Satanas Chapter 5.1 - Daffodil Bloomed in Sudan

Bell was sitting on the bed. His back was leaned against the headboard, and his legs were stretched out, his shoes still on. The movement of his crossed ankles, which had been tapping leisurely, stopped. On the nightstand, a single tall candle was forlornly illuminating the room. The curtains were not drawn, so the slanting moonlight, as clear and white as gourd flowers, rendered even that desolation meaningless.

His face, split diagonally by shadow and light, shimmered with the moonlight, evoking the ripples of the Seine River. Perhaps because of his skin, which shone paler than the moonlight, he was clearly reflecting the light back.

“I came to meet an old friend of mine.”

At last, he opened his mouth. His eyes, steeped in moonlight, stared at Tadeo without a single blink. They were eyes like a field of buckwheat flowers, sparkling like salt, blooming in a vast blue meadow.

“The one I am to meet is the one you will soon meet.”

“So you two are going to team up and screw me over, is that it?”

“I’m not that childish, Tadeo.”

Bell answered as he planted his feet on the floor and stood up. As he rose, his face, like frost, moved out of the moonlight. The room was plunged into darkness in an instant, and Tadeo thought that he had been right, that Bell had reflected the moonlight back, making that candlelight seem insignificant.

“I don’t care if the world turns upside down or if tomorrow is the same as yesterday. I certainly have no interest in things like world peace.”

The voice that murmured with each step he took brushed against his sensitized eardrums. Tadeo flinched and stepped back. It was only when his heel hit the wooden desk that he realized he had chosen his position poorly, and he frowned. He moved his hands back, grabbing the edge of the desk and pressing his body against it as much as possible.

“No matter what you do, sacrificing your own body, the seeds of destruction have already been sown in this world.”

“What does that….”

The lips that were forming the words closed. It was because the hair that had been wet with moonlight and rippled like silver waves had fallen upon the black cassock. His dark eyelashes, shadowing his eyes like eaves, trembled as they lifted, and Bell’s body heat was transmitted through the hand that gripped the desk. A large palm covered the back of Tadeo’s hand, where blue veins were visible.

“My interest is singular.”

“….”

“You.”

With those words, the tips of their shoes met, leaving no room for even a sliver of light to pass through. Even that contact sent a small, tingling thrill through him.

“That is the one and only reason I came to Joseon.”

“….”

“If there is anyone who so much as touches a single strand of your hair….”

Bell slowly lowered his head. As he bowed his head, his trapezius muscles rose, and his spine descended like a sheer cliff. A voice like the wind parting a field seeped into the hollow of his nape where his neck curved. At that sound, Tadeo’s body trembled slightly. He even felt the urge to grasp the demon’s hand that was enveloping his own.

“I will require a reckoning for the lifeblood of anyone who sheds your blood, for your life is in your blood.”

“…Genesis 9, verse 5.”

Tadeo whispered with trembling lips, staring at his hand which Bell was caressing as it gripped the desk tightly. Bell spoke. When his downcast eyes lifted again, clear and bright, Bell removed his head which had been resting almost on his shoulder.

The thick column of his neck straightened from below his ear, and the furrow of his spine narrowed. The front of his vest, revealing the volume of his muscles, broadened firmly, and his straightened shoulders blocked the moonlight. Tadeo felt a sense of loss for Bell’s two hands as he hid them in his pockets. Twitch. His own fingertips needlessly twitched, his nails scratching the surface of the innocent desk.

“Yes. The very words of that god you love and follow so.”

“Why… why would you go that far for me?”

You think of me as just a plaything, don’t you? And he had almost blurted out those words as well.

“I am also in the process of finding that reason.”

The ensuing reply left him drained. That was all that remained of the swelling tension that had, for a brief moment, made it impossible to breathe. It was a foolish and stupid question, even to himself. There could be no meaning bestowed upon a mere plaything. From the very beginning, wasn’t he just a tool to insult God?

The memories from Weihaiwei, of being pinned underneath him and crying out that he was the master time and again, surfaced. Tadeo rubbed his face against a sudden wave of fatigue.

“Move. I’m a bit tired.”

“Pardon me.”

Despite his stiffly spoken words, Bell smiled faintly and took a couple of steps back. The hem of his black cassock, brushing past as their clothes touched, swayed in front of the bathroom door.

“A button, it seems one was missing.”

At the sudden remark, the hand unbuttoning his cassock trembled. Bell is always needlessly sharp. And I am needlessly proud.

“It’s nothing.”

The hand, having unbuttoned down to his navel, grasped the bathroom doorknob. Plop. The black cassock of high-quality silk fell to his soft calves. Bell’s lips bore not even a trace of a smile as he watched the naked form disappear into the bathroom.

He had wanted to show that he was unaffected. He wanted to remind Bell that even though he had surrendered to coercive force, ‘that incident’ meant nothing to him. That was why Tadeo had stripped without inhibition. As if to put on a show, knowing that the ocean-like eyes were fixed upon him.

He had revealed the naked body that had been hiding, using the cassock as its sanctuary, and had stepped into the bathroom with an indifferent gait, feeling no shame. He wanted to deny Bell’s victory, even if it meant doing that.

From the turned-off faucet, water droplets were still falling, drip, drip. Tadeo, submerged in the bathtub, had not moved for several tens of minutes. The steam, settling like a veil over his black hair and two arms resting on the tub’s edge and over his thinly closed eyelids, was hazy. The yellow incandescent lamp was dim, like a headlight in the fog that had encroached upon the city.

His hazy mind focused on the ripples created by the falling water droplets. It was around the time the hot water, spreading to his chest, was washing away his fatigue. Click. He heard the sound of the door opening and closing.

“….”

Splash, splash. The sound of footsteps on the tile floor was laden with moisture. The half-drawn blinds were pushed aside, and only after feeling a shadow fall over him did Tadeo open his eyes. It was Bell.

“I never said you could come in.”

“You stripped right in front of me. I thought that meant you wanted me to come in.”

The pale body, thoroughly steeped in the yellow light, shed its bathrobe. Golden hair, like that of Rapunzel who had let down her hair instead of a rope from her castle, spilled down in a torrent, shimmering in his vision. As Bell submerged himself in the tub, the water that had reached his chest rose higher, over his nipples, concealing the black cross.

“We’ve bathed together often, and now you’re shy?”

“Did we?”

Tadeo answered aloofly.

“Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit and became ashamed of their naked bodies. Just like you now.”

“So are you the forbidden fruit?”

This time he asked, tilting his head crookedly. No answer came back. Instead, the eyes that stared at him seemed to be issuing a warning. He had clearly struck a nerve.

Tadeo closed his eyes again and caressed the side of the tub, where water droplets had beaded. Bell straightened his bent legs. The legs, sinking slowly beneath the rippleless surface of the water, stretched out long, tickling Tadeo’s thigh.

“How long are you planning for us to stay here?”

The eyelashes, clumped together by splashed water, lifted. In the center of the glossy, jet-black pupils, a yellow light was dotted.

“Why. Should I build you a house?”

“This hotel is too luxurious. It’s burdensome to stay here.”

“I guess I’ll have to build one exactly twice this size.”

“Stop joking.”

“Does it sound like a joke?”

Only then did the yellow light vanish from the black pupils. In his changed focus, there was Bell. Sitting with his back to the lamp in the fog, he was selfishly dazzling.

“I have never once been joking with you.”

The lips that whispered so lowly were nothing but a dark temptation meant to bewitch. A ruse and a stratagem with not an iota of truth. Splash. His two arms, which had little muscle, splashed the water as they submerged. Tadeo placed his hands on the bottom of the tub, pushed his hips back, and straightened his spine. He fidgeted with his hands underwater for a moment before asking.

“That ‘old friend’ you mentioned… is it by any chance a demon named Lucifer?”

“….”

“Right, Lucifer. How absurd of me to even….”

For a very brief moment, the pupils that held the dawn sky with its morning star had wavered. The lips that used to spout enigmatic words were now cautious, which was unfamiliar. The sight seemed somewhat sad, and at the same time, it looked as if he were reminiscing.

The thick steam was a bystander to their silence. The heavy stillness, sunken like their bodies submerged in the water, did not last long. But the answer that came from the opened lips was not what Tadeo wanted.

“…That familiar spirit, its soul must have been annihilated.”

“No. He was saved.”

He could have just ignored that and pressed on, but once again, he was swept up in Bell’s conversation. In the direction he wanted. Always.

“No, Tadeo.”

The unhesitating objection was different from the silence he had kept before. Tadeo, who had been watching Bell’s reflection on the shimmering surface of the water, scowled.

“Demons have strict rules between ranks. The moment a mere familiar spirit says a high-ranking demon’s true name, its soul is annihilated.”

“The story changes if it’s before the Lord.”

“I wonder. You’re not ‘Him,’ are you?”

Bell smiled as he subtly asked back. The arm that emerged from the water went so far as to raise its index finger and point to the ceiling. That was the final blow. Peter’s words, that when one tries to embrace with love and forgiveness the familiar spirits commanded by a demon, they truly fear the power of the Lord, were the reason Tadeo had started on the path of an exorcist priest.

What do you know. What the hell do you know.

Tadeo could not stop the downpour of his frayed emotions. His body, which had been sitting quietly, abruptly stood up. Drip, drip, drip. Water droplets fell, and his tall, naked form stepped out of the tub. Water dripped from his black hair, the ends of which were wet and stuck to the nape of his neck. His pathetically protruding shoulder blades shifted as he picked up the bathrobe.

“Come here.”

“No!”

From the short, commanding tone, he could feel how much anger Bell was suppressing. However, Tadeo whipped his head around and shouted fiercely.

“Do you want me to throw you down and shove it in by force like last time?”

“….”

“Are you trying to be cute and ask for it right now?”

Bell murmured menacingly at his back as he turned to face forward again and put on the robe.

“We’re both naked. It seems it would be easier to get it on than last time.”

“I’m not sleeping here tonight.”

Tadeo, who had been tying his belt without giving him a glance, finally turned around after tying the knot and spoke.

“I’m leaving. I’m going to sleep at the church. Don’t try to stop me.”

“Tadeo.”

“Don’t say my name!”

The feet that were heading towards the doorway stopped. The shout, which he had burst out while shrinking his body, reverberated and struck the walls. Tadeo silently caught his breath. It was as if he was waiting for the voice, which had echoed off the bathroom walls, to fade. Then, he grabbed the doorknob and looked at Bell.

“The more I’m with you, the less I can trust you, Bell.”

“….”

“I feel like I’m walking on thin ice.”

His voice was trembling slightly, but his gaze, fixed on Bell, was resolute. Even he himself did not know what had dragged his mood down to the very depths. It was just that he was tired today, and it had been a long day that felt like two.

“I’m saying this for our sake. I want to stay outside for a while.”

He wanted to believe it was just because he was tired. That his nerves were on edge due to the sensitivity brought on by fatigue.

“…I’ll stop by sometimes.”

Tadeo said as he opened the bathroom door. His two wet feet landed on the rug placed in front of the door, and the door closed behind him. A hand, not yet dry, picked up the fallen cassock.

Bell had once been a companion. A very intimate and familiar partner.

From the moment he realized his true identity through an unexpected turn of events, no, from the moment he stepped off the black carriage onto Joseon soil. The intention he had held, standing on a dark path, to use him had already grown faint. Even if Bell used him, he himself was not made of the right stuff for that.

If he could not put a period at the end of their relationship, then it was right to at least put in a comma and create some distance.

🦇

“Aren’t you Father Tadeo?”

After knocking on the church door, the person who appeared after quite some time was Sister Sabina.

“Hello, Sister Sabina.”

Sabina looked surprised, but she soon welcomed Tadeo with a bright, pleased face. From the moment Tadeo stepped inside the church, the two walked side-by-side down the main aisle.

“What brings you here at this hour?”

“I was wondering… if I could stay here for a few days.”

“Of course, absolutely. I’m sure the Bishop will allow it as well.”

Sabina, her hands clasped below her navel, smiled brightly. For a moment, Rosa’s face overlapped with the face in the black veil. Tadeo shook his head once and quickened his pace. The place he led them to was in front of the candles lit by the faithful. He chose a suitable candle, transferred the flame to it, and after a moment of silence, let out a sigh.

“Is the Father… no, is Bishop Peter sleeping?”

“No. Bishop Peter has not returned yet.”

“He hasn’t?”

The hand holding the lit candle rose and fell among the ranks of lights adorning the church. As Tadeo turned his head and asked again, Sabina answered while straightening a slightly crooked candle.

“He went out not long after you left, Father.”

“Did something happen?”

“He said that he thought the person who reported the possessed individual was from Rosario, but it turned out to be a completely random ‘anonymous informant,’ and then he left.”

“And you’re saying he still hasn’t returned?”

Sabina nodded at his repeated question. Tadeo shifted his eyes to the lights of the Holy Spirit. His face, shimmering with the yellowish lights, was etched with worry.

“That’s a shame…. I wanted to ask him for confession.”

Not a single breeze entered the church, and thanks to that, the candle flames were steady.

As they took a step to ascend the stairs, the long line of lights flickered once. The flames wavered wildly, tumbling over one another. Tadeo, who was about to turn and look, suddenly noticed an angel statue and approached it.

“Bell….”

The angel’s hair was like waves breaking and scattering against a rock. The flowing hair, the dynamic posture, and the abundant, wide-spread wings next to the near-naked body clad only in a thin cloth. The familiar appearance naturally brought someone to mind. Tadeo stared at the statue and muttered, almost groaning.

‘Don’t tell me, do you really wish to return to the celestial realm…

A voice he had heard in his sleep rang in his ears. It was Witgang’s voice.

“A lie….”

Tadeo brought a trembling hand to his lips, which were whispering lowly.

“Father?”

Only when Sabina called him did his hand, which had been wiping his lips, fall away, but as he climbed the stairs and walked through the upper gallery, he could not get Bell out of his head.

In the middle of a corridor lined with empty guest rooms, the two of them stood before a single closed door. Sabina, who had confidently opened the door, saying it was the largest room, could not hide her embarrassment.

“Oh my, the room is in such a state…. After Father Coste passed away, the construction was completely halted. Wouldn’t it be better for you to sleep at the Franciscan monastery?”

Creeeak. As Tadeo pushed the door a little further, the sound of the worn-out hinges echoed all the way to the corner leading to the gallery. The room, where a single sliver of silver light shone faintly, was very empty. The fireplace, caked with old dust, was actually emitting a chill. The dry wooden floor where even small footsteps echoed loudly, the plaster walls without even wallpaper, and an old sofa were all that furnished the room.

“I like it. Thank you.”

However, Tadeo simply smiled with satisfaction.

Crackle, crackle. As the night deepened, a blazing fire danced in his eyes, which were like jet-black pebbles. The room had become warm enough to melt his once-dense breath, but Tadeo, lying on the sofa, curled his body up and pulled the blanket up to his neck.

A reddish glow shimmered on his clean-shaven cheeks. It looked just like the face of a child watching the burning evening glow. His eyelids grew heavy, but he could not easily fall asleep. As if he were a person who could never open his eyes again if he closed them once, he doggedly followed the spreading flames.

‘Don’t tell me, do you really wish to return to the celestial realm…?’

Witgang’s voice was still vivid. So was the image of Bell swimming in his mind. He had planned to confess everything honestly when he met Peter. The mark on his chest, Bell’s existence, and… and…. The thoughts, one leading to another, were endless. They always returned to the starting point, and that starting point was Bell.

Bell. If what Witgang said is true, if it’s really true… what do I do.

What… what should I do.

Tadeo let out a deep breath and curled up more tightly. The thought of confession had long since vanished. His drowsy eyes, after a couple of blinks, finally closed.

🦇

Black-shoed feet climbed the hill of Myeongnyebang. His back, erect despite the passing years, maintained the tall stature of his youth. The Roman collar visible inside his wool coat emitted a light, and the hem of his velvet cassock rippled with pale folds as it caught the moonlight in each crease.

His eyes, under the pressed-down cappello romano, were deeply shadowed. As the priest looked up at the small building beyond the gallery, the shadows lifted in the bright moonlight. His cloudy eyes narrowed to be as thin as the stray hairs sticking out, and only then did his planted foot move.

His steps toward the main church were unhesitating. Thud, thud. The echoing sound of his footsteps rounded the angel statue and climbed the stairs. The tail of his wool coat disappeared, and a fierce wind blew into the firmly shut church. Whoosh. The candles adorning the church were extinguished all at once, and the Bible on the altar flipped open with a rustle. Flap flap flap.

“Mmm….”

Tadeo, tossing and turning in his sleep, straightened his curled body. The blanket that had been covering him up to his neck was now down to his waist, as if his body had been warmed by the firewood. The steps that had been climbing the stairs now rounded the corner of the gallery. His soundly sleeping eyelids twitched as if he were dreaming. The hand that had been scratching his neck where it chafed against the stiff Roman collar went down and caressed his chest.

The steps that had rounded the corner now stopped in front of the door to Tadeo’s room. Creeeeak. In time with the sound of the door opening, a branch-shaped bolt of lightning shot across the sky. A flash of light burst through the small window on one wall. The flash, as if it had brought the white night of the Arctic, illuminated the person standing on the threshold head-on. It was Peter.

Not long after, thunder roared from the dry sky. CRACK-BOOM. The door closed in time with that sound, and the unpleasant metallic screech was drowned out by the sky’s roar.

“Huu, huuu….”

“Bell….”

A huge shadow fell over the face where the firelight had been shimmering. Peter, who stood there panting with rough breaths, slowly brought his hand forward. When he had undone one button, Tadeo tossed his body once. The sound of him moistening his dry lips followed the end of his sleep-talking voice. The hand that had paused began to unbutton his shirt quickly.

“Umm….”

“…You filthy creature.”

The back that had been hunched over as he bent down slowly rose. His straightened back showed two clenched fists. The low-muttered voice was as dry as the sound of burning firewood. Peter took something out from the inner pocket of his coat. It was a very careful gesture, as if he were taking out a valuable.

“You, you, you…!”

When he drew the small ornamental knife from its sheath, a silver dagger engraved with the ten traditional symbols of longevity revealed its form. The blade, sharper than a spring frost wind, glinted, beautiful as a woman’s hairpin. The flawless, unblemished blade was as clear as a mirror, distinctly reflecting his eyes, which were bloodshot with a forest of red veins.

The dewlap on his wrinkled neck bobbed once. Gulp. Peter gripped the knife with the blade pointing down. Now, the tip of the blade, tinged with the firelight, was aimed precisely at the black cross entangled in the rose bush.

His thin eyelids trembled a few times. As blood-soaked feathers fell one after another, turning dark, Tadeo finally woke from his dream. However, the scene unfolding before his eyes was also difficult to distinguish from a dream.

“…Father Peter?”

It was as he was rubbing his drowsy eyes and trying to sit up.

“Eeek!”

The tip of the sharply raised knife cut across the empty air.

‘If anything happens, call my name.’

In that moment, a voice that seemed capable of calming even the tempest that had blown in flashed through his mind, but his frozen lips would not open.

Your voice was so gentle then, Bell.

His monolid eyelids rolled up deeply. Tears instantly welled in the whites of his eyes, which were as smooth as marbles. The area under his soaked eyes stung with a hot pain, and a single teardrop was just about to fall.

A figure leaping into the sky spread its brilliant black wings, completely obscuring the rain-soaked moonlight. Poof. The figure, which had vanished into black smoke in an instant, infiltrated the room through the window like moonlight.

The black smoke, pouring down like grains of sand in an hourglass, coalesced once more with a ‘poof’ sound. As the billowing, coiling smoke began to take human form, Tadeo’s stinging eyeballs ached, and he blinked. A tear flowed down his smooth cheekbone and wet his lips with a salty taste.

“לא נוגע. (Do not touch.)”

When he opened his eyes again, enormous wings were spread, large enough to fill the entire room. Though their color was pitch-black, thanks to the moonlight refracting off the rainwater, they sparkled like a giant chandelier.

“To touch this child is the same as touching me.”

The voice, scattering solemnly, was as noble as a hymn. It was the same voice that had spread like the Milky Way on the day he was drenched in rain atop a pile of corpses, as Bell galloped on a white horse through the risen knights. His golden-white hair, fluttering like waves, was as dazzling as sea spray, just as he had seen on the angel statue.

“Hee, hee-eek…! Be, Belle… gack!”

As Bell finished speaking, he opened the fist he had been clenching in mid-air. Clang. The knife that had been poised to strike, not even giving the tears time to stream down, fell. The body, with its coat and cassock tangled and clinging to it, was sent flying. The body that hit the plaster wall fell limply, sprawling its limbs on the wooden floor.

The crucifix on the wall spun around. Ping, ping. A loosened nail bounced a couple of times and rolled across the wooden floor, and the upside-down crucifix swung back and forth, repeating a pendulum motion. It was exactly above Peter’s white-haired head.

“I heard your voice calling me in your sleep.”

The wings folded as his feet, which had been hovering with toes pointed, lightly touched the floor. The fall of feathers in his dream, which he had thought was just black snow falling, was no different now that it had become a reality before his eyes. The writhing feathers soon transformed into a black cape coat. To Tadeo, however, it looked like the twilight that covers the mountain ridges after the sunset has faded.

“Well done, Tadeo.”

With those words, a large hand approached and covered his tear-filled vision. The long fingers cooled the heat of his feverish eyelids. The dark eyes that had been peering through the gaps between them soon closed slowly.

🦇

That day must have been the sunniest day in Paris that year. They were feeling the riverside breeze under the Pont Neuf bridge, which connected Paris to the Île de la Cité. Tadeo was sitting on a bench, writing a letter to be sent to Peter and Antonio.

The wind, blowing against the current of the Seine, swept through his fine hair. The wind carried the fresh scent of green pine trees. His thin hair, like a newborn’s first hair, was tousled, and the loose poet shirt on his small shoulders billowed.

He looked much younger then. It was a time when he was worried about his height not growing. Because of that, the one prayer he offered with tightly clasped hands during every Mass was, ‘Please let me grow as tall as the angel, quickly.’

From between his disheveled hair, eyes like the shells of a beetle glanced at someone. Bell was standing in a field where wisps of grass were sprouting, looking up at the sky. The letter, with its final period placed, was slipped between the pages of a book like a bookmark. Tadeo immediately ran to where Bell was standing. He did not even notice the quill pen he had left carelessly on the bench roll and fall. Clatter.

“What will you do if you go blind?”

A small hand, stretching up on tiptoe, shielded the sunlight. A boyish voice seeped into his ear, as soft and fluffy as the sunlight. The deeply cut front of his blouse fluttered, and his head moved along with his hair, which was blowing in the direction of the wind.

Even under the hand that blocked the sun, the ocean-like eyes were nobly kindling starlight. Seeing those eyes, the young Tadeo’s breath caught.

“That won’t happen.”

“Right…. I sometimes forget that Bell is an angel.”

The boy, disheartened by the blunt words, lowered his hand. The sunbeams that had been crumbling on the soft down of the back of his hand shone on it again. Although the sunlight stung his pale face, making him squint, the one the boy firmly believed to be an angel was dazzlingly beautiful. Bell caught the small hand as it disappeared from his vision and kept it there to block the sunbeams. And in his dream, the young Tadeo thought.

Ah, I remember this moment.

“But why do you have such a longing look in your eyes?”

“I never did.”

That’s right, Bell. This is how you answered.

“I understand now, Bell.”

The boyish voice, produced by a throat that did not even have a prominent Adam’s apple, was still delicate, but it was certainly different from before. Bell, who had turned his eyes to the Seine, whipped his head around. The Notre Dame Cathedral, drenched in sunlight, was shining like a field of yellow reeds. His golden hair, thoroughly dyed by that magnificent scenery, stuck to his lips.

“What.”

“You want to go back again, don’t you?”

The young Tadeo said, personally brushing away the hair that was like a golden river flowing in broad daylight.

“No. Never.”

“Then, do you miss your ‘old friend’?”

Bell, whom he faced in the dream, wrinkled his nose. His face, colored with puzzlement, was amusing. Because it was always Tadeo who made that kind of expression.

“Your old friend isn’t the sun, is he?”

The child cupped Bell’s two cheeks with his hands. He tiptoed closer and pulled his face toward him. Bell’s back bent, and their faces, now at eye level, met. There was no room for even the sunlight to squeeze between their pressed foreheads.

“If you missed him, I think I would be very sad.”

“…”

“And I think I would be angry, too.”

The two eyes, like pebbles lying under a clear stream, looked up sharply. The ocean-like eyes wavered, meeting the rough currents of a strait.

“I regret it.”

The lips that had been slightly parted finally gave the desired answer.

“I didn’t know the sky, the sun, was so beautiful.”

“…”

“Because I was always in the sky.”

The two people, with their foreheads pressed together, were reflected on the water of the river, which rippled like fish scales. The golden waves of the Seine, where the sunlight shattered, flowed toward the Pont Neuf bridge. A stone thrown from the other side disturbed the current. When the young Tadeo’s lips disappeared into the golden hair, the sun swallowed all the scenery around the Seine.

“You can go back….”

By the time he answered, everything had disappeared. The eyes that woke from the dream were thoroughly wet, and the clumped eyelashes fluttered futilely. The first thing his eyes took in was the rafters, but his focus was still searching for ‘him’ in the dream. They were eyes that looked as if the waves that had met a rough current were about to drop a single drop of seawater at any moment.

It was so beautiful that he had been unable to say anything.

“Bell!”

Tadeo shot up from the bed where he lay. The blanket that had been covering his chest fell away. Only then did he look around. He belatedly realized that someone had changed his clothes, and anxiety about the mark on his chest took over.

The smell of dry wood and a faint scent of alcohol. The ondol-heated floor, the crossbeams, and the coffered ceiling with its raised roof were clearly those of a Hanok, a traditional Korean house, but the items furnishing the room were all foreign goods brought from the West and Western-style medical instruments. It was a space where different atmospheres were gathered in one place, just like the scents that reached his nostrils.

He anxiously rolled his eyes, fumbling at his chest in his unease. He felt as if the mark would show through the white jeogori. Just then, he sensed a presence outside.

“Are you awake, Father?”

The person who entered after opening the paper-paned sliding door was Sabina.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Sabina. By any chance, have you seen Bell?”

“Mr. Bell? Are you referring to the gentleman who brought you here, Father? The one with blond… long hair?”

As Sabina asked back, gesturing with her hands, Tadeo nodded his head vigorously.

“Yes. The man who looks like an angel.”

“An, an angel…? Um, he said he had somewhere to go and left a little while ago.”

“Where did he go?”

There was no more time to think. Tadeo, who had jumped out of bed, pulled the needle from the back of his hand.

“Goodness, Father!”

Sabina, seeing this, cried out in surprise.

“Did he say where he was going?”

Tadeo, barely listening, was carelessly throwing on the velvet cassock hanging on the standing coat rack.

“…He didn’t say.”

“Damn it.”

As he muttered a low curse, Sabina’s round eyes widened and she stared at him.

Just as Peter had said, ‘He’s different from an eccentric like me,’ she had thought the Eastern priest, who seemed so pure, would be nothing but quiet and gentle. Normally, she would have felt a sense of novelty watching him act in a way no different from Peter, but Sabina herself had no time for that.

“Father, I’ve just come from the Jonghyeon parish.”

Sabina quickly spoke to Tadeo, who was striding towards the doorway. The sunlight seeping through the slightly ajar door colored one of Tadeo’s cheeks with a clear light.

“Bishop Peter… is acting a little strange.”

His pupils, accentuated by the sunbeam, wavered slightly as he looked at Sabina.

🦇

Fern-like snowflakes were falling. The snow, which had been drizzling as sleet, had frozen the ground once, and was now becoming flowers, covering it in white. The wind blowing from far away was calm yet treacherous, sounding like water roaring from a cliff that a silk waterfall had swept down.

That wind met with the one who had set out on the road alone. The golden waves of the Seine, now his hair, flew in all directions, strolling through a street in Hanseong like dandelion seeds. In that deserted place, only the shoe-clad feet walking along the tram tracks left footprints. Crunch, crunch.

A narrow alleyway filled with dense, straw-thatched houses. Under the long eaves where icicles had formed, a white paper lantern had the brush-written words ‘Photo Studio’ on it.

“Hmm-hmm, hmm…. Mm-hmm-hmm….”

Inside, Saint-Saëns’s Danse Macabre was playing. The photographer, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, was humming a tune while wiping a thin, silver-rimmed monocle. Swaying his body to the music, he approached a round table. On it was a model made to look exactly like the Jonghyeon church.

“Mm-hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm…. よし, とてもかんぺきだ! そうだよ。(Yes, it’s absolutely perfect! That’s right!)”

The eye with the monocle winked. Scrape, scrape. The fingernails of the hand meticulously tying a rope protruding from the model’s steeple scraped against each other. Creeak, screeeak. His hands were now covered in black scales from which a bluish glint emanated.

Ten fingers, long and curved like a hawk’s talons, picked up a small wooden doll. The doll was wearing a black cassock. As he was placing a rope over the head, which had been carved with a chisel and sanded with sandpaper, he flicked his finger. Thwack.

“ああ, サイズが合わない! それでは増やさなければならないんじゃないですか。そうでしょう。(Oh, the size doesn’t fit! Then I’ll have to make it bigger, won’t I? Right?)”

The photographer, who had been dancing to the sound of the violin strings that rose and fell steeply, raised his voice cheerfully. His back, as he bent his head again and concentrated his efforts, looked excited. From behind his back, which was clad in a navy vest, a scraping sound continued. Scrape, scrape. It sounded just like someone cracking a walnut with their front teeth.

Outside, the snow was falling without cease. In front of the low-set threshold, a pair of shoe-clad feet, their soles caked with snow, stopped. On the feet that had landed at the entrance, an indigo wave was drawn, where snowflake spray had shattered and splashed. As the person who had brushed off his feet and lowered his body entered, the music from the gramophone happened to end.

“おい。 待て, 待て。 しんぼうつよく待て。(Hey. Wait, wait. Wait patiently, I said.)”

The photographer spoke without even turning around, as if he knew who the visitor was. A hideous hand, oozing black fluid, placed a noose around the doll’s neck. From outside the corners of his mouth, which were slit up as if to reach his earlobes, tusks like elephant ivory protruded.

“…Ber.”

“It’s plausible, but can’t you do something about that pathetic Japanese?”

Bell said, leisurely surveying the inside of the photo studio.

“…Someone doesn’t particularly like it.”

The ocean-like eyes, which had been paused on the erotic paintings hanging on the wall as he touched his lips, shot up fiercely.

“Your perverted tastes are the same as ever, Botis.”

“Call it artistic.”

The photographer slowly turned around. His eyeballs, which looked like a black dot had been made with a sharp pen nib, glinted brightly. His skin, like crocodile hide, was blackish and hard, as if it were laid with sturdy deck planks. From his fist-sized nose and gaping maw, red steam was being exhaled. The horn rising from the center of his forehead was a vibrant red, as if red paint had been carefully applied to it.

“The stage is just about ready. The curtain is going up, and now it’s time for the performance.”

Thud, thud. The demon circled the table, tapping it with the tips of his sharp fingernails. Standing in front of the church model, he spread his veiny forearms wide. It was as if he were spreading his wings, no, he looked like a conductor facing his orchestra. After sticking out his chest and even tilting his head towards the ceiling, he slowly lowered his arms.

“I prepared it with great difficulty. You’ll watch, won’t you? Belle…l.”

“Still such a coward. How long has it been since my name disappeared from the registry?”

“Shut uuuuup!”

The lips that had been sneering, flicking a venomous snake’s tongue, opened like a cave. A gale whipped through, and steam like a sandstorm in a desolate desert gushed out. Even in the wind that could have shaken the entire photo studio, Bell did not blink an eye.

The hem of his cape coat fluttered like a blackout curtain. The snowflakes that had settled around his platinum-blond hair, which was scattering in all directions, flew about. When the crowd’s roar ended, only sticky saliva dripped from his sharp teeth. Drip, drip.

“Thump, thump. The senile Peter is climbing the stairs….”

The demon, bending over, hid his face behind the model. The wooden doll, held by the tips of his blackish fingernails, bounced up and down as it climbed the steeple stairs.

“Unfortunately, I don’t care whether you kill that human or not.”

“Really, is that so?”

The fiend who had been hiding behind the model peeked his face out. His cheeks, where the hard husk-like skin was peeling in places, curled up grotesquely. His blazing, yellowish pupils blinked like a snake’s eyes, and,

“Enter the next actor…!”

His long fingernails took out another wooden doll.

🦇

As soon as they started up the hill of Myeongnyebang, Tadeo and Sabina jumped out of the carriage. The veil and black skirt, and the hem of the cassock running on the snowy road looked like a crow flying in the distant sky. “Aaaah!” Tadeo, who had been running ahead without even realizing how slippery the freshly piled snow was, turned around in surprise at the scream that pierced the very sky.

“G-goodness… th-there…!”

Sabina was pointing at the pointed arch with a trembling hand.

“Fa-Father Peter…?”

Where her hand pointed, there was Peter.

“Father Peter!”

On that particular day, Hanseong was strangely quiet. There were no oxcarts that usually came and went, no noblewomen with only their faces peeking out from between their cloaks, no children playing with sparrow-like sounds. In a place where the whole world was covered in white, Tadeo felt as if he were adrift on a vast, open sea.

“Father, don’t do it!”

His neck, exposed between the fastened jeogori, was red from the cold, but his face, from which he was continuously shouting, was deathly pale with shock. In contrast, Peter’s face was serene. High up, near the top of the tall steeple. Standing outside the window, he casually tugged at the rope around his neck. Tug, tug. His face was nonchalant, like a fisherman checking if his net was sturdy.

“Im…peret!”

Peter shouted towards the sky.

“illi!”

The voice, spreading far and wide like the ringing of a bell, echoed back.

“I understand you, Father!”

It was before Peter could say his next words. From down below, where peach blossom-like snowflakes were landing, Tadeo shouted until his throat was raw.

“No, I forgive you!”

“Sa-Sata….”

“So please, Father….”

The voice that rose through the wind was muffled and broken with sobs. His eyelids, on which even the lashes had turned white, trembled finely.

“Please don’t do it….”

Tadeo pressed on his two eyes, which were welling up with hot tears, and sank to the ground. On the snowy field where he knelt, the hem of his black cassock bloomed like a rose.

“I was not doubting you….”

His white sideburns trembled in the wind, which was as sharp as a blade that could shape even rock.

“I shouldn’t have done that….”

The breath that came out in defeat starkly showed how deep Peter’s sigh was.

“The moment we doubt, we are led astray….”

“Father…?”

Thud. How hollowly the sound of him kicking the windowsill he was standing on echoed.

“Father!”

The body that rose as he kicked off its feet failed to even fly into the sky and plunged down. The dangling body, struggling, twisted in pain. From the steeple that pierced the sky, only the sound of the black cassock fluttering could be heard. Before long, the limp body swayed from side to side. Soon, the rope snapped as if someone had cut it clean, and Peter’s body fell, fluttering down.

Splat. From the ground, Sabina’s unceasing scream echoed.

“…”

As if it were a lie, people started to come out one by one to look outside. The world, which had been so quiet as to render meaningless all the shouting that could have made the earth sink and the sky fall, was now astir. All because they cocked their heads at the single sound of a body falling to the ground.

🦇

“Kehek! L-late, kh-khk, you were, Bellel!”

Bell was on the table. His hand, reaching for the ceiling, was gripping the demon’s throat. But whatever was so funny, Botis was laughing, even waving his hand.

“Kee-hik, khk, kh-khk, actually, the original target wasn’t Peter! It was that orphan brat you’re so obsessed with!”

Between the words, which were cut off because he was laughing to the point of breathlessness, strange, hiccuping breaths filled the gaps. Hic, hic. Botis, who had been clutching his stomach and shaking his shoulders for a long time, stopped laughing in an instant.

“Ah, I really wanted to see that face. Just who is the human who managed to entice the great Bellel! It’s a huge deal among us right now, a huge deal. The talk of the town!”

The demon, shrugging his shoulders, poked his temple with his hawk-talon-like fingernails. Poke, poke. His boisterous voice, fitting his frivolous expression, continued.

“So I used my head a little. What demon in the world would have thought to go directly into a church and report, ‘There’s a possessed person here! I’m scared!’? Right, Bellel?”

“So Luciel was such an insignificant fellow that he’d mess things up because of one human priest. What a disappointment.”

“Do not insult him, Belleeeeel!”

As soon as the name ‘Luciel’ was mentioned, the pupils that had been vertically slit shrank to black dots. The largely swollen, whitish sclera glinted like a prosthetic eye placed in an enucleated socket. From within the jaw that hung down to his collarbone, a roar like thunder erupted.

“Hoo, hooo, huh-huh-huh… do you know what your biggest mistake was?”

Even at the sound that was more than enough to burst his eardrums, Bell did not bat an eyelid. He just stared at the demon who was panting heavily. Huff, huff. At that, Botis brought his tusked snout close and whispered in Bell’s ear.

“Even though you knew, that I, was here.”

“…”

“You didn’t say a single word to that greenhorn priest.”

“So.”

Bell immediately retorted with an unflustered face. A surprised Botis pulled back the face he had brought close and asked again.

“What?”

“Are you done running your mouth, Botis?”

“What, what….”

“Even if you had not gone to all this trouble, I still would have killed you.”

His lips parted without a single bit of effort. However, the voice that was murmured from within them was extremely clear and eerie, as if he were mulling over the words several times.

“I told that child. That I would surely take revenge on anyone who makes you bleed.”

“…?”

“I saw it. On the day he returned from exorcising the familiar spirit you sent. The wound behind that child’s ear.”

The ocean-like eyes blinked once, vaguely recalling the back of the boy as he had stripped off his own clothes before entering the bathroom. The place where Bell’s gaze had been piercingly fixed was not the tempting, pale, naked form, but the raw scratches made from being furiously clawed with fingernails.

“And I heard it. The scream that child let out.”

With those words, he tightened his grip on the throat he was holding.

“That alone is reason enough for you to die.”

As he finished speaking, a bony frame shot out from his shoulder blades, tearing through the gray vest. The wings, which sprouted like a bird pecking its way out of its own egg, unfurled in an instant, sweeping across the ceiling and walls as they extended. The windows and glass lights shattered, and the pictures and frames hanging on the walls fell. Over them, the cape coat, pushed aside as if by a river’s current, billowed for a long while before falling.

Black feathers, rising into the air, fluttered about. The demon’s two eyes, taking in the sight, were dazed. A fallen angel, once called ‘Jeok-u’ [Red Rain], flashed before his eyes like a revolving lantern. Botis wanted those wings. When those who had betrayed God and descended from the heavens had cultivated hell, they, who had been darkness from the very beginning, had been ruled by the winged strangers.

“Beautiful…. Will I be able to have your wings today?”

“Nonsense.”

The cuffs, which were flapping because the cufflinks had not been fastened, revealed bulging veins. The veins, winding like a river’s current, continued all the way to the hand that was choking the neck. The beating of his heart grew louder, thrumming in his chest. With a single throb, the hand, which had swelled greatly, had transformed into that of a beast.

The fingernails, like metal that had been tempered several times, were as cold as a sharpened crescent moon. The tan fur covering the hideously prominent veins trembled, unable to withstand the immense force. However, Bell could not apply any more pressure.

“What is the matter, Bellel?”

It was because of the irregular pulse he felt in his left hand. It was Tadeo’s. The fine hair through which the wind seeped, the ice-cold cheeks, the dew that had formed on the soft jawline—they assailed him like a hallucination. The sound of weeping, of tearing at the white jeogori with hands red and blue from the cold, pierced his ears. It was a scream that was close to a shriek.

“Did you hear that human crying or something? Hmm?”

“….”

“How pitiful. A demon who loves a human.”

A disgusting laugh followed the end of his rustling whispers. Within it, a sound like a wail from a haunted house could be heard, which was vaguely similar to the sound of the wind sweeping through a forest. It was the sound of a tongue flicking between the fangs of a venomous snake.

In the pupils where not even a single buoy floated, the blue seawater shimmered. Bell was not looking at the demon reflected on his retina. His focus, which rested on the nape and cheek revealed in the hallucination, was only following the trickling dew.

For a moment, the dewdrop that rolled down gathered at the tip of the chin. When it fell onto the snowy field, something that had been located in the left side of his own chest fell along with it.

“Hoo-umm, what a delicious smell!”

The triangular nostrils flared, inhaling Bell’s scent. Botis, who had closed his eyes as if savoring it and licked his lips, smiled faintly and his eyes flashed open.

“You smell like that priest brat!”

“…Luciel despises creatures like you the most.”

The focus that had disappeared slowly returned. Bell spoke lowly and nonchalantly raised his other hand. The fingertips, heated red-hot like a branding iron, were aimed precisely at the demon’s eye. Botis instantly stopped laughing and glared with his rolling, wild eyes.

“That can’t be! You trash-like traitor bastard! What the hell do you know!”

“A few days ago, when I came here, you were scared and hiding.”

“I won’t forgive you! I won’t! I won’t!”

“You should be grateful that I didn’t look for you that night.”

The eyeballs, where madness lurked due to fear and anger, rolled in different directions. Bell, who had been looking pathetically at the mouth that was only alive to shriek, brought down his sharply raised hand just like that.

“Farewell. Botis.”

Poof. It was just before he shoved his heated hand into the large eyeball. Only his fingernails dug into the palm of the hand that had been clenching at the body, which had disappeared without a trace. His long forearm pierced the empty air, and steam, as if from a coal-burning fire, acridly enveloped Bell.

“Khk, khee-khee, my stage is not over yet, Bellel!”

Botis, who had appeared right behind him, shouted, his monocled eye crinkling. Bell slowly turned his body. The demon, dressed in a two-piece suit, placed one hand on his left chest and gave a bow.

“Allow me to introduce my subjects.”

His two arms, stretched straight out, clapped with a ‘smack’ sound. The palms that had been pressed together separated as if laying out a shuffled deck of cards. From between them, wooden dolls hanging from thin strings poured out.