Thrist screamed, the first time he'd ever screamed in his life.
“Now waaaaatch.”
The priest felt a pressure in his chest, akin to suffocation. Then his body was enveloped in a fold of warmth, a warmth so complete that Thrist thought the Holy Spirit had rescued him.
He was mistaken.
“I just healed yoooooour leg”
Thrist was astonished to find the agony completely gone. He moved his leg and it felt normal.
“Here is cooooomes.”
Bub twisted the leg again, faster than before.
Again Thrist cried out, but this time Bub opened his toothy maw and a black tongue snaked out, slithering into Thrist's mouth and silencing the cry.
Tears streaked down the priest's face as Bub wiggled the broken leg this way and that way, his vile tongue raping Thrist's throat.
Father Thrist prayed for death.
It didn't come.
Just as he was close to passing out, Bub removed his tongue and allowed him to breathe again.
“Do you want me to heeeeeeeeeeal you?” Bub whispered.
Thrist's face began to spasm, his left eye blinking uncontrollably. His facial tic had returned.
“Open the doooooor.”
The priest said nothing. The pain in his leg was overwhelming, but even worse was the left side of his face. Every twitch of his upper lip pierced his soul.
“What's wrong with your faaaaaaaaaace?”
Thrist's entire world was reduced to despair. The facial tic was proof. His God had forsaken him.
“I can make it wooooooorse,” Bub said.
He gave the leg a twist and Thrist blacked out.
*
When the holy man awoke, there was no pain.
“We can do this all daaaaaay,” Bub said.
He grabbed the same leg. Father Thrist gagged at the thought of the oncoming agony. He knew he couldn't handle it again. The very idea made his gorge rise.
“...please...”
“Where is your God nooooooow?”
Thrist’s eyelid was blinking like crazy. “...no more...”
“Pray to me, Faaaaaather. Pray to me to not to hurt yoooooooou.”
“I... I...”
“Kneeeeeeeel, priest.”
Thrist knew he was a dead man. The moment he'd stepped into the habitat, his fate had been sealed. But that was the fate of his body. The fate of his eternal soul remained unresolved.
Until now.
Father Michael Thrist silently asked God for the forgiveness of his sins, and thanked the Almighty for the privilege of his life and the opportunity presented to him. Thrist had come there today expecting a baptism, but it turned out he was the one about to be baptized.
The Church called it the Baptism of Blood. Dying a violent death in the name of the Lord.
Thrist embraced martyrdom like a gift.
“No.”
“Nooooooooooo?”
Thrist faced the demon. His facial tic had disappeared, and he stood proudly, without fear. Jesus died for mankind’s sins, and Thrist was honored to die in His name.
“I shall not kneel.”
Bub lifted the priest up and twisted each of his feet backwards. Thrist began to cry, and Bub held him on the ground in a kneeling position.
“Worship meeeeeeeee.”
“No,” the priest said through clenched teeth.
The demon took one of Thrist's arms and bent it back at the elbow. It snapped with the sound of a gun shot. Thrist screamed again.
“Proclaim your loyalty to meeeeeeee.”
There could be no worse death, Thrist thought. Or no greater death.
“I proclaim... my loyalty...”
“Yesssssssssssss.”
He looked up, past Bub, past the ceiling, past the two hundred feet of earth above them.
Thrist said it clear and strong, “To my Lord, Jesus Christ.”
Bub went to work on the other arm, but Thrist had gone to another place in his mind. He knew Bub was twisting and breaking his body, but he no longer felt any pain. He could picture heaven, as Bub had described it. Eternal bliss. His faith had been restored, and Thrist had no fear of death.
Not even when Bub pulled off his leg.
“Fooooooool,” Bub hissed at him. “Open the fucking dooooooooor.”
The priest looked up at Bub and smiled beatifically through his veil of tears and blood.
“I forgive you,” Thrist whispered.
He didn't feel it when Bub bit off his head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rabbi Shotzen thought he heard a scream. He stopped his prayer and listened.
Silence.
He began again in earnest, intoning under his breath, “Kadosh kadosh kadosh...”
Another scream. This time he was sure he heard it. Moving cautiously, he approached the door and opened it a crack.
The Red Arm was empty.
He craned an ear to listen.
Nothing. Not a sound.
Perhaps it wasn't a scream. But he should check. He'd heard the gate open a few minutes ago. It had been Father Thrist, visiting Bub in full church regalia. But that couldn't have been Thrist who screamed. Even he wasn't foolish enough to go into the habitat.
Then again...
Rabbi Shotzen was overcome by a sudden burst of urgency. He grabbed his bag of Molotov cocktails and held onto the lighter, and then he rushed out into the hall and saw...
Bub was crawling out of Red 14.
“Jesus Christ,” Shotzen said.
The demon pulled himself through the tight fit of the door and cocked his head at Rabbi Shotzen.
“Shalom, Raaaaaaaabbi,” Bub said.
Shotzen set down the bag and with shaking hands and took out the first bottle.
Bub couldn't stand erect because the ceiling was too low. He crawled up to the first gate, and to Shotzen's amazement, punched in the code.
The bars swung open.
Shotzen flicked the lighter. Once. Twice. Three times. No flame. He looked at it and saw he had the wrong one.
“Your friend Faaaather Thrist,” Bub said, crawling forward, “has something to saaaaaay.”
The demon opened his mouth and coughed. A red ball flew out of his throat and bounced before him, sticky with goo.
Shotzen took a closer look and saw it wasn't a ball.
Bub picked it up and held it out to Shotzen.
Father Thrist's head, slicked in gore.
It blinked.
Then it blinked again, and opened its mouth as if to say something.
“What's thaaaaaat?” Bub asked, holding his other claw to his ear. “You’ll have to speeeeeeak up.”
Shotzen gagged.
“He wants to talk to yoooooou.”
The creature chucked Thrist's head at the Rabbi. On reflex, Shotzen dropped the bottle and the lighter and caught it with both hands like a basketball. The firebomb fell to the ground and shattered.
Shotzen stared at the head in his hands.
“Kill me,” the priest's lips clearly said.
Shotzen yelled out in shock.
Bub laughed so hard he vomited out Father Thrist’s leg. It flopped onto the floor and wiggled like a fish.
Shotzen threw the head into the wall as hard as he could, hoping to end the priest's misery. He reached for the second Molotov cocktail and took another lighter from his pocket.
“Back to the pit with you,” Shotzen declared, shaking with rage. He flicked the lighter and the two inch flame jumped up to ignite the gasoline soaked rag. The Rabbi threw the bottle at the ground before the beast. It shattered, showering Bub with a wall of flames.