Slumrat Rising

Vol. 3 Chap. 39 A Damn Hard Job

Truth had a moment of terrible lucidity. The rich man, and he had to be rich, that was a five thousand wen suit if he had ever seen one, was looking more or less straight at him. Could he… see through the Blessings of the Forest? That would make him incredibly high-level. But he sure didn’t look or feel like a powerhouse. The draw on the energy powering the blessing was solidly up, but not “Hunted by Level Sixes and Sevens” up. He cast Incisive. No danger. What the actual…

“Who are you talking to, Daddy?” Asked the blue-haired pro who was doing a damn fine job advertising the cosmetic glamour industry.

“Oh, now, Sally baby, you know I’m not “Daddy” when I’m on the job. It’s Father, or Your Eminence.”

The girls giggled. “Sorry, Your Eminence,” The other girl, sporting a shocking spray of pink hair and apparently spray-painted vinyl, nudged the rich man. “She meant “Who are you talking to, Father?”

“Such a fine young lady, Yoko, a fine young lady. Well, there is a ghost in the room, and he seems cranky about the company.”

Truth just shook his head, got up, and pulled on his clothes.

“You girls may be missing out. I can’t really see him, but he seems quite tall.”

“No, Your Eminence, we are here for… your eminence.” Sally smiled and rubbed up against the rich man.

“You know what? This is a suite. I’m gonna crash in the other room. Pull any bullshit, and I swear I will swap your eyes and testicles around, then stitch your cock where your tongue should be. And vice versa. I’m not very good at sewing, so it may take me a few tries. But I promise I won’t quit until we get there. Otherwise, go nuts. I don’t care. I so, so, so don’t care.”

“Simultaneously the most threatening and accommodating ghost I have ever met.”

Truth grabbed his stuff and stalked out of the room. It wasn’t fair. He was so damn tired. He had picked the most stupidly expensive hotel room he could find without going into the city center. And some rich prick with a weird fetish turns up with his two… admittedly extremely attractive… call girls for a threesome. And he can seem through the blessing, somehow.

Would Etenesh be up for a threesome? He thought about it for a moment.

No. No, she would not. And God help the person who proposed the idea. Etenesh believed in monogamy considerably more than she believed in gravity. Which was a shame because he suddenly had some very lurid fantasies.

“Thrush, keep an eye on them. If he tries to call for help, signal someone, or does anything at all to sound any kind of alarm, wake me.”

“Sleep peacefully, Master. I will attend closely. Enjoy your dreams.”

“I don’t dream.” Truth murmured.

Truth slept until morning. When he came out of the side room, he found the rich man neatly washed, dressed, and fixing himself a cup of coffee. Truth could smell the coffee from here, and he wouldn’t drink that trash on a bet. Siphios had spoiled him. He dramatically collapsed on the sofa, looking pensively at the man. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do about him. Kill him, probably, but…

The man turned his head around, looking at the sofa in surprise. “Prager be praised! You can move around during the day?”

“I’m not the weirdo with the ecclesiastical fetish, buddy. Though I am pretty damn curious about how you can see me. What Level are you?”

“Weirdo? You, unquiet spirit, are calling me a weirdo? I’m a dignified Level Three, thank you very much, and not some blasted voyeuristic ghost!”

“Voyeurs definitionally like to watch. I was asleep before you copped a feel.”

“Unlikely. Also untrue, as I felt eyes upon me the entire night.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t me.” Truth shrugged.

“Who else would dare spy on a clergyman conducting Church business? What villain would be so low?” The man sounded outraged.

“The literal demon I employ for such purposes. Also, what kind of fucked up Church has banging a couple of admittedly lovely pros as a sacrament?”

“It’s not a sacrament; that word has a technical meaning. Though you do have the right religion.” He fished around inside his high thread count shirt and pulled out an ornately engraved golden pendant. The rich man hung the pendant around his neck. “Introductions- I am James Reik, Arch-Priest at St. Florians of the Lorch and Sin Eater for my parish. Might I ask what name you had in life?”

Truth boggled a bit at that, but he recognized the pendant. “You are a Pragerite Arch-Priest. A Priest. An honest to whoever-”

“Praeger.”

“I wonder.”

“My faith is tested on occasion. I am not without my failings. But my savior and his saints walk with me. I would keep no other company.” Truth could see the sincerity in the man. It was creeping him out a little bit. “Sincere” is not a word he had associated with the Praegerite Church up to this point.

“Hmm.”

“Your name, Ghost, your name!”

“Johnny Bells, Certified Talisman Maintenance Specialist.”

“You bloody aren’t.”

“I could have been! You don’t know.” Truth said, grinning. He would make the weirdo’s death painless.

“Son-”

“You “son” me, this is going to be a really short conversation.”

“Johnny, I feel bloodlust on you that most soldiers could hardly match. Your brief, unhappy life was one of great violence. Not fixing air conditioners.”

“Funny. I did actually get into a murderous battle while fixing an air conditioner.” Truth put his feet up on the coffee table and looked over Reik. About average height for Jeon, trim, perfect teeth, and a full head of hair. The expensive clothes and hotel room were explained by his clerical position, of course.

“Was that where you died?”

“Not that time. Sin Eater?”

“Yes?”

“Hell is a sin eater?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

“Am I going to find chunks of sex workers in the bedroom? I hope not.”

“What?” This time, it was Reik’s turn to look bewildered. His eyes swept through the rough area Truth was in on the sofa, struggling to focus on him.

“I mean, cannibalism, even for a Priest-”

“So-, Johnny, those were two lovely young ladies who happened to be parishioners. I would never harm them.”

There was a lull. Reik took a long pull on the coffee. “I can see you don’t understand. You weren’t one of the faithful in life, were you?”

“No. Though we did attend services for a month or two.”

“Ah, died before baptism?”

“Dad stole from the collection basket, and Mom tried to hustle her MLMs during coffee hour.” Reik did a spit take, spraying coffee on some very expensive-looking carpet.

“Alright, so you are not religious then.”

“I’m told I would make a wonderful Desrin once I developed the faintest trace of faith in God. Sin Eater, James.”

“It’s Father James or Your Eminence, actually.”

“I am in a committed relationship and do not consent to join your sick sex game. Explain what’s going on here and why you can see me. Because as fun as this has been, I’ve got places to go and things to do.”

Reik looked like he was choking on something. “Sin, spiritual pollution, wraps the soul in layers of corruption. I absorb the sin from others, then cleanse it from myself in what is, actually, a sacrament. Yesterday, one of my more elderly parishioners prayed for deliverance from lust. She missed her late husband, but kept to her vows. She made the necessary donation, I interceded for her, and absorbed the sin. I then contacted those lovely ladies and offered to cleanse them of lust and greed in exchange for a night of their time. The various lusts and desires are now balanced, so I would hesitate to absorb your wrath, hate, and impiety. Still. If necessary, I will accept that burden.”

The room went quiet again.

“Johnny?”

“Processing that.” Truth was quiet a while longer. “You believe sin is something, ehh, spiritually tangible? Transferable?”

“I know it is. It happens every day, to everyone. Eating sin is sadly more common than eating food. It’s doing it intentionally and then purifying yourself that’s the miracle.”

“People give you money to… temporarily block sin from them? Remove the sin they are currently suffering?”

“Yes, to both.”

“Sorry, just trying to understand. Do you give the money back when the sin returns?”

Reik shook his head. “Now, there is an old saw. No, Johnny. The miracles of faith require sacrifice, and the glory of the Church must be maintained, as the glory of God must be maintained.”

Truth took in the luxury hotel suite. “Yes. God. How you suffer.”

Reik raised an eyebrow and pulled off his jacket. “Let me show you something.” He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off.

Reik was emaciated. You could count every rib, see every abdominal muscle. See his stomach bulging with every breath. His skin was the blue-white of a drowned corpse. Sores covered him, some covered in gauze to stop puss or plasma from staining his shirt. Most were not. Red traceries of burst capillaries crawled across his arms. Bruises brought color to pallor, blacks and purples fading to blues and yellows.

“God wants his children to be happy. He loves us. But we must be obedient to his law. We must not succumb to sin. For sin is sickness. Sin is corruption. As sin corrupts the soul, so too does it waste away the mind and the flesh. But prosperity is a sign of God’s favor. So long as we obey, are devoted and faithful, prosperity will come to us. Our bodies will be strong, our minds strong. Our souls free of stain. Free of the rule of Hell.”

Reik started putting his shirt back on. “So, yes. I accept their very generous donations. I book luxury hotel rooms. My suit, another donation, would be worth several months' salary for most of my parishioners. And yes, I accept the support of my parishioners who do their considerable best to turn a painful duty pleasant, or at least bearable. A little roleplay, some affected silliness, some feigned desire. My unfeigned determination to lose myself in the illusion.”

Truth had given his full attention to the Priest. There was a cadence to the words, a spine to them. Faith.

“And I believe I can see you because I have received God’s blessing to do so. My eyes were anointed with the oil of St. Florian herself. I can literally see the sin on you, Johnny. Even if I can’t see your face.”

Truth gawped for a moment. Reik fixed his clothes. “Is that a… common ability in the Praegerite Church?”

“No, not particularly. There is only so much oil left after five hundred years, after all. Others have their own blessings and burdens.”

Truth released an almost silent sigh of relief.

“Usually, we use the blessed pendants to spot undead. Though for some reason-”

“Don’t think about that one too much.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m actually considering letting you live, and I certainly won't if you start getting nosy.”

“I am not afraid to meet my God. I am only afraid of failing Him.” Reik said quietly.

“Boy, will you be in for a surprise.” Truth’s voice was bone dry. “Trust me on this one- humans are going to need a lot more help than God will in the near future.”

That actually made Reik laugh.

“That, I know.”

“You know why the world is collapsing, right?”

“How could the Church be unaware? The world falls from God’s Grace, and magic falls away with it. You won’t be able to stay in this world when that happens. No ghost will. If not me, then please, let one of my fellow sin-eaters cleanse your corruption before you fall to Hell.”

“Guess you must really hate Siphios, then.”

“Not at all. Our fall from grace has little to do with them. Indeed, the Gentiles are our surest path to salvation. No, it is we, the Church, who failed the world. It was our duty to lead them from sin. Every converted soul was a chance to demonstrate our faith and love to God. We did some good. Saved many. But we certainly did not do our best. We failed, and the world falls with us.” The priest smiled sadly. “I don’t hate anyone, Johnny. I’m just sorry.”

Truth tried to wrap his head around what Reik was saying. Then, slowly smiled. “People are getting poorer, sicker, weaker. Working harder and harder for less and less. A vicious, global cycle of sin. A cycle it’s too late to break out of,” Truth said.

“I remember a time, a recent time, when there were no adult Level Zero’s in Jeon. Now?”

Truth nodded along. “Now they are so common, I hardly notice them at all.”

It was the oddest feeling. He didn’t want to kill the priest. In a sense, he didn’t need to. There was nothing to connect an angry ghost with any terrorist activity. On the other hand, he really didn’t like leaving anyone with any memory of him at all. Safest to silence the Priest. But that little spark in his chest, that piece of Etenesh’s goodness, burned. The Tongue practically hummed in disapproval. What to do?