Children of the Ordo Chapter 2

Father Anderson was in his early thirties. Short blonde hair coupled with hazelnut eyes, his nose was pointed, yet one would see a scar in the bridge of his nose. He always wore an exhausted smile for some reason. Broad shouldered and muscled, no one would thought that he is a priest when he is on plain clothings.

Father Atkinson was a newly inducted priest in the Order. He was in his mid-twenties with short brown hair and green eyes like Wakefield's. He was serious all the time, taking all his duties with fervent dedication. He more looked like a soldier than a priest in his combat gear, probably because of his service in the Marines before. He belonged to the 1st Battalion, 4th Company, had two tours in Afghanistan and one tour in Iraq. Upon seeing a Fallen Angel that killed most of his Squad Members in a firefight, he was traumatized and decided to become a priest upon his return in Louisiana.

Father Johnson had also been in active service before. Among the priests inside the van, he was the oldest. An Afro-American man with a scraggy beard and messy hair, his right eye was gouged out and his left remained functional. A scar runs from his upper lift to his left eyebrow. He was also in the Marines, 1st Battalion, 2nd Company, who have served in the Vietnam War before.

They may have combat experiences in the past, but none could equal Father Wakefield's experience in the battle against the forces of darkness. Born in Pennsylvania, he grew up in a pious household. He was inducted to the seminary of the Church of Saint Bartholomew when he was a Seminarist, until he was ordained. He travelled to Rome to take up Exorcism courses because of his fascination of the Supernatural which led him to what he is today. In his 19 years of service in the Church, he has expelled more than fifty Demons. He had encountered Monsters; the canon-fodders used by the Demons to wreck havoc and fought them than any other man had.

The white van zoomed across the silent highway. It was midnight, the gloom enveloped the city because most building lights were already turned off. They van made a sharp turn to a branching road the right, then to a street to the left before it stopped in front of a dark alleyway that leads to an open sewer. Its occupants, all armed and armored, disembarked from the vehicle and slowly made their way to the dark area.

"You know what to do," Johnson reminded. "Don't mess up."

Nobody replied as they advanced in darkness. Shadow completely enveloped them as they walked further. They moved tactically, covering all sides with the muzzle of their rifles. As soon as they got near the open pothole, Father Johnson took a peek below and whistled. The ground was covered by a green moss. Ankle-deep water flooded the canal, seemingly coming from the main network of the sewer. On the left side of the canal's wall was a red neon arrow paint that points at east.

"We've found what we're looking for." Father Anderson said as he nodded towards the neon spray paint that seemed to glow in darkness. He glanced Father Johnson, who nods at him. "I'll go first."

With that agreed by the rest of the party, Wakefield aimed at one corner where an enemy might spring out. One by one, Anderson, Atkinson and Johnson started to jump below, disappearing in the shadows provided by the sewer. Slowly, Wakefield started to take backward steps before he finally jumped down below.

Father Anderson was in the lead this time. The sewers were dimly lit up by flickering yellow bulbs hanging from above. Their environment stank with rust and stale odor of rotting oil. Their footing were also slippery due to the moss on the ground. They took cautious steps while traversing the sewers. They will have difficulties fighting in this kind of environment if they ran across roving gangsters.

"I heard something," Father Atkinson whispered. True, even his companions heard the low noise of people cheering and wildly shouting. Metal music also accompanied the growing noise. They continued moving for five more paces but immediately stopped when they heard footsteps approaching. Father Wakefield could make out two men chattering in street slang, talking about women. Usual gangster stuff.

"Ya see," The first voice says, "My girl has such a nice ass."

"Yeah?" The second voice replied. "Tell me more about it."

The men appeared at the end of the corridor, each were wearing grey vests with red shirt underneath. They wore oversized pants and golden necklaces. Both guys were armed with submachine gun pistols, UZI. Simultaneously, the priests raised their rifles and aimed at the gangsters. The duo were unaware at first, but they stopped when they saw the priests in combat gears pointing their submachine guns at them.

"Open fire." Johnson whispered quietly.

In an instant, the priests showered them with muffled shots. The gangsters danced as bullets perforated their bodies. The sound of their weapons fire was surpressed, and so are the muzzle flashes. They continued this time, with increased paces.

"Somebody's gonna find those bodies soon." Father Johnson said as they stepped over the couple.

They navigated the sewers quickly with Anderson in the lead. Wakefield was at the rear and Atkinson and Johnson between them. They moved and found themselves in an intersection that branched out to north, east and west. They could hear the sound of dripping water in a distance. Consulting the map he had memorized in his brain, Anderson moved to west. There, they came across a duo of gangsters that seemed to appear out of nowhere, which they eliminated with silenced gunshots.

Another pair of gangsters appeared behind them, and Wakefield was expected to take care of them. Without waiting any second, he put his left knee on the ground and inhaled. He fired at the first gangster, hitting his stomach, then his chest. Blood and organs escaped from his already ruined body. His aim jumped to the second one and fired, hitting him luckily in the neck twice, then chest once. The gangster fell backwards with a powerful force.

"All clear." Father Anderson said.

"All clear." Father Wakefield reported in reply.

The quartet continued further before moving to the right. They advanced further until they were greeted by another pair of guards. The gangsters moved with swag, yelling a curse before raising their weapons. Wakefield whirled behind him and fired a quick shot, hitting one of them in the hand. His weapon had flown from his wounded hand. Johnson finished the job with a shot to the head. The last and remaining one turned to the ladder behind him and started to climb up. It led back to the surface, possibly to the area where the black mass was taking place. Anderson fired thrice, hitting the gangster in the ribcage. He fired another safety shot that ensured the death of his target.

Quietly, the four surrounded the ladder. As usual, Anderson was the first to climb up. He hung the rifle behind him and started to ascend the ladder. Johnson followed closely below him, then Atkinson and Wakefield. Father Anderson slowly pushed the sewer cap aside and scanned the area for any enemies. Seeing none, he hoisted himself up. He peeked below and offered his hand at Johnson, who gladly took it. He crouched beside Anderson, covering his back while he assisted the other priests.

As Wakefield finally ascended, he was greeted by darkness. The moonlight from the small windows above them shone through, giving them little illumination. It was enough to make out something in this room; steel shelves covered either side from floor to roof, angular ceiling, a roll-up accordion in front gaping wide open. Far ahead, he could see that they were in a forest. A light caught his attention ahead; it was burning like fire.

"Interesting," Johnson said once more. "Have you all remembered Heather Smith?"

Of course, Father Wakefield remembered the teenage child who used to visit the Church back in St. Patrick's Cathedral. As far as he could remember, she was just 18 and was a regular church-attendee, not unlike the other youth of this generation. He could remember her ginger hair, freckled face and light blue eyes that displayed innocence.

But as of as of last week, she was reported missing.

"What about her?" Father Wakefield asked.

"Heather Smith was taken in these woods, bound and gagged, then burned at stake as an offering for the Demon Legionnaire." Father Johnson replied without skipping a beat. Virgin sacrifices had been common among the Devil Worshippers around these areas and that leads to one thing: Demonic Invasion.