Chapter 1 Hellsing #2
“I brought him here because I think you can help him find out what it truly means. So don’t go off putting his life in danger just to get your kicks off.” Father Dulaney warned. “He needs to see what the dangers of this vocation entail before he can decide who he wants to be.”
“And you decided I can help him with that?”
“You owe me one, Virgil.”
The man let out a long expletive, followed by a frustrated breath. Then, without a word, he pushed the door open wide and stepped aside.
“Well,” he grunted. “If he’s gonna’ puke from the spirits, best he do it inside. Come on in, kid.”
And just like that, I stepped over the threshold of that old house, into the world of the hunted and the haunted, where nothing would be the same again.
As I brushed past him, he grabbed my arm. “I’m not gonna’ sugarcoat shit. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I need to know,” I said.
And I did, I wanted to know what was out there that I couldn’t see but could feel.
That was the first time I ever met Virgil Desdemone.
That night he went gentle on me, providing me with my first encounter with the spirit world.
But it wouldn’t be until seven years later that I’d see him again, this time as his apprentice.
And he’d been right all these years. I had no fucking clue what I was getting myself into.
At seventeen, I got my first taste of demonology with the first exorcism I assisted with, and I learned quickly that I needed to put boundaries up between myself and the evil that lurked in the shadows.
“Hold the motherfucker down!” Virgil screamed as he flicked the older man, who was foaming at the mouth, with Holy Water.
I’d never experienced anything like that in my short life.
"Come out and play you demonic piece of shit!" He taunted the demon held trapped inside Mr. Robinson.
"You think that's a good idea, Father?" I stated, afraid for all our souls at this point.
"I think you should keep your mouth shut," He flicked more holy water on both of us this time.
"Talk to me motherfucker or are you just a coward who won't show his face."
Virgil had a tendency to lure demons out by instigating them.
I had to admit it was dangerous, but for the most part, it worked.
What better way to get a demon to call out its name than to taunt it back and call it a coward.
I had to admit; his way of teaching was reckless and frightened the fuck out of me.
But if it weren’t for his drastic measures, I wouldn’t have realized that I didn’t need to be a priest to fight evil.
I struggled to keep Mr. Robinson pinned down as his body convulsed again. The sound that came from his mouth wasn't human. It was a guttural growl, low and wet, like something scraping from the pit of his stomach.
I watched as Virgil took the rosary from his pocket, wrapping it around his fist as he pressed the crucifix against Mr. Robinson’s chest, right over his heart. "By the power of Christ, I command you, demon, to leave this man and return to the shithole you crawled out of."
"That's not what the book says," I grunted, still struggling to hold the man down.
Virgil shrugged. "Sometimes you have to improvise. Trust me, they get the message."
I’d never seen a man’s head snap back faster, his neck bending at an unnatural angle. His voice, deep and distorted, gurgled out, "You think your pitiful tricks scare me, priest?"
Virgil grinned, seeming to love this part. "You're out of luck, fucker. Cause I'm no priest and no, my pitiful tricks are just that, tricks. But I'm pretty sure this will hurt."
He drove the crucifix harder into the older man’s chest and recited the rite. The demon inside Mr. Robinson roared, thrashing with all its might. His veins bulged, turning black beneath his skin, and his body jerked against my weight.
"Hold him, dammit!" Virgil shouted at me as my grip slipped.
"I'm trying, Father!" I growled, fighting to maintain control.
"I told you not to fucking call me that!" He shouted, pressing down on the crucifix.
The demon's voice slithered out again, mocking, "You're too late. He belongs to me now. They'll all belong to me when I'm done with you."
I watched Virgil lean closer. No fear in his eyes. “Not today, he doesn't."
With one final, guttural shout, he finished the exorcism. A scream tore from Mr. Robinson's throat, so loud and raw that it made me stumble back. The demon's presence was ripped from his body in a sudden burst of energy, a black cloud dissipated into nothingness.
Mr. Robinson fell limp, his breathing shallow but steady. The room, once cold and oppressive, returned to its normal state. I looked up at Virgil in shock.
"Christ, Father... You always have to pick a fight, don't you?"
I wiped the sweat from my brow. "Old habits die hard. And you keep calling me Father, and you're next, kid."
Let’s just say I respected Virgil Desdemone a lot more after those weeks that followed.
He left shortly after his visit to New Orleans, asking if I came across a new evil to reach out to him before I did something stupid.
I would normally listen to logic, but I couldn’t in this case.
Not when the premonitions began. That’s when I found out there was a back door to Hell.
One where I was able to visit without Lucifer knowing about my escapades.
A few weeks later I’d hunted Virgil down, knocked on his door, and never left his side.
I’ve let a demon possess me, nearly tearing my mind apart.
I realized I could talk to shadows. They would whisper demons’ names in my ear and helped me survive a lot more shitshows than any human could handle.
And I found out that priesthood wasn’t my calling, fighting shit faced demons was.
So, I stayed on, because anything was better than returning to that monastery and a life I didn’t want to live.
Soon after, we moved back from Port Townsend and called Louisiana our new home.
I’d somehow followed Virgil into the fold of the Royal Bastards MC.
Without knowing it, he had given me somewhere I could belong.
Bulldog, the MC’s President at the time, had welcomed me with open arms. He was rough and direct but taught me what loyalty and brotherhood meant.
I learned to fight, really fight, from Saddle and Hart.
Saddle taught me how to handle myself, showed me that scars didn’t make you weak; they gave you power.
I kept the scars on my back hidden around the club for a long time, but they never made me ashamed.
Instead, I let them remind me why I was here.
There were two things Virgil and the club life made me realize.
First, that I was no priest. I would never make my mother happy and if I didn’t realize that on my own, I was going to shit on my own life.
And second, was that I was a Bastard through and through.
And Bastards looked demons in the eye and made sure they stayed in the deepest depths of hell.