The wind howled through the twisted olive trees surrounding the small stone house on the outskirts of Rome. The stars shone faintly in a sky that seemed to hold its breath, as if it knew what was about to happen. Cassian, an eighteen-year-old with a face hardened by years of discipline and training, adjusted the crucifix hanging from his neck and took a deep breath. His boots crunched against the dusty ground as he entered the dwelling, where the air smelled of sulfur and despair.
Inside, a woman lay tied to an old bed, her body contorted at impossible angles. Her black, greasy hair clung to her sweaty forehead, and her bloodshot eyes looked at him with a mixture of hatred and mockery. Cassian dropped his bag on the floor, pulled out a vial of holy water, and a Latin prayer book bound in leather. It wasn't the first time he had faced something like this, but each encounter still made his skin crawl.
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," he began, tracing a cross in the air with two fingers. The woman let out a guttural laugh, deep and inhuman.
Cassian frowned and took a step closer, raising his voice with authority honed in the cloisters of the Vatican.
"Quis es tu, spiritus immunde? Dic mihi nomen tuum!" he demanded in Latin, ordering the demon to reveal its name.
The woman twisted her head unnaturally, almost 180 degrees, and her laughter intensified into an echo that resonated against the stone walls. When she spoke, her voice was a chorus of discordant tones, as if multiple entities were speaking at once.
"My name? Do you think a pup like you, raised among monks and candles, deserves to know it?" the demon mocked in a hoarse, distorted Italian. "Ego sum legio, puer. Ego sum antiquior quam tu fides ridicula!" it responded in Latin, proclaiming itself a legion, older than Cassian's faith.
Cassian clenched his teeth but did not retreat. He had been trained for this since he was five years old, when he was found abandoned at the gates of a church in Naples. The priests of the Vatican saw something in him: a spark, an iron will. They molded him with martial arts, instructed him in ancient rites, and turned him into a weapon against the forces of evil. He would not falter now.
"Nomen tuum, daemonium! Revela te ipsum, aut ego te compellam!" he shouted, sprinkling holy water over the woman. The liquid sizzled as it touched her skin, and an inhuman scream escaped her throat.
The demon writhed, cracking the woman's bones while the ropes binding her strained to their limit. The bed shook, and the walls began to ooze a dark, viscous liquid.
"Cassian, Cassian…" the demon hissed, now using his name mockingly. "Do you think your God protects you? Do you think your words bind me? I am older than your prayers, stronger than your chains! When you fall—and you will—I will feast on your soul as I have done with so many others before you!"
Cassian did not respond with words. Instead, he dropped the vial of holy water and unsheathed a ceremonial dagger engraved with sacred symbols. With a swift motion, he made a shallow cut on his own palm, letting a few drops of blood fall to the floor. The demon watched curiously, and then Cassian raised the dagger to the sky.
"Per sanguinem meum et per virtutem Crucis, ego te expello, spiritus nefastus! Exi nunc, in nomine Domini nostri Iesu Christi!" he roared, his voice thundering through the room.
The air grew thick, and a freezing wind burst into the room, extinguishing the candles Cassian had lit. The woman arched violently, her mouth opening beyond human limits as a deafening scream filled the space. A black, shapeless shadow began to emerge from her body, struggling to cling to her, but Cassian did not relent. He slammed the dagger into the floor, driving it into the wood, and recited one final prayer:
"Vade retro, Satana! Numquam suade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas, ipse venena bibas!"
The shadow dissolved into a whirlwind of ashes, and the woman collapsed lifelessly onto the bed, breathing weakly but alive. Cassian slumped against the wall, panting, sweat running down his face. He had won, but the demon had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. "When you fall—and you will…" Those words echoed in his head as he gathered his things and stepped out into the cool night air.
The next morning, Cassian stood in an opulent room in the Vatican, facing Cardinal Lorenzo Ricci, an elderly man with a wrinkled face but piercing eyes. The cardinal observed him over his glasses, tapping his fingers on a mahogany desk.
"Good work, Cassian," Ricci said in a deep, measured voice. "The report says the demon was particularly resistant. A legion, according to your notes. Not many would have emerged victorious from something like that at your age."
Cassian inclined his head slightly, hands clasped behind his back.
"Thank you, Eminence. But I'm not sure I defeated it completely. Its words… they made me doubt. It said it was older than our faith, that it would feed on my soul when I fell."
The cardinal let out a dry, almost dismissive laugh.
"Doubt? Cassian, demons are masters of lies. If it made you doubt, it's because it knows you're a threat. Don't underestimate what you've accomplished. That woman is alive because of you, and the evil that possessed her has been expelled, at least for now. But don't fool yourself: they will always try to sow uncertainty. That is their nature."
Cassian nodded slowly, though the cardinal's words did not entirely dispel the shadow in his mind.
"Why did you call me here, Eminence?" he asked, changing the subject. "I assume it wasn't just to congratulate me."
Ricci smiled—a smile that didn't reach his eyes—and leaned forward.
"You're right. The Holy Father has been watching your progress. You're young, yes, but your skills are exceptional. That's why he has entrusted you with a special mission. You must leave for the United States immediately."
Cassian raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"The United States? Why so far? What's happening there?"
The cardinal stood and walked to a window, gazing out at the Vatican gardens.
"Strange cases, Cassian. Phenomena that defy all natural explanation and are increasing in frequency. In a small town, a girl has begun speaking in forgotten languages, her body levitating above her bed while her family is tormented by invisible presences. Elsewhere, a man claims the mirrors in his house reflect faces that aren't his, and those figures pursue him at night. And in a coastal city, a group of people has been found wandering aimlessly, their eyes completely black, muttering prophecies about the end of times. These aren't horror stories, Cassian. They're real, and they're happening now."
Cassian felt a chill run down his spine but kept his expression firm.
"And the Pope believes I can stop this?"
Ricci turned to him, his gaze intense.
"The Pope believes you're the only one prepared to try. You'll take with you the tools of the Vatican: your skills, your prayers, and, if necessary, your blood. But be careful, Cassian. What you faced last night might only be a whisper compared to what awaits you across the ocean."
Cassian took a deep breath and nodded.
"I'm ready, Eminence. When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow at dawn. A private plane will take you to New York. From there, you'll follow the leads we give you. May God be with you, son. You'll need Him."
The young exorcist left the room in silence, his mind already preparing for the unknown. Rome had only been the beginning.