Night had fallen in Rio Denso. A cold breeze blew outside the church, and sometimes the wind sang as it passed through the leaves of the trees in the town square. The priest, who had once been called Julio Cani, had spent the entire day inside the large church, praying and searching for a solution to the new problem they now faced.
After hours and hours seeking a sign from God, Julio finally found it. His knees ached from kneeling so long without moving. His God would not abandon him, left alone in that sea of wolves. It was a faithful God, as long as the priest was faithful too. When he tried to stand, his knees gave out and he fell, crashing against the wooden pew. The pain from the impact forced him to rest for a while before trying again—and succeeding.
The church's interior was dark, with only a few candles lit in front of the altar, left by the weak and sinful residents of Rio Denso. They believed that lighting candles and going to church every day would atone for their debts to God. Julio knew better. His God, no matter how merciful, did not forget things so easily. These people had lowered their weapons and accepted the Devil. He had been forced to do the same. He wouldn't be able to defeat the Devil alone, and God knew that—at least, that's what Julio Cani imagined.
He walked down the aisle between the pews, his black cassock swaying behind him as he moved. He reached a door near the altar that led to his quarters. He locked it from the inside to avoid being disturbed by any meddlesome resident seeking forgiveness for their cowardly acts or to cry over their beautiful babies who died every year. "They accepted the Devil, so let them suffer the consequences," the priest thought. Yet, he could not refuse anyone who came. It was his role to listen, even if neither he nor God cared about the prayers of those sinful people. And Julio would need them soon. He would have to find a way to bring light back to their minds. He and God needed those people, and maybe—just maybe—they would be forgiven for once following Lucifer's orders.
The priest climbed the stairs slowly, each bend of his knees bringing sharp pain. He forced himself to take one step at a time; he needed to finish his worship of God to receive divine help in the coming days. Upstairs in the church were just two rooms: a bathroom and his bedroom.
The bedroom was small, containing only a single bed and a nightstand. Both were made of dark rustic wood, as if from another era. The priest approached the window beside the bed and opened it.
"What a beautiful night," he thought. "I bet God sent it to me as thanks for being such a loyal servant!" He enjoyed the gentle breeze blowing against his face, inhaled slowly, held the air in his lungs, then exhaled slowly. Behind the church, there was nothing but trees, just like in the square before it. No one lived back there and no one could see him (except God, who surely watched him). Still at the window, the priest undressed, letting his cassock drop to the floor.
He had an athletic body, even though he rarely exercised—perhaps because he walked so much around town and the church, answering the calls of sinners. He stayed a few moments longer, feeling the wind blow over his body. The moonlight entered through the window, and the priest's dark skin almost glowed in its light. He smiled, feeling God's power. He knew he had to do this again. He had to finish the work he left half done years ago, because of some meddlesome people who weren't strong enough to carry on. But now they regretted it and wept.
He turned his back to the window, savoring the night's coolness. The priest's dark eyes scanned the room, trying to recall where he had left the instrument he needed. He spotted the rosary on the nightstand. He prayed with it every night. Otherwise, God would be furious. But that afternoon, when Julio prayed for guidance, God had asked for something more. The priest took the rosary, opened the nightstand drawer, and grabbed a whip. It had been a long time since God had requested that. Holding the object, his white teeth shone in the darkness of the room.
He examined it for a few seconds. It was more of an improvised whip than a real one. He had made it himself. The handle was crooked wood, but sturdy. The tips were made from rubber parts of an inner tube. It wasn't very professional, but it served for penance. It served to please his kind God, and Julio was happy for that.
Julio Cani turned back to face the window, feeling everything God had sent him that night, and began to pray. After finishing each Hail Mary and Our Father, he whipped his back. At first, thin streams of blood started running down his dark skin, warming it. If the priest felt pain, he did not show it. The smile he had when he found the whip remained alive and stretched across his face until the end of the penance, after forty minutes and fifty-nine lashes.
The priest's back was raw, but he showed no sign of pain. He dropped the whip and rosary on the floor and opened his arms. He felt his God invade him. He felt his God blowing over his purified body, covering him from head to toe. He felt the divine light of the moon pass through him, and he knew justice would come. He would end the demons of this town, whether supernatural or not. His smile turned into a laugh, growing into the cackle of a lunatic. But he was not mad. He was God's chosen. He had been sent to that town to free it from the Devil. He had failed the first time but would not fail the second. God was with him and would not abandon him.
He went to the bathroom, washing himself with cold water. His back burned, but he did not complain. It was the price to pay. He returned to the bedroom, wet footprints marking the wooden floor, droplets running down his body and dripping. He lay down on the bed, feeling a great inner peace, soaking the sheets with water and blood. His God was more present than ever and made him feel happy, as if he had found the love of his life. In a few days, something bloody would happen, and he would bathe in the blood of sinners and demons. God would be with him, of course, helping him to cleanse that worldly town, bringing it back to the chosen, purging the sinners.
Lying on the bed, still naked, the priest felt something warm between his legs. His member, which minutes ago had been flaccid and lifeless, began to take shape and grow. The priest took a hand and began to masturbate, feeling God's presence in every movement. His legs rose, and he felt something penetrate him. He let out a cry of pleasure—a cry he had rarely uttered, only when God visited him to fill him with love. He masturbated until a strong orgasm, the white smile still on his face, feeling honored to have been chosen and touched by God. Without cleaning himself, he turned on his side and fell asleep. The next day, he would have much work to do. In five days, he would have his revenge. And his God would thank him again.