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The weather had been in a dreadful state for days and it seemed to grow bleaker as Father Michael and his men road up the path to the Cunningham Manor. It had stormed the night Father Harold road off to that place and then it stormed again after his young pupil took that evil book with him. It had not been enough for the book to inflict harm upon good men, but it had been brought to a place where evil was certainly plotting against Godly ways. It was the Devil's work ... and it would take more than one pair of righteous hands to set things right.

Father Michael cursed the Devil for putting hesitation into his heart and causing him to wait too long to gather this force of righteous men. All of them sought to do battle in His name, but moving warriors into the field of battle was never a quick task.

I should have denied that young friar the book, and gone myself to aid Father Harold in his task of cleansing the Devil from this place, but he told me to wait ... so I prayed ... and now it may be too late. Woe unto man's weaknesses ... for they are so many. Help me through this trial, Lord ... help me persevere.

Though the prayer was silent, the old Templar could feel its effect. As they neared the final stretch of the journey, the rain ended and the ground was unnaturally dry. Then the scent of smoke and fire filled his senses, and he knew he was too late.

With a lungful of cursing, the old Templar spurred his horse forward, and soon, all of the men were charging up the hill. The choke of the smoke grew thicker and it was not long before men and animals were coughing. Curse these fires and the Devil whom put them here!

When they crested the hill, the manor was ablaze and the children of the Devil were upon it. Horrid things clamored about with more arms and legs than any upright creature found in nature. From the side of a wall, a single demonic knight exploded. Great bat-wings unfurled and its charcoal colored armor deflected the fangs and claws of sinister foes. A mighty sword seemed to glow in the demon's hand as he swung it into the creatures around him.

Though made of the same evil magic, this demon charged recklessly into the others. An usurper of unholy fortitude which turned back the horde, hacking their bodies to pieces and shrugging off wounds which would have felled a mortal man.

There he is ... the damned fool made a deal in order to fight them back! Damned hubris! Damned fool! It shall not be in vain!

_ _"In the name of the Father," the old Templar shouted, "turn back the tide of evil! Ride strongly, men! Fear not the smoke! Fear not the flame! Fear not the accursed demons and their horrid gnashing; for the Lord is on our side! Now, draw your swords, stay together, and fight as one!"

The thunder of the horses was joined by the shouts of the fighting men. All knew the danger of engaging demons head on. Even with their blessed swords and anointed armor, they were still flesh and blood; but to fight and die was the reality of every knight in the world. Thus they held tight to their courage and with the glory of God on their lips, crashed mightily into the unholy spawn.

Steel clashed upon the flanks of their enemy, and the blessings of Holy God smote the Devil back. Father Michael's sword cut down the cursed ones, splattering their black blood across the Earth, fouling both armor and soil. The sinister leers of the wretched things filled the old Templar's vision, but he did not allow fear to stop him. The Holy Spirit had set his inside aflame, and with this holy cause he moved through the foul ones, chopping and hacking with as much violence as he could manage.

The fury of the Lord was with him; but suddenly he found himself thrust forward. A demon had leaped into the air and come down upon his horse's neck. The stallion barely had time to groan pitifully as he collapsed, which sent both combatants soaring through the air.

Though the old Templar knew how to roll from a dead horse, but the impact still reminded him of his advancing years. Every piece of him seemed to shatter and break as he tumbled across the ground, and when at last he skidded to a stop, it took all of his fortitude to pull himself upright again.

Once his feet were beneath him, the old soldier stepped back. The leering demon crashed onto the spot where the man had once stood, and slashed at him with blade-like arms. The swishing wind filled his ears, causing adrenalin to blast through his veins. The aged warrior moved sideways, thrust his shield upward, and then thrust his blade into the demon's grinning face.

Black blood sprayed forth, forcing his eyes closed. Impossibly, the monster fought on. The stinging hiss of unholy blades ruined themselves upon the blessings on his armor. But though the demon's limbs shattered when it struck, they were still able to bite through to the man who lived within. A sickening tearing sound was accompanied by terrible agony which shot through his left arm. The wounds were full of poison. Without a doubt, the old soldier knew they would end his life; but not yet.

Drawing back the sword, Father Michael struck forward again ... and again ... and again. His efforts were rewarded with the sounds of unholy screams. The abomination struggled against him, but his zealotry was too great, and it all ended when the larger creature crashed to the ground and gurgled in a pool of its own blood.

The old Templar's eyes were squeezed shut, but his ears told him that the fighting had moved on. An initial attempt to wipe his eyes clear with the left hand yielded nothing but pain, so he released his holy sword and used his right. When at last he could see, he realized his enemy was slain, but the reason his left arm pained him greatly was because it was no longer attached to his body.

"Damned, demon," the old Templar cursed, and me pressed his good hand against the wound. It was difficult to apply pressure to what was left of his arm. Though he was able to angle his bodyweight against it, the blood was still flowing, and he knew he did not have much time. _Poison within ... blood flowing out ... damn it ... I'm not done! _

Falling to one knee, Father Michael pulled off his helm, and began to pray. "Our Father ... who art in Heaven ... hallowed be thy name ..." Every breath was harder than the last. Every word was a challenge of will. The body wanted to slip off into unconsciousness; a sleep from which he would never wake.

It was only a matter of time until his blood attracted one of the flesh eaters to his side. When at last the sound of the growling beast could be heard, he knew there was not enough strength in his limbs left to fight. With the last scraps of his strength, he squeezed shut his eyes, and focused entirely on his prayers. "... forgive us our trespasses ... as we forgive those who trespass against us ..." The sound of death filled his ears. Bones had been broken, flesh had been torn, and the prayer fell silent; but then the old man took a breath, and he realized it was not he who had been sundered.

"Father Michael," resonated a deep and noble voice. The old Templar looked upon the form of his rescuer and then flinched at what he saw. Though it stood like a man, there was no mistaking the gray skin, bat-like wings, and glowing yellow eyes. It took several moments for the rest of the features to trickle from his memory, and after several tense seconds, the old man spoke the demon's true name.

"Brother William."

"Yes, Father," the demon knight said with a bow.

"You ... fell," the old Templar gasped in despair.

"It is true, Father," Brother William said with a knowing nod. "Father Harold has gone to meet God, and you are likely on your way unless we interfere."

Before Father Michael could ask, he followed the former Friar's gaze to the form of a succubus whom stood so near and yet did not strike out at him. For a brief moment, Father Michael thought he saw something familiar in the young demoness' face, then she gave him an impish smile ... and he knew.

"Lady Lana," the old man whispered, and the flicker in her eyes told him it was true. An old memory recalled the day Father Harold had confessed this young woman's heritage to him. He recalled the agony which his old friend had felt for this misdeed. Though it was not uncommon for such bastards to be born into the world, Father Harold took great pains to ensure that his would not suffer.

"Father," the demoness Lana spoke softly, "I can save your life, if you let me."

"No, Lana," Father Michael said once he found his voice. "My soul is my own. I will go and meet God with all of it intact." The demoness blinked in surprise and then emitted a laugh which was more telling of her father's identity than any other part of her.

"Silly, silly, silly," Lana giggled. "I don't want your soul."

"It matters not!" the old Templar barked.

"Just stay still," Lana said as she took a step toward him.

"No!" the old man shouted. "Back!" Though he tried to back away from her, the old holy man found himself restrained by the other demon whom he had momentarily forgotten. The use of Brother William's true name did nothing, and neither did the uttering of holy prayers. The strength of the Holy Father fell even farther out of Father Michael, and as the demons moved in on him, the old soldier grit his teeth and emitted the fiercest battle cry he could manage.

"Quiet now," the succubus told him, and suddenly all of the fight left him limp. There was nothing he could do against her power and though he resisted the emotion, there was nothing he could do to fight the sensation of arousal which flooded through his body. It had been an age since the impotence had sapped him of such longing. The lustful Templar considered it to be a blessing from God, for he had never been good at controlling that side of himself. Now, once again, his blood was ablaze; flowing hot, filling his manhood, and causing a painful pressure against the cod-piece of his armor. "There," the succubus finally said, "all better."

It was a strange sensation when the demons released him and stepped away. Father Michael soon realized that his body had been mended, and there was a strange amount of strength in his limbs. "What have you done?" he balked, but when neither answered his question, he watched as the demon who was once Friar William grip the holy sword from the leering demon corpse and tear it free.

"The blade does not burn you?" Father Michael gasped.

"I guess we are not as unholy as you believed," Brother William said with a grin.

"But ... how?"

"It is the power of the Dark Mother," the demon told him. "We are not Satan's children, but instead we have pledged ourselves to Queen Lilith."

"The Dark Mother," the old Templar muttered, and tears filled his eyes as he remembered the way he once believed in her glory. "I stopped believing in her a long time ago."

"It is alright, Father," the demon knight said as he handed the sword back to its owner. "She forgives you for being human. And though your zealotry has been misguided, you can still do much good."

"I am not worthy," the old Templar lamented.

"Neither were we," the knight told him, "but that is not for us to decide. Your life is not yet over; will you accept the task which has been chosen for you?"

"What must I do?"

"A war is raging in the Netherworld," Brother William answered, "and we have joined the side of the Dark Mother."

"My mother has gone far beyond what is redeemable," Lana said with much sorrow. "Before you flee back to your church, you must burn this place to the ground."

"She has given her body to the Devil Lords," William said.

"She has let them sow his seeds in her womb," Lana said.

"She must be cleaned by fire," William said.

"She must pay for what she has done," Lana echoed.

The old Templar could see the pain which these words caused the succubus, and he felt it strange to see how much of their humanity still remained. Though their bodies were monstrous, they retained their good hearts and that was all the good that needed to exist in order for him to act upon their words.

"I shall honor this deed and undertake this quest," Father Michael told them. "Go now, and may grace be upon you."

"And also with you," both of the demons said automatically, and all three of them exchanged smiles. Then the incubus and the succubus turned to each other. Like a pair of lovers they took each other by the hands, and with a blaze of purple fire, a vortex of Netherworld energy engulfed them ... and they were gone.

"Father Michael?" The words of one of the surviving knights pulled the old Templar from his thoughts.

"Brother Peter," Father Michael answered.

"It is done, Father."

"Are there any survivors?" the old priest needed to know.

"One," the knight reported.

"The Countess?" the Templar asked and the knight nodded. "Place her under arrest. We are to conduct the Peine forte et dure."

"Yes, Father," the knight said with a bow. As the soldier moved to conduct his duty, Father Michael took stock of the land. Looking to the other knights who had gathered around him, he gave his orders. "We must cleanse this place with fire and then with water. Only the love of our Lord can cleanse this place!"

"Praise be to God!" cried the other knights; and with grim determination, they all set out to cleanse their world with fire ... with water ... with blood.

THE END