#take the two and blankly say ‘well all states are bad and oppressive’ when one is very very clearly trying to reinforce weapth disparity

[marblebees]

It rlly just pains me seeing some people’s political analysis on here………i really dont wanna be mean but its time to unfollow some ppl i think

[bgn846]

Satum Novum Chapter 9: Moving On FFXV Gladnis

<Previous Chapter 8

Prompto stood nervously waiting in the hallway outside of the training room at the citadel.  He’d been in insomnia for barely four days and he still wasn’t sure he’d made the right choice.  He was technically homeless, unemployed, and broke.  Gladio’s phone still had no reception so he couldn’t call his friend for advice.

Ignis had thankfully recognized his housing dilemma right away once they’d returned.   He’d offered up his spare room without hesitation.  The man was also an amazing cook so he wasn’t lacking for food at least.  Noct was on strict orders from the doctor to rest and relax so Prompto was only able to see him for a few hours a day.

Ignis had been given the same orders but he seemed to be ignoring them.  Prompto tried to help out when he could.  He did the dishes and managed to wrangle the laundry basket away from Ignis at least twice already.

Now as he stood awaiting his fate he could feel his hands getting clammy.  The door to Cor’s office popped open suddenly and a glaive peered out, “You can come in now.”

His shoes squeaked as he spun around to follow the instruction.  Upon entering the office he was told to have a seat in the chair opposite Cor.  Six he was so freaked out by all of this.  Cor was reclining in his seat and there were two other soldiers in the room with him.

“Prompto, are you sure this is what you want?” Cor asked finally.

He faltered, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life on a fishing boat.  “I’m not really sure sir; I don’t have many options in life.”

“Not true, you could work at a restaurant, or be an office clerk.  You’ve signed up to be a soldier.  This is very different.” Cor replied.

“I know, but I want to do something good for people.  I felt useful and I want to feel like that again.”

“Fair enough.  This isn’t easy training though I hope you understand.”

Prompto nodded vigorously, “Yeah, I get that.”

“Well then, I’m happy to report your background check came back clean.” Cor paused and lifted an eyebrow, “Mostly.”  Prompto went to try and explain himself but Cor raised his hand to stop him, “It’s alright, you’ve had a rough time.  I get that.” He added smiling.

“What’s next then?”

“You get to choose your trainer.” Cor announced as he motioned for the two glaives present to step forward.

Prompto was so confused the two soldiers standing before him were both tough looking.  He had no clue who to pick, “Sir uh – which one is better for me?” he asked looking back to Cor.

The marshal grinned and pointed to the one on the left, “They are both good trainers but I think you’ll fit in well with Pelna.”  

The soldier in question crossed the distance between them and reached out his hand with a smile, “Glad you’ll be joining the ranks of the good guys.”

Cor dismissed them all and Prompto followed Pelna back towards the locker room to get his training gear.  He was scared and excited all at the same time.  He wished he could tell Gladio what he was doing.  He hoped his friend would be proud of his decision.

Pelna showed Prompto around the facilities and gave him some tips on what to expect when training started the following week.  The glaive was nice and seemed to sense his anxiety over the situation.  He told Prompto he’d do just fine and not to worry.

Each minute that passed eased his frayed nerves.   Finally when the tour was over and his locker had been assigned he left to go back to Ignis’ apartment.   The advisor didn’t live very far away so he could walk there.

When he arrived the mood was decidedly different.  Ignis had been told he wasn’t allowed to return to work until he’d been cleared by a doctor.  This only meant he was doing his work from home instead, despite several threatening visits from Clarus ordering him to stop.

Prompto looked around for Ignis and found him sitting at the kitchen table.  He was hunched over the table with his head resting on his forearms.  Suddenly worried something bad had happened he rushed over, “Ignis are you alright? Do you feel okay?” he asked.

Ignis didn’t lift his head, “No.” he mumbled.

The blond wanted to help but he didn’t know if Ignis wanted to talk about what was going on, “Uh – I’m here if you need to talk or --.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Do you  need me to call the doctor?”

“I’m not ill.” Ignis offered as he slowly sat up, “Thank you though.”

“But something happened did it?” The idea that maybe Drautos had escaped crossed his mind, “Is Drautos still in custody?”

“Hmmm, oh yes.  The crown has plenty of evidence to put him away for life.   You did a wonderful job rigging that collar.  It was instrumental in taking him down.”

Pride swelled in Prompto’s chest at the praise, but Ignis still look any better.   “If they have enough evidence does that mean Gladio is back?”

Ignis didn’t answer verbally.  He simply stared ahead blankly and nodded slowly.

“But I tried calling him earlier and his phone still went to voicemail.” Prompto stated confusedly, “Why would he do that if he was back?”

“Perhaps he wishes to be left alone.”

“No, he’s not like that.  Are you sure he’s okay?  He could be injured and we don’t kn--.”

“No Prompto, he’s not injured.” Ignis interrupted, “I’ve already talked with the glaives that he accompanied.  They said he was fine when they returned to port two days ago.”

“I don’t understand, if he’s been back for two days why the hell hasn’t he called any of us?!” Prompto asked in disbelief.

“I wish I knew.”  Ignis lamented.

This was all wrong; this was not how his friend acted.  He was a good guy.   Gladio didn’t say one thing and then do another.  “Did you call maybe he’ll pick up if he sees its you.”

Ignis finally looked at him, “I already called and texted yesterday morning.  He doesn’t want to talk me obviously.”

Prompto couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Gladio and Ignis had hit it off so well.  The blond spent the rest of the evening attempting to cheer Ignis up.  It didn’t exactly work but it made the time pass.  Tomorrow Prompto was going to try and figure out what was going on.  They deserved to know.

--

“I don’t understand why you are being like this Gladdy!” Iris shouted, “You are clearly miserable.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Gladio huffed, “I’m not leaving you like dad did.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore; I don’t need you to worry about me.  You are not allowed to use me as an excuse for doing the wrong thing.”

Gladio scrunched up his nose in disgust, “I’m not using you as an excuse!” he growled.

“Don’t give me that crap. Ever since you got back two days ago you’ve been a giant stick in the mud!” Iris yelled as she stormed around their aunt’s kitchen, “I don’t know exactly what happened but if you don’t fix it I’m going to get dad involved.”

“NO!  That’s not fair.  Don’t turn dad into some savior when he’s not been there for us.  That’s a low blow Iris.”

“Then figure your shit out!”

“Language!” Gladio hissed, “See this is the stuff that happens when I’m not here.”

“No its not!  I told you to stop making me part of your excuse.”

“I’m not doing that!” Gladio bellowed.  Six he was fucking sick of this.   Why couldn’t this be easy?  “I’m not leaving you alone.” he finished with a fire in his eyes.

“I’ll move into the city with you then.  I won’t be alone and you can stop using me as an ex--.”

“Iris --.” Gladio threatened, “Don’t.”

“I don’t want to be around you if you’re going to be like this.” Iris added with tears in her eyes, “You said you’d look after us and this is not how you do it.” Sniffling she turned and ran from the room.

His head was throbbing with a migraine now and Gladio still didn’t know what to do.  He couldn’t abandon his sister that was not an option.  He wasn’t going to uproot her life just so he could go do as he pleased.   The air in the room suddenly felt oppressive, he needed to get out of the house.

Storming out into the yard he took off down one of the well-worn paths that led to the sea.  His head was awash with thoughts of Ignis and what his sister had just said to him.  

Their aunt lived in a well-appointed cottage near the sea just outside of Altissia.  The place was peaceful and quiet and work wasn’t a distraction when he was there with Iris.   Or at least it used to be that way.  Now he wasn’t sure what his future held if he stayed.  Iris seemed pretty upset and he didn’t want to see what his sister would do if pushed any further.  Time was running out he couldn’t keep avoiding Ignis.  He owed him an answer.  

Gladio stayed out for nearly an hour.  The walk helped his headache but did nothing for the conflict in his mind.  Deciding to turn back he trudged up the hill back to the house.  When he was still a good distance away he spotted a car in the driveway.  It was an official crown vehicle.

Panic took over as he ran up to the house.  Had something happened?  Taking the front steps two and a time he threw the door open.  Iris was there talking to their surprise guests, his father and Prompto. They both looked like somebody had died.  Shit this wasn’t good.  

Without waiting for an explanation he looked at his friend, “Are Ignis and Noct alright?” he asked in between breaths.

Prompto nodded solemnly but didn’t say anything.

“Are you alright?” he asked remembering that Prompto wasn’t always forthcoming with news like that.

The blond nodded again.

“Thank the six.” he muttered.

Clarus spoke next, “Son, I think we need to talk.”

“Not you too!” He exclaimed, “Iris already lit into me dad, I don’t have the patience to hear any more.”

“Prompto, Iris, do you think I could have a moment alone with Gladio.”

Gladio watched them go through to the next room.  He couldn’t believe he was going to have to put up with getting yelled at twice in one day.

--

Ignis couldn’t figure out why Prompto was acting so strange.  His training was starting soon so it must have been nerves.  Maybe Prompto coming home the other night and finding him in such a state of distress over Gladio had affected him.   Ignis still didn’t have any news and he was starting to think he never would.

Gladio had gone off to think about his life and it seemed it didn’t include Ignis.  That idea was depressing but he couldn’t force another person to like him.  The pain of it all was a dull ache; Ignis hoped it would go away eventually.   Though he wasn’t sure it would.

Resigned to reviewing reports at his small kitchen table Ignis was surprised when a notification dinged on his phone.  He’d still been unable to go to work officially; the doctor had refused to clear him.  Ignis suspected the king was to blame for this.   He knew they all wanted him to rest, but didn’t they understand? Work allowed his brain a reprieve from thinking about Gladio.

Tapping his phone awake he saw that it was a calendar invite, for training of all things.  The description was useless as he opened the message.   The appointment was set for that very afternoon.   Maybe they wanted to have him take a physical, so he could prove he was healthy enough to go back to work.   Finally maybe he could get back to normal!  

Having to wait the three hours for his appointment was nearly impossible.  Deciding to go early he grabbed his gym bag and left for the citadel.   The short walk there did little to clear his head.   Taking a deep breath once he reached the entrance to the citadel Ignis began calmly walking to the training room.  He needed to at least appear normal.

As he approached the training hall he was sure he could hear people talking.  No it that wasn’t it, he could hear laughter. Worrying slightly he crept up to the door.  If he was going to be evaluated were people laughing at him before he’d even arrived?   Stopping just outside the door he waited and listened.  The laughter had died down and had been replaced by the low muffle of indistinguishable voices.  

The unique bubbly laugh of Prompto reached his ears suddenly.  He was very confused as to what this training appointment entailed.  He was about to push the door open when another deeper voice rang out.  It was Gladio he was sure of it!

Ignis froze in place waiting to hear his voice once more.  He needed to make sure it was real.  Sure enough a moment later Gladio’s comforting voice filtered out into the hallway.  The gym bag he’d been holding slipped from his shaking hands.  Still stuck in place Ignis tried to force his body to move.  The fear that Gladio might not be there to see him crippled his resolve.

After what felt like an eternity he took a step forward and gently pushed the door open.

The room had a few other occupants as he looked around.  Noct was sitting on a pile of mats along the wall with Prompto next to him.  A younger girl Ignis didn’t recognize was sitting next to Prompto.  The three of them were cheering on Gladio, who at the moment had his back to Ignis.

Ignis didn’t dare to believe what he was seeing was real.  Gladio was wearing a crownsguard uniform and wielding a broadsword.   It appeared Noct was giving him instructions on how to summon it from the armiger.

If the prince had given Gladio access to the armiger that could only mean one thing.

He was thoroughly distracted watching Gladio and he didn’t realize he’d been spotted.   Prompto’s voice announced his entrance a second later, “Hey big guy, Ignis is here.”

Gladio spun around quickly and looked at him with wide eyes.  He then looked back to the sword he was holding, “Noct!  Make it go away!” he demanded.

“Just let go.” Noct urged.

Turning back to Ignis he took a few steps towards him and then paused to look at the sword again.  With an unpracticed move of his arm he finally released the weapon and it vanished into the armiger.  Running the remaining distance he stopped short of Ignis, “I’m so sorry I didn’t call.” He blurted.

Ignis went to respond but Gladio kept on talking.

“I know you’re probably really upset about that and I don’t want mess this up a second time.  Please can we start again?” He asked hopeful.

Unable to come up with anything poignant to say Ignis simply nodded and smiled.  Gladio grinned like he’d just won the lottery.  Without hesitation he crossed the remaining three feet between them and engulfed Ignis in a hug.

Any remaining worry or unease faded instantly when Gladio’s arms were around him.  This felt so good and Ignis never wanted to be deprived of this sensation again.  “I missed you.” He whispered in the small space between them.

“Even though we only apart for a week I was a wreck without you around, just ask my sister.”

Ignis realized the younger girl in their company must be Iris. He’d not seen her in many years, but as he peered over Gladio’s shoulder he could clearly see the resemblance.  “Are you staying?” he asked softly.

“Yes, I’m going to be Noct’s shield so I’m not going anywhere.” Gladio offered with shy smile.

“Are you technically already a member of the crownsguard?”

Gladio nodded, “Cor got me prepared for this last year in case I decided to take the oath.  I’m ready and willing.”

Ignis leaned in to hug Gladio tighter if that was even possible.  He was so happy he could hardly handle the surge of emotions that he was experiencing.

“I’m here to make your job easier remember.” Gladio supplied as he gazed down with vibrant amber eyes.

Their friends it appeared could no longer stay silent. A steady but clear chant was starting to grow from the side of the room.  Looking over Ignis could see Prompto and Iris cheering for a kiss.  Noct was fake retching.  Two out of three was enough for Ignis to act, “I believe they want us to kiss.”

Gladio raised his eyebrow and smirked, “Well I don’t think we should disappoint them.”

Ignis stood on his tip toes as he tilted his head up towards Gladio’s handsome face.  The future shield wrapped his arms around his waist and hoisted Ignis up the remaining distance.  The moment their lips connected Ignis forgot where he was.   The heat from Gladio’s body seemed to be the only thing anchoring him to this world.

Gladio didn’t put him down until he was lightheaded and weak in the knees, “Wanna meet my sister?”  he asked with a grin.

“Of course.” Ignis agreed as he worked to catch his breath.

When they turned to walk back over Ignis clutched Gladio’s arm for support. He was overwhelmed, but in a good way.  Gladio barely stopped walking as he spun around and swept Ignis off his feet, “I missed doing this too.”  

Ignis could feel his face turning red but he didn’t care he was happy.  Once they reached the mats in the corner Gladio deposited Ignis next to Noct.  The prince leaned over and hugged his advisor, “I’m really happy everything worked out.  I don’t like to see you sad.”

“I appreciate the sentiment highness.   Though I am sorry your fishing trip got ruined by this whole mess.”

“It’s okay we can plan another one right?  I mean I’ve got my own personal shield now.” Noct enthused.

“Your personal shield also owns a fishing boat with lots of room for big fish.” Gladio added with a wink.

Noct’s eyes lit up as he turned to Ignis with a huge smile, “Okay we are planning another trip as soon as the doctor clears us both.”

Ignis groaned and flopped back into the mats.  Now he wished he could never go back to work.  Anything he could do to avoid another fishing trip would be acceptable.

“Hey Ignis, it’s alright I’ll be there and so will Prompto.”  Gladio announced, “Come on it will be fun.”

Feigning his dismay Ignis waved his arms around dramatically.  He really didn’t mind, Gladio had a good point they would be together this time.  Turning his head Ignis locked eyes with Gladio.  Reaching out they took each other hands and squeezed.  The sounds of excited chatter planning the trip faded away as Ignis focused on Gladio.

He was so relieved that Gladio had decided to become Noct’s shield. They all made such a good team and he was excited for the adventures they would go on together.

>Epilogue

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Desecrated Host

Case: 0113005-B

Name: Father Edwin Burroughs Subject: His claimed demonic possession Date: May 30th, 2011 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

It was the first time I had experienced anything like that. By this point I was starting to suspect that I may have been having hallucinations of some sort, but I had never before felt a... a presence within myself, inside my being. It was a feeling so utterly awful it’s hard to put it into words. Like a reflex reaction, your muscles moving without any instruction from your mind, but rather than a quick twitch of the leg, it’s a slow movement of your jaw, your lips, forming your mouth into words. Worse things were to come, of course, but I don’t think any of them were so profoundly unsettling as that feeling.

I only got a few streets away from Hill Top Road before I was no longer able to maintain my equilibrium and fell to the floor, violently throwing up. I could not deny then that there was something inside me, and I believed that whatever it was had entered me from Bethany O’Connor. I tried to pray, tried to cast my mind to G– I couldn’t. As I tried, my throat closed and I struggled to breathe. I lay on the side of the pavement, and I wept. Wiping my eyes, I took out my Bible, and looked desperately within it for comfort but when I opened it, though the page was within the Gospel of Luke, the words were from Genesis: “Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me.”

Around that passage the writing morphed and swam before my eyes. And wherever there were words that might give me comfort, I found them obscured by dark stains. The bile began to rise within my throat again, and I desperately wanted to hurl the book away from me. I held it, though, for just a moment before I placed the small volume once again in my jacket. It took more willpower than I could have believed, but I kept it. I stood up shakily, and staggered back to the presbytery.

I slept for a long time, and missed morning Mass, saying I was feeling unwell. It wasn’t a lie, of course; I just lay there for hours. There seemed a safety in stillness, as though inaction could do no harm. It was the first good decision I had made, and there isn’t day goes by I don’t curse myself for ever rising from that bed. Nobody bothered me – I think word had gotten round that I was having a difficult time and they were almost certainly trying to decide who would be best to talk to me, or even whether to ask the Bishop to intervene.

I decided that I needed to talk to Father Singh. I didn’t think that he would be able to help me, but he was at least familiar with Bethany O’Connor’s case. Perhaps he might have some insight into what was happening. I tried to find him quickly – the faces on each crucifix and painting I passed seemed to twist and sneer at me as I walked and my head was throbbing. The painted blood glistened as though still wet. I’m glad I didn’t encounter anyone, for I was staggering so much they would likely have thought I was drunk.

Finally I found Father Singh in the small chapel. He seemed surprised to see me and as I approached, his face fell and he backed away ever so slightly. I can’t imagine how bad I must have looked to get such a reaction from him, but I sat next to him anyway. I began to talk, to tell him everything that had happened. He remained silent as I spoke, until I began to talk about the exorcism I had tried to perform on Bethany. He held up his hand, and asked if I’d prefer to speak about it in confession. I was momentarily confused, and asked him what sin he felt I had committed. He looked at me, and I swear there was almost a smile on his face when he spoke. “Spiritual pride,” he said, “that has led to quite a fall.”

Unsettled though I was at his attitude, I could not deny that he was right. I agreed, and we left the chapel. Soon I was giving my account as a full confession, and I could not keep from crying as I described what happened when I attempted to lay a blessing upon that house on Hill Top Road. I finished my account, and waited for Father Singh to speak of my penance or absolution. Instead, he paused for a few moments, then said, “No, your sins are deeper than that.” And he began to list them.

Every transgression I had made since I was six years old. The disabled child I had bullied in primary school, the time I stole money from my mother’s purse to buy cigarettes, the indiscretions I had had at the seminary. All of them. I had confessed them each before and been absolved, but not to Father Singh, and to hear them thrown back in my face as such a stark list of wickedness rattled me deeply. I noticed something else as he spoke: Father Singh only emigrated from Jaipur a decade or so before I met him, and he had always had quite a strong accent but the voice that spoke now to read my litany of wrongdoing had no trace of it. It was a clipped and crisp RP accent, though in tone it seemed to match that of my friend.

I leapt to my feet and ran from the room, and towards the front door. I needed to get out, to get somewhere I could breathe. In the hallway I ran past two other priests, who looked more worried than ever. One of them was Father Singh.

It was dark when I left the presbytery. I had no idea where I was going or why; I just had the desperate need to be somewhere else. The streets of Oxford should have been full of drunken students at that time on a Sunday night, at least, I thought it was Sunday, but they were almost deserted. Occasionally, I would see figures standing or walking at the end of the narrow streets, but they were shadowy, silhouetted against what little light there was, and were always gone when I approached. I tried once again to pray but the words died on my tongue. I have never felt despair on the sheer scale I did at that moment.

The streets of Oxford are winding, and speak to the age of the place, but I had lived there for no small amount of time and knew them well. That night, though, it was as though I had never walked them before. I saw roads that I had travelled a hundred times, but they seemed different, my eyes focusing on details I had never before marked, and at each turn I found I did not know where I was going or what place it would take me to. The world I knew had become alien to me, and I simply didn’t know what to do.

Finally, I found myself in front of The Oratory on Woodstock Road. The church’s large round window shifted as I watched, as though it were a tremendous eye that were turning to focus upon me. The door was open and from within, a warm light spilled out. Even in the depths of my – I suppose you could call it mania – there was something comforting about that light. A man appeared at the door. He was tall and pale, and dressed as an altar server.

I walked up to him. My vision was blurred, though I could not tell you whether it was my state of mind at the time or simply that I was crying. I should have known that something was wrong. I did know that something was wrong, but it didn’t matter. I had no fight left within me, so when he told me that it was time for Mass, I simply nodded and followed.

He led me through the church. It was bright, so bright. Candles covered every surface, each glowing so powerfully that I could barely look directly at them. The layout was how I remembered, but the pews were all empty, and I could see none of the statues or crosses that I expected. The man led me unresisting into the vestry, where I found my cassock and stole laid out in front of me. The stole was not green as I would have expected for a normal Sunday mass, nor was it violet or red or any other liturgical colour. Instead it was a pale, sickly yellow. I felt the eyes of the altar server upon my back, and dressed quickly.

At that moment the bell rang to mark the start of the mass. It was a single, jarring tone that cut through the air and made me almost double over in pain, so badly did it pierce into my pounding skull. I regained myself, gripping the thin, bony arm of the altar server, and walked out into the church. The pews were full now. Row upon row of people, far more than had ever before attended a mass that I had said. Each was dressed in black from head to toe, and their skin was fevered, jaundiced yellow. The eyes of every man, woman and child stared blankly forward, and their mouths hung open, wide and smiling, like their jaws had locked in silent rictus.

I could have left. I know that now. I know that my will and my actions were my own, and even at the time I knew that what I was seeing was so wrong. So very wrong but... it didn’t feel like at the time I could have made any other choice. Even in that strange place, stared at by hellish parishioners I must have known weren’t really there. G–... Forgive me, even then, I thought to find some comfort in the liturgy. The odd smelling incense swirled about me from the altar server’s brazier and my head swam with a scent that felt so familiar, yet so foreign.

Finally, I stood before the altar and began the mass. I was surprised as I spoke, and the holy names slipped from my mouth without hesitation, but the congregation I addressed were quiet, and each pause for a response was met with only that oppressive, wide-mouthed silence, a jarring void that tightened the fear I felt gripping my soul. When the Liturgy of the Word began, I watched in silent dread as the altar server stepped to the pulpit to deliver the first reading. He stood there, dark eyes scanning the open bible, before he raised his head and looked up as though to speak, but all that came from his throat was the single tolling sound of that bell, and my head pulsed in pain. The same thing happened for the second reading, that long, drawn out chime.

Then came the reading of the Gospel. I walked to the pulpit myself, and saw the passage indicated was Mark, chapter 9, verses 14-19. I began to try and read it, but my voice was gone and from my own mouth came the sound of that bell. I fell to the floor, but no-one moved to help me.

Eventually I was able to stand again, and a dull panic began to rise within me as I realised that next came the Liturgy of the Eucharist. The thought of these people, these things, taking the body of J– taking the sacrament of Holy Communion felt like the direst of blasphemies. I didn’t stop, though. I didn’t know what else to do, and my mind was swimming with the sound of the bell and the collective horror of all the things that I had seen and felt.

The altar server brought me the communion wafers and the wine, and I took them. My hands felt strange and clammy as I held them, but I brought them to the altar and began to speak. This time my words came out crisp and clear, and as I said them I noticed fewer and fewer of the parishioners seemed to be in the pews. Hope began to rise within me as it seemed the words would work to banish these jaundiced watchers and I pressed on. Finally, the pews were empty, and my heart soared as I turned towards the tabernacle to retrieve the rest of the Host.

It was strange, the rich cloth curtain that covered that ornate metal box seemed stuck, so I pulled and pulled and eventually it came free. I opened the door and retrieved the Host, returning it to the altar. Then I... I lifted it to my mouth, and I ate. It did not taste as I expected.

I’m sure you’ve guessed the reality of what it was I was eating. I don’t even know where I was, some dingy basement from what it seemed when the light fell from my eyes and I returned to reality. At least, I assume this is reality. I dream, sometimes, that perhaps this is the illusion – my arrest and imprisonment merely a hallucination. That I’m not a murdering cannibal.

It doesn’t matter. At that moment, seeing those bound corpses before me, I made the decision to take no action ever again. I will not commit the further sin of ending my life, but I sat there until the police came. I pled guilty to all the charges they laid before me, and now here I am, doubting everything I see and hear. I do worry about the state of my soul, of course, but there is little to be done. My old colleagues have come by on occasion, and even the Bishop once, but it doesn’t help. Whatever they may be actually be saying, all I can hear is the sound of the bell.

Thank you for your time.

Archivist Notes:

As it turns out the second part of this statement was simply misfiled in the next folder, which was useful, although it does beg the question of who was reading it last? Martin is still absent, but Tim and Sasha both swear they haven’t seen it before. Was my predecessor reading it at some point? That seems unlikely given the state of the place; I find it hard to credit the idea that Gertrude Robinson actually read any of these files. Still, it’s hardly our biggest concern.

It’s difficult to know where to begin with a statement like this. If the person giving their testimony is unable to distinguish the real and the unreal, that doesn’t usually bode well for anyone trying to find evidence. Let us begin with Bethany O’Connor. From what Sasha could find in the records of St. Hugh’s College, she was indeed a student with them, studying archaeology, matriculating in 2008. Everything Father Burroughs says about her faith, her hospitalisation and her death appears to match up with official records. However, college records appear to list her as one of the students living in halls during her second year, rather than in an off-campus house, and it was a porter who she attacked with a kitchen knife, rather than a housemate. In fact, according to the letting agent, there was no-one living at 89 Bullingdon Road that year, so whatever Bethany was doing in that house, it wasn’t living there legally. 

Father Burroughs’ old colleagues from the Church certainly remember his falling apart following the failed exorcism. They were apparently in the process of talking to the Bishop to get him some help when the ‘culminating incident’ occurred that led to his incarceration. Prior to meeting Bethany O’Connor, none of them had anything but the highest praise for the man. 

As for the incident itself, Father Burroughs was found in one of the back rooms of 89 Bullingdon Road. He was wearing a butcher’s apron and sat in front of two students, Christopher Bilham and James Mann. They were both tied to chairs and quite dead. Cause of death was listed as blood loss from multiple lacerations all over their legs and torso, as well as removal of both their faces with a sharp blade, possibly a scalpel. The face of James Mann was found to have been partially eaten by Father Burroughs. He pled guilty to all charges brought before him and is currently serving two life sentences at Wakefield Prison, though HMPS refused our request for a follow-up interview. 

What interests me is the paralleling of Father Burroughs’ climactic hallucination with reality, and the fact that at no point did he perform any actions that might be analogous with the binding and actual murder of the students. Also, it strikes me that the altar server he described seems out of place with most of his other delusions, in that he appeared to have active agency, which is uncharacteristic for these visions the priest describes. Finally, there is the small detail mentioned in the police report that none of the tools used to kill or mutilate the victims were found at the scene. This all leads me to believe that there may have been a second person there that night, although from talking with the police, I get the impression that there is little appetite for re-opening the case, considering how successful the initial prosecution was. 

There’s one other detail Tim uncovered that sticks out to me. It’s a name I recognise, though I have no idea what it could mean. The Oratory was obviously not the actual scene of Father Burroughs’ crimes, but there was one strange thing that happened a few days prior. They received delivery of a pale yellow stole, which apparently vanished less than a day after they signed for it. This would be unusual, but not necessarily noteworthy, if it wasn’t for fact that one of the deacons recalled the package was handed to them by a company called Breekon and Hope Deliveries.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 20 Desecrated Host)