When Demons Crawl From The Dark

I'd thought I'd seen the worst the Devil could conjure, yet last Sabbath proved otherwise. Rumors of strange happenings at the outskirts of town sent Sister Verity and me riding hard toward danger. What awaited us there, though, nearly broke even the strongest of hearts.

Through the rotting doors of an abandoned millhouse, we glimpsed a scene fit for Hell itself. Children, bound and screaming, surrounded a twisted altar. Their blood dripped red onto the floorboards, offering to the foul gods who reveled amidst the filth.

Without hesitation, we dove into the fray, our blades cleaving through the darkness. Though the battle raged hotter than the fires of Gehenna, we did not falter. With each strike, the light of Heaven shone brighter, driving back the shadows.

As dawn rose over the smouldering ruins, we knelt beside the broken bodies of the innocent, whispering prayers to ease their suffering. Such sorrow weighs heavy upon the soul, but we bear it, knowing that the fight continues. When demons crawl from the dark, we stand ready, hammer in hand, to send them back whence they came.