Chapter Text
"... And are you positive this is necessary?"
" Certain. For the good of the people. For the good of the Lord. You are about to undertake a mission on behalf of our God that will change this country for the better- their corruption of the minds of our young has gone on too long."
He sighed. His palms were sweaty and his knuckles white, his nails digging into the cassock that draped over his trembling legs.
" How long will this take?"
" As long as it needs to."
He finally met the gaze of his senior across the table. The paperwork was waiting for him, spread over the desk he dreaded to see. There was no doubt in his mind that the council that ruled his diocese must have chosen him as some sort of joke- he wasn't exactly the most pious of pastors in his parish. To others it must have seemed that he didn't want to be there at all, and had received many firm talks from the older priests in front of that very desk about being late, not attending service, making excuses- maybe some time away would do him good. Even if it was time away in… well, wherever this " Satanic Church" stood.
"... and what day do I leave?"
….
A week later, and there he stood, a large suitcase in his hand, staring up at the tall spire of the building ahead of him. The gate made an almost characteristically ominous creak as he pushed it aside, pressing on further down the winding path that led to the Ministry.
On the train ride, he had reviewed his paperwork so many times that he could almost recite it, word for word in his mind. He's a 21 year old man, fleeing from an unpleasant household, seeking sanctuary in the safe hands of whatever these people worshipped. Once he was inside, he would gather information, names- anything he could use to begin to unravel this mess from the root. How exactly he would unravel an entire organisation on his own, he had no clue. But with the weight of the bag dragging his arm down, like a child urging him to leave, he pressed a firm knock to the large oak door at the entrance.
A few moments passed. He placed the suitcase down beside him, shoulder aching. A few more moments passed. He pressed a few, firmer knocks to the door. A few more dragging moments- no sound or sign of anyone greeted him. He groaned.
" I suppose I can just go home." He muttered, glancing at his watch, and placing a few more impatient knocks- much harder than was polite. At this, however, the door opened with a click. He sighed, picked his suitcase up once more, and looked around. No sign of anybody, whatsoever. Maybe the place was deserted?
The door creaked open fully, swinging backwards. A small head poked in, glancing left, then right. Cautiously, he stepped inside- and on cue, the door swung closed behind him with a familiar click- and then another, richer click. Something told him that he had just been locked inside by an unseen force.
And, quite frankly, that freaked him out.
He spun around, tugging the door's handle desperately- but to no result. It was firmly locked, with no sign of a way to leave.
He turned around again and pressed his back to the door, letting out a deep sigh. His eyes fluttered shut and he took a moment to calm himself down-
There, something in the vague distance. A sound, amplified by echoes and the … unanimity of a crowd?
Abandoning his case for now, he began to move through the decorated room. It was ornate, almost victorian, with paintings littering the walls depicting pale faced figures in familiar clothes. A hallway stretched onwards through the opposite wall, which he continued down. It was the same- paintings, wooden cabinets and drawers topped with vases of fresh flowers. In a way, it felt like he was back in his own parish. But more… satan-y. Yes, he felt uncomfortable- however, strangely, not as uncomfortable as he thought he would be.
He reached the end of the hallway, the noise growing much louder. Whatever he was interrupting was on the other side of another large door- and a flickering light brought his attention to around halfway down it. He got onto one knee and curiously pushed his face towards the keyhole, looking through it. Of course he couldn't just barge through- whatever could be in that room could be dangerous. What if they seized him the moment they saw him? Sacrificed him on some sort of dark altar? Oh god, what if they were cannibals? No, no. Worse.
Sexy cannibals.
Shaking those anxieties from his psyche, he closed one eye, looking through. Of course they weren't cannibals. How bad could satanists be?
At first, he couldn't make anything out. The light was off in the room. Strange. Maybe they just liked to pray in the dark?
Then the colours began to shift, as if the dark had some sort of pattern to it. It didn't occur to him that the noise had stopped, the other side of the door completely silent. The dark began to move again, and by the time he recognised it as the movement of clothing he was much too late- the doors suddenly swung open and he was met with a face full of crotch.
Looking slowly and hesitantly upwards, another non- dick related sight met him- the painted, black and white face of a man- in lots and lots of robes. And a hat. A very nice hat, that only the pope in his own religion wore. Then it struck him- here he was, his face blow-job level with this church's Pope. Or, rather, anti-pope.
" Are we lost, Cara Mia? You know, it is very impolite to let yourself into another's home, and then to spy on them is certainly another thing."
Fuck.
Sexy cannibals.