...Ashes of Conviction...

...By [Francis Justin]....

Chapter 1: Ashes in the Holy Night

The night reeked of sulfur.

Ezra Veyne stood in the ruins of St. Mordecai’s Chapel, surrounded by flickering candles and the stench of burning incense. His boots crunched over broken glass and blood-streaked tiles as he surveyed the aftermath: pews splintered like matchsticks, stained glass shattered into glinting shards, and bodies — parishioners, priests, even nuns — twisted in death as if still screaming.

In the center of the altar, a demon slouched lazily atop the desecrated relics, its crimson eyes gleaming with malice. Black smoke curled from its fanged maw as it chuckled.

Ezra, clad in his battered exorcist's coat, slowly drew the silvered blade strapped to his back. His expression was unreadable, his dark hair casting shadows over eyes that had long since forgotten how to pray.

The demon hissed, a wet, rattling sound.

"Another hound of the Faith," it rasped. "Tell me, priest — do you still believe your God watches you?"

Ezra said nothing. His fingers tightened around the hilt.

He didn't believe.

Hadn’t for years.

But belief was irrelevant to the blade.

Without a word, Ezra moved.

The demon lunged with a roar, but Ezra was faster. The blade sliced through the air, igniting ancient runes carved into its edge. The holy weapon sang, a keening note that split the demon’s screech into a gurgle. Blood as black as tar erupted from the creature’s shoulder.

"Fool!" the demon spat, recoiling. "You have no faith! I smell the void in you!"

Ezra thrust the blade deep into the creature’s chest. "I don't need faith," he muttered, voice low and tired. "I just need you dead."

The demon convulsed violently, the holy blade drinking in its essence. Moments later, only ash remained, scattering across the broken altar like a final prayer lost to the wind.

Ezra sheathed the sword with a harsh breath. His hands were steady. His heart — numb.

Behind him, the shattered church doors creaked open.

Three figures entered, cloaked in the deep purple of the High Sanctum.

At their lead, a woman — tall, severe, her hair pinned back so tightly it seemed her skin would split — regarded Ezra with something between disgust and calculation.

"Ezra Veyne," she said coldly, her voice echoing in the empty chapel. "You’re needed at the Capitol."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I don’t take orders from bureaucrats."

"You will," she replied sharply. "This concerns the fate of the world."

Ezra turned to leave, ignoring the priestess entirely — but paused when she added, almost casually:

"And the protection of the Radiant Vessel."

He froze.

A whisper of old legends stirred in his mind — tales of the Seraph’s Heart, a power so pure even the armies of Hell feared its awakening.

Ezra slowly faced her.

"Where is the Vessel?"

The priestess smiled thinly.

"In a place even demons dare not tread," she said. "Among the innocent."

Next Scene: The Assignment

Hours later, beneath the vaulted ceilings of the Capitol Cathedral, Ezra sat alone at a long table lined with shadowy figures: bishops, generals, and scholars of the Sanctum.

On the massive projection wall behind them, a grainy image flickered into view.

A girl.

Sixteen, maybe seventeen.

Short, messy hair. Round, open face.

Laughing as she fed pigeons in a city square, unaware of the eyes watching her from the darkness.

Sunny Elaris.

"The Vessel?" Ezra asked skeptically. "She looks like a child."

"She is," one of the cardinals said grimly. "And that is what makes her vulnerable."

A murmur ran through the room.

"The demons know," the woman from earlier added. "They will come for her soon."

Ezra leaned back in his chair, studying the smiling girl on the screen. He felt...nothing. Just another mission. Another soul to protect. Another inevitable loss.

"What do you want me to do?" he said finally.

"Protect her," the Archbishop intoned. "At all costs."

Ezra tilted his head, almost smiling at the irony.

"You want a man with no faith... to guard a miracle."

The room was silent.

Finally, the Archbishop spoke again, voice low and heavy.

"We want a weapon," he said. "You are the best we have."

Final Scene of Chapter 1: Setting Off

By midnight, Ezra rode alone into the mist-choked streets, the city falling into uneasy slumber behind him.

The mission was clear:

Find Sunny.

Protect her.

Keep her out of demonic hands.

But in his gut, Ezra already knew.

This was no ordinary assignment.

This was a reckoning.

And deep down, beneath all the apathy and rage and bitterness —

— a part of him was terrified.

Not of the demons.

Not even of death.

But of what would happen if, somehow,

this girl rekindled the faith he had long buried in ash.

The night swallowed him whole as he rode on.

Chapter 2: The Girl and the Gun

The city of Veridane was a labyrinth of cobbled streets, iron lamplights, and low-hanging mist. The old quarter was mostly abandoned now — too many strange disappearances, too many whispers of things seen slithering just beyond the edge of sight.

Ezra moved silently through the fog, his coat brushing the worn stone walls as he tracked the coordinates given to him by the Sanctum.

His boots stopped outside an ancient bookstore.

“The Brass Quill.”

It looked dead — shutters closed, windows filthy, a crooked "Open" sign dangling from a rusted chain.

Ezra grimaced.

A perfect hiding place.

He pushed the door open.

A little bell jingled pathetically.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of yellowed paper and mildew. Towering shelves leaned dangerously close together, creating claustrophobic corridors of forgotten knowledge.

Then he heard it:

A sharp click from behind one of the aisles.

Ezra’s instincts kicked in.

In a blink, he ducked behind a shelf just as a shot rang out, sending a spray of old books flying.

Another shot. And another.

“Stay where you are, creep! I’m armed!” a young voice shouted.

Ezra slowly peeked around the corner.

There, standing atop a rickety ladder, was Sunny Elaris — holding a ridiculously oversized handgun with both hands, her arms trembling slightly under the weapon’s weight.

She had a determined scowl on her face, but there was no mistaking it:

she was terrified.

Ezra exhaled slowly through his nose.

This... was the Radiant Vessel?

Another bullet ricocheted off the metal bookshelf inches from his head.

“Hey!” Ezra barked. “Stop shooting before you blow your own damn foot off!”

Sunny’s hands jerked in panic — the gun clattered from her grip, hit the ladder, bounced off three shelves, and somehow discharged a shot directly into the ceiling fan.

The fan groaned, shuddered... and fell.

Right onto Sunny.

Ezra lunged forward without thinking, catching her just before the fan could crush her.

For a moment, they were frozen — Sunny clinging to him, wide-eyed, their faces inches apart.

"Uh," she stammered, cheeks turning crimson. "Thanks."

Ezra set her down roughly.

"You’re welcome, idiot."

Sunny puffed up indignantly. "I was defending myself! You could’ve been a demon!"

Ezra smirked faintly, brushing dust off his coat. "Trust me, if I were a demon, you’d already be a bloodstain."

Sunny crossed her arms. "You’re not very friendly, you know."

"I’m not here to be your friend," Ezra said, voice hardening. "I’m here to keep you alive."

Sunny blinked, caught off guard by his intensity.

“Alive…? Why? Who are you?”

Ezra turned, surveying the bookstore with a sharp gaze. "Name’s Ezra Veyne. Exorcist. You’re Sunny Elaris — the girl every demon in this city wants to turn inside out."

Sunny paled.

"Wait — demons? Like... real demons? From Hell?"

Ezra’s look was flat. "No, Sunny. The cuddly, plush kind."

She opened her mouth, closed it again.

Somewhere outside, a howl split the night.

Ezra’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword.

"Looks like we’re out of time," he muttered. "Pack your stuff. We move now."

Sunny scrambled to grab a tattered backpack from behind the counter.

Ezra threw open the door just as the mist thickened unnaturally. Figures, hunched and twitching, slithered from the shadows. Their eyes gleamed a sickly green.

Demons — lowborn scouts, hungry and mindless.

Sunny whimpered.

Ezra stepped in front of her, drawing his blade in a fluid, almost lazy motion.

Behind him, Sunny whispered, “Hey... just so you know… I’ve never really fought anything before.”

Ezra gave a humorless chuckle.

"Good," he said, eyes narrowing. "Stay behind me and don't do anything stupid."

The demons shrieked and charged.

And the street became a battlefield.

Chapter 3: The Hunt Begins

The mist thickened, swallowing the street whole.

Ezra stood tall, blade gleaming under the sickly gaslights, the weight of centuries of tradition behind his every movement.

Sunny, meanwhile, clutched her backpack like a lifeline, peeking nervously from behind a toppled newspaper stand.

The first demon lunged.

It was grotesque — its flesh patchworked together with scales and rotting skin, jaws distending like a serpent’s.

Ezra moved.

A blur. A flash.

The demon’s head thudded to the cobblestones before its body even registered the cut.

Sunny gagged loudly.

"You just— You chopped its head off!" she squeaked, her voice breaking.

Ezra didn’t turn.

"That’s usually how you kill things trying to eat you."

Another demon darted forward, spindly and spider-like.

Sunny screamed — a shrill, ear-splitting sound — and chucked her backpack at it.

The demon, surprisingly, stumbled back, stunned by the heavy impact.

Ezra spared her a sideways glance.

"...Huh. Not bad."

Sunny beamed for half a second — before tripping over her own feet and landing flat on her back.

Ezra sighed, dispatching the spider-demon with a lazy slash.

"You’re gonna be a lot of work," he muttered.

More shapes emerged — dozens now — clawing, slithering, whispering her name into the mist.

"Sunnyyy..." they hissed. "Radiant One... Delicious..."

Sunny crawled frantically behind Ezra, who calmly rolled his shoulders.

"Change of plan," he said. "Run on my signal."

"What signal?!"

"You’ll know it."

Ezra closed his eyes briefly, gathering his strength.

The air shimmered around him, and then —

He roared.

A deafening, guttural sound, like the battle cry of an ancient army.

The demons faltered instinctively.

"THAT’S THE SIGNAL?!" Sunny shrieked, scrambling to her feet.

Ezra grabbed her wrist and yanked her into a sprint.

They barreled through the fog, twisting through back alleys and shattered courtyards, Ezra’s blade flashing to cut down anything in their path.

Sunny struggled to keep up, panting heavily.

"I thought priests were supposed to be all about peace and kindness!" she gasped.

Ezra grunted. "Yeah, well, I skipped that day of Sunday school."

Behind them, the horde screamed and gave chase.

Sunny dared a glance back — huge black shapes, mouths brimming with teeth, scrambled over each other in a frenzy.

She screamed again.

"Eyes forward, dumbass!" Ezra barked.

They rounded a corner and crashed through a crumbling wrought-iron gate into —

An abandoned church.

The doors hung loose on their hinges. Ivy clawed up the walls. Stained glass windows depicted forgotten saints, their faces worn and sorrowful.

It was perfect.

Ezra shoved the doors closed, jamming an old spear through the handles.

"That’ll hold ‘em... for like five minutes," he muttered.

Sunny staggered into the center of the nave, looking around in awe and terror.

"What now?!"

Ezra wiped blood off his blade onto his coat and pointed to a staircase descending into the crypts.

"We make a stand down there. Stone walls, one entrance. Easier to defend."

Sunny hesitated.

Down there, the darkness seemed even thicker — almost alive.

"Hey, uh... crazy idea," she said nervously. "What if we just, you know, prayed really hard instead?"

Ezra gave her a look that could have frozen lava.

"Move."

Sunny moved.

They descended into the crypts, lit only by Ezra’s cracked lighter and Sunny’s shaking flashlight.

The air was cold, damp, filled with the distant sound of water dripping.

Skulls grinned at them from ancient alcoves.

Sunny shuddered violently.

"This is the worst day of my life," she mumbled.

Ezra knelt, quickly scattering salt and chalk symbols onto the floor in an ancient defensive circle.

Sunny watched, wide-eyed.

"What is that? Magic?"

"Faith," Ezra said simply.

She stared at him, then at the creepy drawings.

"...Right. Faith."

Above them, the doors shuddered.

The demons had arrived.

The crypt seemed to breathe with the weight of their fury.

Sunny clutched her little gun again, even though her hands were trembling like leaves in a hurricane.

Ezra stood and faced the stairwell, blade ready.

"You stay inside the circle no matter what," he said quietly. "You’re the Radiant Vessel. You’re the key."

Sunny’s breath caught.

"...The key to what?"

Ezra’s jaw tightened.

"To saving this world... or destroying it."

Before she could process that, the stairwell exploded inward — and the battle for Sunny’s soul truly began.