B.P.R.D: Damnation of the Jesuits

Chapter One

Paris, France, February 27th, 0:09 hr

The chilly night air of Paris was not unusual this time of year. Infact, these would be the last few nights of winter for the city and everyone could not wait for the first flower to bloom and the temperature to rise and for Lent to end so they could indulge in the guilty temptations they had given up for Christ. The streets of Paris were empty of automobiles, tourists, and Parisians alike; the night air held a stale sent along with a moonless sky. Her only light was Paris's lit skyline and street lamps. However, she did not need them to find her way. Her blind eyes were led by her lust and before her stood her destination, the cathedral. The Notre Dame.

Its large doors were ajar with a priest standing inward, praying, and watching. She hobbled up the steps until the priest stopped her at the door. Bathed in the cathedral's light, he could see her disfigured features and made a face but her blind eyes could not see his expression. She put her hand up to her eyes, instinctively, as the priest asked, "What is it you beggar woman?"
"To confess, Father." Said her wispy voice.

"This late of hour?"
"Some times, a heart grows weary in the darkest hour, Father."
She held out her worn bible wrapped in tattered wool cover. The priest moved aside, "Hurry your task, witch."
She scurried past him into the candlelit cathedral and from the top floors she could hear the soft music of a harp. The halls were empty and she scurried through the cathedral to the restricted areas high above the sanctuary. She slid silently through the corridors until she finally made it to the top of the bell tower. Out of breathe but set on completing her task and receiving her reward, she crept forward onto the platform. The Galerie des Chimères lay await reward.

They were stone, cold, and lifeless. They faced east, watching the skyline, immobile and silent waiting for their time to perform. She was here to release them. The witch took out her bible and removed the tattered wool covering to reveal the book of the Wicca. She opened it and flipped the delicate pages until she found her spot. Her blind vision became clear as the blank pages before her lit up.

"Draw the lamb's blood"

A crystal flask was extracted from underneath her clothing as she popped the cork and drew a sphere around her feet with the many symbols of resurrection. As she finished dabbing the ground her under feet with blood, the blood began to glow eerily. The witch smiled and raised her head up to the sky.

She began to speak a language—a foreign, forgotten language so old that only the elders below the earth remembered it. She spoke quickly and clearly, chanting in a menacing tone as her vocal chords grew tired from speaking but her tasks was not yet over.
She reached into her pockets and pulled out a bag of colored sand. She sprinkled on the blood and the reaction was artificial light. The witch quickly moved away from the blood symbols as the light grew brighter blinding her again. The wind began to pick up turning into a twister as the witch continued to chant but she could not hear her own voice. Finally the winds died down and the blood dried up. She looked up to see it had started to snow again and she stood alone in darkness. Or so she thought.

The sound of rock grazing against granite alarmed her only for a second before she realized her tasks had been completed. Her weak eyes searched through the darkness for where the movement was coming from and saw them. Against Paris's skyline, two gargoyles were standing on the ledge of the Notre Dame.
They were as tall as humans, made of stone with gigantic wings, hooves, hands and open holes were a bright yellow light rested for their vision. They only stood staring out at Paris as the witch waited, breathing in excitement. Finally the male gargoyle to her right turned its stiff neck, looking over its shoulder at the witch.
"Children…" breathed the witch excitedly, "Come down off that ledge. Come to me."
"You have done your part witch." said the male gargoyle in a dark tone, "Now leave. Disappear from this holy ground before the wrath of our Lord destroys you where you stand."
The witch's eyes were rounded with shock, "How dare you! Children! I have resurrected you! You do not speak to your mother in such a tone!"

"You are no mother—you are an abomination to this Earth and a disgrace to our Lord. Now leave. You have served your purpose for his destiny. Go and pray for your damned soul."

"Why you bastards! Made of stone from the walls of Gomorrah!" shouted the witch, "Disgraces to the legion of chosen angels! I have resurrected you! You are mine to have! You shall obey me! The Queen Hecate promised me children! She has never lied!"
"You are just a pawn." Said the male gargoyle, "This is your last chance to leave. Go."

"I shall not leave here! You shall obey me!" said the witch holding up her book. Suddenly the book was struck out of her hand by a blinding white light and incinerated when it touched the ground of the Notre Dame.
"Ignorant witch! You have upset our Lord! You have interfered with something you cannot understand or undo! The war has started and you have cast the first stone! You will suffer for your ignorance!" shouted the second male gargoyle in a ferocious tone as the skies darkened around him. He began to hover along with his counterpart who turned a 180 to stare at the witch. The witch grew angry and charged at the gargoyles. They quickly moved and she slipped over the ledge and fell to her death. From their view she was only a red speck in the mounds of the snow but the third gargoyle, more rough and grimy in appearance leaned over the ledge to see her and spoke of what they must do, "This world's days are numbered. The Ogdru Jahad will arise from this holy place. We must hurry and summon the legions to defeat this terrible force if we are to save this earth and ourselves. Do not fail us Uriel and Michael."

The Lochs, Scotland

There was a reason the Bureau never formed permanent teams. Wasn't worth the stress. People being impaled on spikes, shot by mystic terrorists, eaten by holomcus, disfigured during rescue missions, torn apart in death chambers, bitten by radioactive offspring, mutation, and countless of unexplainable disappearances…. It was defiantly not worth the stress. With all of this it was no concern how remaining agents in the field had become immune to grief over the often short-lived field careers of their fallen partners.

Few of those remaining (and lucky) could clean out their desk the next day and tell you in the most bland voice that the thought of shooting their own partner in the face after he/she had been turned into a mindless carcass was enough to turn in your badge and file claims for the rest of your life, and it was a damn good idea if you wanted to live to see your wife and kids because you never know when your luck's run out and a Nazi- son of a bitch is aiming dead straight at your heart. So with this bland, emotionless voice they'd have their box of possessions packed walking out the Bureau never to be seen again. And the scarce hand-full of oldie agents (Those with the Bureau longer than four years, by Gomez's standards) had experienced this scene and feeling of desertion numerous times that the scarce hand-full of oldie agents expected and grudgingly accepted their departure with a void inside them ever growing wider by each casualty.

And the void of silent grieving in Elizabeth Sherman's heart was running over the rim. Perhaps it was the circumstances that he died under. Accidental death. That happened a lot. The lighting flashed over the lochs of Scotland and the rainfall poured down like salt. Liz stood over Dexter Hewlett's body in the rain. Water ran down her cheeks and she couldn't tell if she was crying. A lifeless body; she could even see in the gloomy shadows of ran clouds that he already was loosing color. The bullet wound in the lower part of his abdomen continued to spurge blood while the visible burn marks oozed. Liz could not get herself to move but could hear in the distance Tony Sandoval's voice.
"It's all my fault." Liz croaked.

She touched the cufflink on his sleeve then his clammy hand. The world around her was spinning and the image of his distorted stare was now imprinted on her brain.

"All my fault…"

Thunder cracked and she felt the warmth of an aquatic hand resting on her shoulder. Abraham was there, with an umbrella, to comfort her. The tall teal Icthyo Sapien stood behind his colleague bleeding profusely but was there to comfort her.
"C'mon Liz." He said softening his voice. Her feet were rooted in the ground. Abe could feel her resistance to give up.
"Liz c'mon." Abe repeated, "The morgue is coming." He saw the silent blinding lights of the foreign ambulance whirling up the mountain path towards the mouth of the cave where the unwounded dragged out the dead.

She would not move. Dexter's distorted expression, even with his eyes closed, made Liz sick knowing this was his last look before he died. She was a monster. An untamable beast. The blood in her finger-tips boiled till they were numb. Her staring stopped when the grey sheet was thrown over him by a paramedic. Liz blinked as they rolled him off out of sight and she fell backward into Abe's arms. She wasn't unconscious but unresponsive to his shouts. He groaned at her disposition and lifted her. Abe carried her to one of the arriving ambulances where Johann Kraus was sitting in his body suit staring impassively. He demonstrated the most human-like sigh Abe had ever heard from the ectoplasmic being when he saw them coming.

"I am glad I did not follow my team into the cave." Kraus mentioned moving out his way as Abe laid Liz down on the stretcher.

"She just had an episode. Can you get her to talk?"
"Now Abraham you know this better than me—" Kraus said shrilly, "Shock. She is in shock. She will hopefully not burst into flames but I will see what I can do."
Abe stepped back as Kraus closed the ambulance doors. He was starring back at the sky; only hours ago the sun was out and everyone just knew they were close to victory.

The cult leader, Alhsom Massys, a man the Bureau had been playing cat and mouse with for months, was hiding in the rocky hillsides of the lochs of Scotland.

Dr. Tom Manning, Director of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, had spent so much time and effort with strategists and experts planning the safest route to capturing Massys that they were equally as devastated to see so many accidentally killed. This all happened because Massys planned his malicious escape around fragile Liz. Like the way the Bureau watched Massys every move, the mastermind had shifted his concentration from trying to destroy the world to studying Liz. He then saw her weakness; watching other die. Sixty-three corpses had been found. By now only eighteen were identified as agents, thirty-three were burned to death, twelve died from gunshot and the rest, still unidentified. Abe watched as those with enough strength treated their burns. Soon enough, more ambulances arrived and were being followed by black trucks. The Cleaning Crew stepped out and dispersed into the cave with their equipment ready to make the place look anew.

Abe gritted his teeth and subdued the anger inside when he saw Manning stepping out of one of the black trucks with a lament expression. Now the rain was only a shawl of grey mist. Manning grabbed his umbrella and ran over to Abe baffling with questions that all could be answered with Abe's tragic recollection.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak Horatio Malvec arrived in another black car, his beady eyes hidden behind those stupid black sunshades. He strolled over to Manning and Abe with a vacant expression and asked casually, "What happened?"
"What do you think dip-shit?" Abe thought to himself.
"As you two will learn…" Abe said slowly, "Massys set up a gas leak. We ran straight into an oven."
Manning and Malvec exchanged looks before averting their eyes to the cave.
"We got deep into the cave, everything was fine, and then his own forces fired. Gun-fire for about fifthteen minutes. Hid behind rocks, boulders, pillars—we never made it to that laboratory you were talking about in the briefing but I doubt you'll find anything now—but as I was saying, Hewlett ran out blocking a shot meant for Liz. Hit him in his groin. I think he died instantly. Liz turned around ready to set the man who shot him on fire—the whole place exploded like a bomb."
Manning's eyes were lit with shock and anger. Malvec still had a vacant expression but bowed his head in respect.

"I thought I had smelt gas earlier… should have said something…" Abe rambled off and turned away from them. He started walking towards the ledge of the mountain trail and looked over to see the black waters calling his name.
"Abraham—wait!" Manning yelled.
"If you need me I'll be by the loch."

With that said he jumped off the mountain trail down the rocky side into the dark waters.

Manning stood speechless with his hand cupped over his mouth as Malvec waited intolerantly for his next directive.
"I recommend we get this place cleaned up and thoroughly searched for clues before anyone leaves the premises." Malvec uttered in his thick European accent.
Manning nodded saying a yes silently before strolling back to his car.