chapter 0: Prologue Pilot

1 - 2

Rain pelted the priest's hunched figure as he trudged wearily through the narrow alleyway, his once-pristine cassock drenched and muddy. Each step was a burden, weighed down by his rigid crozier scraping the wet concrete road. The flickering light of a dumpster fire caught his eye, its warmth a mocking contrast to the cold emptiness gnawing at his soul.

"Lord, forgive me," he murmured, fingers trembling as he ripped the cross from around his neck. Tired and ready to discard it, he stared into the flames with hollow eyes. As if God Himself had turned His back on the priest, the man's foot slipped on a slick patch of algae-covered pavement.

*BAM*

Head colliding with the dumpster's unforgiving metal edge, he crumpled to the ground, clutching the bloodied cross. Its once-gleaming surface now smothered in red, a symbol of the faith that failed him. Lying on the cold, wet ground for days, he could feel his spirit wither like the dying embers of the fire.

"Is this how it ends?" he wondered, contemplating leaving his forsaken life. "Have I lost my purpose?"

Just then, a small black figure appeared before him, grinning wickedly. The priest's heart raced as he heard three distinct knocks – a sign, he believed, of the Devil itself. Frustration and desperation welled up inside him, tears streaming down his face as he mustered the strength to speak.

"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?" he cried out, voice hoarse and barely audible above the rain. "I've only brought peace and preached the word of God!"

The figure simply continued to grin, not offering a single word in response.

"Was all my devotion for naught?" the priest thought, despair threatening to swallow him whole. His body trembled, the weight of his failures and the overwhelming presence of the figure pressing down on him.

"Have I been abandoned by my faith?" he whispered, voice quivering with emotion. "Is this what I deserve?"

As the rain continued to pour around them, the priest stared at the mysterious figure, seeking answers, solace, or perhaps even a glimmer of hope. The darkness in the alley seemed to grow thicker, suffocating him as time crawled by.

"Please," he pleaded, desperation seeping into his every word. "Tell me

"Tell me what I must do to set things right."

The figure remained silent, its grin never fading. It seemed to be enjoying the priest's suffering, reveling in his fall from grace.

"Is my faith not enough?" the priest questioned internally, his heart aching with the torment of his uncertainty. "Have I failed as a servant of God?"

He clenched the bloodstained cross tightly in his hand, desperately searching for some semblance of divine guidance or reassurance. His tears mingled with the rain, indistinguishable from each other as they fell upon the cold, wet ground.

"Perhaps this is my final test," he thought determinedly, unwilling to accept that his life's work had been in vain. "I will face this darkness and prove myself worthy once more."

With renewed resolve, the priest struggled to rise from the ground, his body weak but his spirit unbroken. He stared directly into the eyes of the grinning figure, unflinching in his resolve.

"Even if you are the Devil himself," he declared through gritted teeth, "I shall not falter! I will continue to preach the gospel and bring light to those in need, until the day I stand before the Lord Almighty!"

Though his words rang out with conviction, the figure simply continued to smile, offering no reaction or reply. In the face of such unwavering darkness, the priest's determination only grew stronger, fueled by the belief that his faith would ultimately guide him through this harrowing ordeal.

3 - 4

With the figure's grin etched into his mind, the priest began to crawl towards it, the cold rain searing against his lacerated hands. The pain was nothing compared to the anguish he felt within his heart, as he pushed forward on weakened legs.

"Is this my fate?" His voice trembled with each word, barely audible over the sound of raindrops pelting the alleyway. "I've studied the gospel for countless hours, only for the Devil to taunt me and lead me astray?"

The small black figure remained silent, its sinister smile unwavering. The priest's eyes met those of the apparition, searching for a hint of mercy or understanding but finding none.

"Lord, give me strength," he prayed silently, gritting his teeth as his injured hands scraped against the unforgiving ground. In his heart, he clung to the belief that his faith would be rewarded, that God would not abandon him in his time of need.

"Have I not been faithful, devoted? Have I not shared your love and wisdom with those who sought solace in your embrace?" He paused for a moment, drawing in a ragged breath before continuing with renewed determination. "If this is a test, I shall face it head-on, no matter the cost."

As he reached out towards the figure, a sudden wave of darkness washed over him, threatening to extinguish the flicker of hope that still burned within his soul. The frigid air seemed to steal his breath away, leaving him gasping for air.

"Is this how it ends, then?" The priest thought, his vision beginning to blur. "To be consumed by the shadows, with only the mocking laughter of the Devil as my requiem?"

But even as despair threatened to overwhelm him, the priest refused to surrender. Drawing upon the last reserves of his strength, he propelled himself forward, determined to confront the darkness that had invaded his life.

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil," he whispered fiercely, reaching out for the black figure one final time. "For you are with me, Lord... even in this darkest hour."

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A relentless downpour drenched the priest, each raindrop feeling like a cold blade piercing his skin. Gritting his teeth, he fought against the pain that threatened to drag him under, unwilling to let despair win.

"God does nothing?" he spat bitterly, "They say everything happens for a reason, but what reason could there be for this suffering?"

As he pressed on, his weakened legs trembled beneath him, threatening to buckle at any moment. Yet still, he persisted. The taste of iron lingered in his mouth from the blood that stained his hands, a constant reminder of his ordeal.

"Despite it all," he whispered to himself, "I will not abandon my mission. I won't cease preaching the gospel, awaiting the day to speak to the Lord Almighty himself!"

In the fog of his pain and confusion, a memory surfaced - the sight of his congregation, their faces lifted towards him as he shared the word of God. That image fueled his resolve, pushing him to continue crawling through the unforgiving alleyway.

"Even if this is the Devil's work," he thought, an ember of defiance igniting within him, "I will not succumb. My faith in the Lord shall guide me through."

He dragged his body forward with every ounce of strength left in him, his eyes focused on the dark figure lurking just beyond his reach. As the distance between them shortened, the priest knew one thing was certain: whatever awaited him, he would face it with unwavering conviction, a testament to the faith that had shaped his life.

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With every fiber of his being, the priest lunged toward the black figure, desperate to confront whatever darkness taunted him. As his fingers brushed its form, a cold shiver ran down his spine, and the world around him vanished.

"Is this how I die?" he wondered, the thought barely formed amidst the silence that engulfed him. "Pathetic." His mind felt heavy, as though submerged in tar, leaving him unable to speak or think. He floated in the abyss, disconnected from his own existence.

In the void, he fought to maintain a fleeting thought, a fragile anchor to tether him to the world he once knew. He clawed at the emptiness, struggling to grasp any semblance of meaning amidst the consuming darkness.

Time became an illusion, and what felt like centuries passed before the priest's mind began to clear. Three words emerged from the murk, echoing through his consciousness: faith, hope, retribution. The last word resonated with an intensity that pierced the darkness, demanding attention.

"Retribution!" he cried out, the sound tearing through the silence. It was a call to arms, a spark of defiance against the unseen forces that sought to break him.

A light formed in the distance, a pinprick of brightness contrasting against the oppressive black. The priest focused on it, willing it to grow as if by sheer force of will alone. Slowly, the light swelled, awakening his eyes and drawing him nearer.

"Wh... where am I?" he murmured, squinting into the luminance.

"Ah, you're finally awake," came a gentle voice, soothing in its unexpected familiarity. The priest recognized it, but could not place its origin.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

"Someone who has been watching over you," the voice replied. "You have struggled greatly, and your faith has not gone unnoticed."

"Unnoticed?" the priest scoffed, bitterness seeping into his tone. "I have suffered and bled for my faith, and yet you say it isn't in vain? Why must I endure this torment?"

"Sometimes the greatest trials are meant to strengthen us," the voice explained, patient and unwavering. "You have been tested, and your faith is stronger for it."

"Is that why I am here? To be tested by the Devil, only to be forsaken by God?" the priest demanded, anger flaring within him.

"Your path has not been an easy one, but all things happen for a reason," the voice replied. "Now, you must choose: will you continue to serve the Lord Almighty and fight for retribution against the darkness, or succumb to despair?"

The priest stared into the light, his resolve hardening as he clenched his fists. "I will never abandon my mission, even if it means facing the Devil himself," he declared, the ember of defiance fanned into a raging fire. "If this is the battle I must face, then so be it. I will fight until my last breath."

"Very well," said the voice, its tone tinged with pride. "Then rise, and let the world bear witness to your unwavering faith."