#Infernal Liturgy

[velvetdolor]

♰𖣐♰ 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩’𝔰 ℭ𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥. | iv

chapter iv. in paradisum.

pairings: exorcist!hongjoong x psychic!reader (ATEEZ ot8 x reader but hongjoong focused.)

genres: 18+!! paranormal, religious horror, fantasy, smut, stupid-yet-gifted exorcists lol

chapter specific warnings: death, violence, gore, child death/possession, and arson. [currently unedited as of 05/16/25] smut warnings: asphyxiation, unprotected sex, marking, coping mechanisms.

summary: “the order” is a secret organization of exorcists blessed with special abilities dedicated to expelling higher class demons—located in an ancient crypt hidden beneath the vatican. when an exceptionally gifted child is followed by prophetic omens and falls into possession of an unclassified s-class demon—kim hongjoong, considered one of the greatest exorcists of the 21st century, is dispatched under the mysterious order of convincing an enigmatic psychic hiding away in a metropolis to accompany he and his team in what might be their most daunting exorcism yet. WC: 6.3K

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[chapter iv: in paradisum.]

Seonghwa holds a black umbrella over Dorian as they stand before the large procession. Fit for the occasion, the overcast afternoon is dreary to each lost soul that trudge towards the freshly dug graves. Young priests and friends of those who’d passed in the wake of Dorian’s possession carry heavy caskets–morose and avoiding the young boys' eyes in fear that their own rage would seep from their orifices. Dorian’s face held a gait of acceptance far too old for his young body, as he clung to the very reprimand Hongjoong sent him on that fateful night. As someone of immense power, his responsibility lied within his ability to control himself and confront the frightening truths of his powers—of his curse. Since then, he hasn’t cried or expressed any emotion beyond false joy—and at times it felt like Dorian had to play the part of a child rather than actually being one. 

The rest of you stood with your heads bowed in respect, hands tied together at the forefront of your bodies, dressed in sleek black suits that slowly weigh heavier at the onslaught of rain. An old Latin liturgy reverbs through the air as the prayer is sung, carrying the ‘bodies’ into rest, and bids their permanent goodbyes with a song. You felt it in the air– the end was coming. The tides of war that unknowingly floated above everyone’s heads with the exception of the lot of you, throbbed through the air like the thrumming of a drum. War that frighteningly felt like an inevitable loss, and the one surviving chance was barely a sliver of hope. Hongjoong’s eyes drift towards you, inperceptibly to others, and slowly inches a palm towards yours to ease into a slow cradle. Releasing a deep sigh, you squeeze the weight of him before staring ahead at the crowd of grief.

Not everyone at The Order is an orphan. Many were– but there were also devout priests who carried gifts that eventually recruited them into the more common sides of the clergy, in regards to exorcisms. They weren’t fit to be Infernal Hosts, but they were gifted. Unquestionably so. 

Sobbing Mothers who grieved their children fell weakly onto hallowed ground as Fathers cried for their boys– one in particular bellowed for his youngest son while gripping onto a familiar necklace that forced Dorian to swallow and turn away. His son was the youngest of the common clergy. The caskets were empty, only carrying small amounts of ash and minor trinkets, memorabilia.

The Order had a saying that implemented the practice of cremating their Exorcists–” From the fire we came and to the fire we return to–may it blaze and welcome all of those who herald its holy light. In its warmth, may our bodies alas release the weight of our Earthly burdens and pains. Gone is the body, ash to the soul.” In unison, this was uttered boldly into the air, deep in its cadence. The promise of a casket was purely symbolic to provide families with some semblance of comfort. 

It was customary for a portion of the ashes to be returned to the deceased's surviving family, and the ashes of those who were orphaned upon their arrival to The Order were solemnly placed into a separate and Holy Crypt at the headquarters. Complete silence carried itself into the wind as you watched the final shovel of dirt flutter over their children's final resting place. For a moment, you wonder where the souls actually go after all of this– did heaven at least keep its gates open for you all, despite its gambles? You cynically release a huff, bewildered by the fact that even though you were once the guardian of the gates– you had no clue. The existence of hell felt like the only real thing that’d welcome you.

The walk back to the Dormitory was heavy. Nothing was said– even Mingi had nothing to say to lighten the crew. Your gaits were dimmed beyond repair for the rest of the night, and you fleetingly worried for Jongho, who had immediately retreated into his quarters with a bang after asking Seonghwa if he could be alone for the night. 

Everyone else dispersed around the dormitory– some of the men went to hang out with other clergy members on the lower floors. The deaths of the men they’d known as boys shook them with the reminder that time is never promised. Neither is love eternal. 

Hongjoong follows you into your room as you shrug off the damp suit jacket and tug at your tie, loosening it before lighting a cigarette shakily. The one thing about being raised alone is that you never had to interact with grief directly– you didn’t have to relearn loss. He stays silent as he follows your actions, watching you as you leaned against your desk. 

You didn’t want to think about it. About anything, really. Nowadays, everything you did in life was always tinged with the reminder of impending death, and at times with grotesque envy at those who died before they knew what was to come. You weren’t blessed with the choice of ignorance. A heavy energy permeated the room as Hongjoong moved towards you to stand between your legs, as your eyes met in understanding.

You fall back at the weight of his sudden kiss before pushing back into it with equal intensity. Threading your fingers through his wine washed hair, as you tug him closer into you, panting heavily against his mouth and shoving your tongue to lick at its roof. A groan leaves him as he bruisingly grips your hips, rolling into you with an empty mind. You snuff out the cigarette against the dampest part of your shirt. 

Since that night, neither of you have touched each other intimately. Stray gazes from across the room or light touches disguised innocently enough kept your meetings secret from the rest of your order, but the need to focus on the matters at hand didn’t need to be addressed– you both already knew that. 

Today, the grief was too heavy to sleep alone. You craved for a half empty mind and a warm hand pressed against your stomach. The dampness of your button ups rubbed roughly against one another and you both hastily unbuttoned your dress shirts, sliding them off of your bodies roughly to have cold skin meet cold skin. 

His silken skin rubbed against the thin cloth of your bralette as he pulled your ass to meet your core with his hardness. A breathy sigh leaves you as you cradle his head that bent itself into the crater of your neck and at the parting of his mouth to lick at your jugular with the flat of his tongue. The sound of his heavy breathing eased into your ears, and you find yourself tightening around nothing. “Hongjoong, please. I don’t want to think right now.” 

You found your eyes watering for the first time in company, as Hongjoong rises to rest his chin on your temple after planting an empty kiss onto it. “I got you baby, everything’s okay.” He ghosts his mouth over your pulse before sucking at your collarbone to leave a mark. Shushing you softly when your body begins to shake in both desire and need for emotional reprieve. For a moment, he holds his arms around you before shrugging his pants off with you following suit. There was something melancholic about this moment– like the weight of everything that’s inevitable stood in the same room with you. Hongjoong too, was inevitable. Even as you try to find reprieve from destiny, she still found her way in– your medicine is simultaneously your ailment. You craved him and you knew it was meant to happen, and you’d fight it more if you didn’t find him as lovely as you did. 

The cold autumn air drifted into your room from a cracked window and you could feel it drape itself around your contrastingly warm core. 

There’s an intentional pause, as if Hongjoong had been counting down to this very moment.

The sound of your underwear finally dropping from the ankle it desperately clung to broke the fragility of the moment as he’d rubbed himself against your opening. A shaky sigh leaves him before he pushes himself into you.

“Fuck.” He drops his head against your shoulder to still himself, wanting to stay seated inside of you to bask in the feeling of your warmth embracing him. You tilt your head back with a light moan, a thought drifting itself in the back of your head that wished you were in the space to take him in his entirety– to commit his details to memory: his colors and visage. 

But there was no room for that right now.

Hongjoong’s hips move forward with a sturdy bang, and you choke a gasp in your throat at its rhythmic onslaught. The sound echoed throughout the room as his pace built and slid against you. Your wetness is slick, sliding and dampening your thighs before dripping asynchronously off of the table. His hands grip and tug your ass to him as close as possible, and your loud moans are muffled by the coolness of his shoulder. The rain on your skin is erased by the sweat of your bodies, as you rock against to meet his thrusts. Hongjoong bends to lick your breasts into his mouth and pays no mind to the rocking desk and the torrid sound it makes against the wall. 

“Hongjoong, more.” A groan leaves his lips as he unlatches them from your tit to lock back onto yours. Heavy, breathy whines leave his mouth to drip onto your tongue, his saliva pooling around the edges of your smile. Your legs wrap themselves around his waist when he heaves you momentarily to drop you back onto your cold sheets, goosebumps raising on your skin. Hongjoong soothes himself back in with a choked moan before grinding into you with teasingly slow but harsh thrusts. A hand combs through your hair and your throat is bared at his rough tug. He bites it with a force that nearly draws blood. “Do you still want more?” His eyebrows raise in that coquettish, jester-like way of his– all cool and fatal smoothness as you suffocate under the weight of his unintended charms. 

“I want you to break me.” is all that leaves you. The pleasure is almost dizzying and you refuse to let any other thought in. 

“You’re a greedy woman.” is all he says, chuckling against your mouth to leave a kitten lick before turning you around and raising your ass to meet his hips before you could process it. 

Your eyes go white at the stinging stretch that accompanied this particular thrust, stifling a scream as your body is thrown a bit forward onto the sheets. Your cheek presses against the flat of your pillow as it swallows your moans. Unconsciously, you shift forward and tug yourself away from him in surprise. 

The sound of your wetness sticking to his thighs as Hongjong guided you onto his cock by your waist makes you flush and feel the pressing of his palm against your spine to hold you down. “Take what you begged for, Strega.” You could hear his grin, a small but maniacal laugh leaves him when he sees you shake around him, screaming yourself dumb into the bed at the sudden brutality of his touch. You feel his hand smooth over to your stomach, pressing it as he hunches over your body to guide it towards your clit, rubbing lightly with his middle finger before slapping his hand against it harshly. Your arms fall completely to your sides as a high-pitched whine leaves your lips, you try to tug yourself away to stop yourself from orgasming–not wanting to give in just yet, but Hongjoong only laughs progressively harder when he tightens his grip around you, pounding his hips even harder into you when your body falls flat against the mattress. “Come on Strega, I thought you could take it? Isn’t this what you wanted, huh?” He cooes at you, slithering an arm around your throat in a semi-hard chokehold. You should’ve known he had a sadistic streak. 

Your back automatically arches as his pelvis pummels upward towards the fat of your ass, vulgar smacks accompany your choked mewls as he keeps his arm locked around your neck. Hongjoong moans against the back of your neck as your bodies grow sleek with each other's sweat, and you quickly learn that he’s a vocal lover. “Are you on the pill?” he pushes a strained pant and the veins on his neck protrude a little at the blood rushing throughout his body. 

You can only give a weak shake before turning your head to meet his gaze for a bit, pushing your hips upwards to take him in entirely leaving little to no space between your bodies as they ricochet against one another. He simply raises a brow “Don’t tempt me to knock you up–lord knows what kind of child would come from the two of us.” but the shakiness of his words betrays him and his eyes drift to where you bounce against him– creamy in the sweetest way and he almost feels himself lose his vision temporarily as he rolls his eyes back in bliss. 

You’re whimpering at his unrelenting pace, clenching and unclenching in pulses and the throbbing is delicious enough to have you clutching at the arms wrapped around your neck. 

You’re begging at this point–dancing between edges of light and darkness, delicious delirium and disguised softness.

“I want it inside, Hongjoong.” The thought alone brings you to the edge of your own orgasm before his own reactive throbbing threw you overboard, as a breathy moan pulses out of his body when you milk him of everything he has. 

You could feel his thudding heartbeat against your back before he smooths off of you, laying back with an arm over his eyes. His other hand pats around in search for your own and pulls you onto his chest, opting to hold you there. 

The dark indigo light from the fading evening outside is the only thing illuminating your figures. For a moment, you’re allowed to drift your eyes around mindlessly, the only thing tethering you to the present was Hongjoong’s arms– but in the distance a yellow light peered into your window.

A crucifix, lit up in the night. 

It served as enough of a reminder, throwing you back into the arms of the helplessness that drowned you. 

“Hongjoong.” you call out to him and he only hums lowly, not moving his arm that covered his eyes still. 

“What happens now?” Hongjoong stays silent for a moment, and you almost brush off your own question–ashamed that you expected him to know more than the rest of you; to carry on even more weight than what you all were originally supposed to share.

“We wait for our moment to strike and take Dorian. Until then, we train and do as The Order bids.” He states it objectively, hanging the hard truth in the air. Hovering it casually for you to see. 

“Okay” you reply with softly. 

Hongjoong brushes your hair flat against your head before taking a strand and twirling it around his fingers. Humming with a small laugh of amusement before he speaks

“You know, I think our little San has a crush on you.” 

You jolt a little from the whiplash you got from the turn in conversation, not knowing how to respond to that. While you and Hongjoong weren’t together and may never be, considering that you all are marching to your probable deaths, it was also far from casual. Hongjoong was an eccentric man, so maybe this isn’t too out of reach.

He chuckles a bit at your confusion but opts to continue

“He has a thing for energies, you see. I can tell because he brightens when you’re around and often catch him lingering around cooridors looking for you–hoping to run into you by ‘coincidence’”

“I didn’t know you had a thing for sharing Hongjoong– just a week ago you’d confessed your love for me, no?” You take this in full stride, still carrying the air of casualness at the face of your strange dynamic with Hongjoong. You’re starting to realize that this seems to be the common tone in dialogue– unperturbed at his strangeness. 

He shakes his head lightly. “Strega, there is so much of the world that’s been ripped from you. I have seen it from inside of you. If we had more time, I would’ve been able to crave you in ownership without guilt–but we don’t. How dare I bar you from love you’d never been allowed to know before? I have loved you my entire life, Strega, but the truth of the matter is that you don’t know the weight of a heart yet. So, love as you please, the world is ending as we know it.” You both lay in silence after that, as Hongjoong continued to comb through your hair with his hands. 

“Is that really okay with you?” A part of you wonders if this is simply an act of selflessness.

In all of his usual mysteries Hongjoong only replies with “It’s already in the cards, Strega.” 

Ah, you see now. Another inevitable.

♰𖣐♰

Friday, The hour of Venus.

Your body thrashes in your sleep as a storm passes through Vatican City. Hongjoong sleeps on the other side of the bed after both of your cumulative body heat pushed you both on opposite sides.

A barrage of flashing images again, that same golden light–Dorian.

He’s kneeling in that lonely chapel, fighting against himself and calling out to you.

“Mama, I don’t know what to do. Please don’t leave me alone here.”

Dorian gasps in sudden pain before falling forward, blood seeping through his shirt just above his shoulder blades. The vision flickers as he moves his eyes to gaze at you, and you simultaneously see an older version of Dorian before it flickers back to the present. The dark current in his eyes alerted you– you had to go to him.  He was losing– of course he was. Dorian’s a child with little to no training and you reprimand yourself for leaving him there without thinking properly. 

You feel Raziel peering into your dream curiously before he sees what you’re seeing– shocking you, so you’d wake up.

You bolt from the bed with a harsh gasp, before turning to look at Hongjoong’s figure, as he lies still with sleep. 

‘Y/N, I can hold the ground once we arrive at The Order, but we’d need to merge as we’d done in the past. The…being inside of him will take advantage of any loose ends, and we can’t afford to have a barrier in case we’d lose our link to communicate.’

You nod before throwing a knitted jumper on and hiking a pair of pants past your ass with an ‘oof!’ running out the door without much precaution or goodbye. Your thundering steps alert a slightly inebriated Seonghwa as he made his way up from the sixth floor. Somewhat sobered by your obvious haste, he stops you quickly

“What’s wrong?” His eyes are tight with apprehension as you shake your head after saying you needed to get to Dorian. Seonghwa immediately tugs you by the wrist and down the steps without another question.

When you arrive at the Crypt, you lead Seonghwa down into a section he had never seen before. The air was more wet there– humid and somehow even darker than the rest of what he’d known despite being illuminated by an array of Edison bulbs and torches. 

He suddenly recalls this particular tunnel–one he had been led to by sheer accident as a mischievous boy, despite being told not to wander off by the clergy. Naturally, he was curious by the hollow, untouched section of The Order’s headquarters, but an unknown air had him instinctually staying away. You push at a specific rigged area of the stone formation before it opens up and reveals a winding, descending staircase, spanning a seemingly endless number of levels. He raises his head to see that the only light provided there was an open ceiling, where residual moonlight and city light pollution guided you both downwards without as much trouble. It took a while before you both had reached the bottom and Seonghwa is greeted by the sight of an ornate chapel– a golden crucifix lighting its entry way. 

When you enter, Dorian is once again standing before a multitude of prayer candles. He grips a blood-stained rosary in his palms tightly and you tell Raziel to control his presence when you merge with him–wanting to avoid killing Seonghwa because now really isn’t the time.

Dorian speaks, but his voice isn’t his own.

“I’m honored that you’d come here yourself, Strega. With my brother too–long time no see Raz.”  The voice carried sweet and calm cadence, resting like water above the soul.

You say nothing but feel a strange emotion from within you that wasn’t yours. 

Raziel. 

“Perfect timing actually, and conveniently you brought the infernal sword with you.” He finally rests his eyes on Seonghwa, an unsettling maze of darkness in his eyes before continuing

“What interesting gifts this new generation of Exorcists have. I must say, I really wish you guys were able to see what a ruckus you cause down there.” He whistles as an act of being impressed.

“–Giving them a run for their fucking money.” He laughs lightly, unavoidably angelic. Somethings never change and old habits die hard, you think to yourself. 

“Which is why I hope you understand why exactly I had to bring you down here today for a bit, but I wouldn’t want you to miss the show. It’s a gift I thought up for you all, as my makeshift welcome party.” Something forms in the pit of your stomach, and Seonghwa raises his hand to grip above his spine before the Lightbringer interrupted

“Ah-ah.” He waved Dorian’s small finger in a no-no formation. “You should save your energy for more important things, Infernal weapon. By now, there’s should be an avalanche of calls trying to reach you but sadly– there’s no… reception down here. Super outdated of The Order I might say. You see, I have to admit I’m sort of a big shot around here and having a few fanatical supporters is unavoidable. That’s all I can say, but I’ve held you back long enough– time to go and see my surprise. Let me know what you think someday, Strega? I part ways with you by ending with this last reminder: remember, it was human’s that did this.” His presence in Dorian’s eyes covered his irises completely, only holding the light of one flickering and solitary flame. A serene smile stretched across his face, and you realize that Dorian’s features seem to alter a bit when he takes his place. “Off you go now.” is all he says before shooing you off with a hand and turning to face the candles, watching calmly as they flicker.

Your pale as you push your bodies up the numerous steps, heart thrumming in fear for your Order or what awaits you the moment you have cell service. Seonghwa pushes ahead of you once you leave the crypt and reach the entry of the regular church entrance– his cellphone immediately buzzing before he answers in a panic. You both hear the staticky panic shrieking into his ears and grow cold at what you hear. It’s Yeosang.

“Seonghwa, where the fuck are you? Something weird is going on at a children's orphanage and parish on the outskirts of the city, there’s too many of them–” The sounds of blood-curdling shrieks fill the air as the line goes dead and the three beeps that follow hauntingly echo as you turn to each other before calling the other members, and to no avail– no one answers. 

“Raziel, can you track one of them? Or can you sense any strange omens, Infernals in the air?” before he responds, the young nun’s spirit appears before you in a flurry 

‘Strega! The Parish of Polycarp– something really bad is happening. Go now! There’s no time to explain."

You turn to Seonghwa with blown out eyes “The Parish of Polycarp!” 

He’s shaking, overwhelmed by a dizzying number of emotions but finds it in himself to nod, catching sight of a taxi making its way to your side of the road. He quickly hails it before hastily uttering the address to the driver, begging him to get there as fast as possible with promise of higher pay. 

You’re holding onto the car handle as the driver speeds down towards the outskirts of Rome and upon arriving an intense wave of nausea hits you. Seonghwa hands a wad of cash over to the taxi driver before dashing out, pulling you with him.

What greets you is a cacophony of sounds–some inhumane and others of anguish. The body of a priest is flung out the open entrance of the parish and he groans at the impact before passing out. The moment you step in you see blood dripping from the crucifix straight ahead. A green flash thunders in the upper right side of the room, and you see Yeosang deliver a force field that ricocheted a small body across the room. Horror dawns on you quickly when you realize that what he hit was a child. Quickly, you have Raziel hide both of your presences. 

The child, however, only rose again with distorted laughter as she charged towards him again. Horror and anguish painted over Yeosang’s face clearly, as he held back in hopes there was a way to end this with her life still intact. There had to be.

It was then that you realized that something was horribly, horribly wrong. The children’s bodies held a strange discoloration to their skin, baring puncture wounds in their hands– stigmata. 

You couldn’t feel any energy within their bodies other than the demons that ran rampant within. They were already dead. 

Those were intentional marks, and you felt sick after realizing that this was the result of a mass failed ritual. They weren’t stigmatas that were bestowed naturally– they were forced. 

Chaos ensued from all sides–Seonghwa already marched into action, snapping Mingi out of it with a bark. “Mingi, wake up! Don’t stay still.” You see Mingi’s shaky gait, still struggling to push through his moral struggle. Of all people, you knew Mingi was the most affected by the child possessions.

You overhear Jongho and San from the other end of the room, screaming warnings to each other unintelligibly. Yunho and Hongjoong stood before the body of an older priest, who’d been a part of the parish–Yunho holds a blade before striking his heart. There was a palpable darkness in their gazes as they did this, and you see Yunho’s hand crackle with energy as he pushes the flat of his palm against the priest's temple. A ghastly and shrill shriek that carried the distortion of a multitude of voices hung and echoed through the air, and you stare as Yunho attempts to exorcise the being within him. 

Your stomach dropped when you stared at the sigil that seemed to be burned into the priests' skin, before whipping your head around the room to see similar markings on the bodies of the children. They were dead long before they’d been possessed, and they were branded. There was no exorcising them– the demons were tethered to their bodies until they decomposed back into the Earth. Their bodies were now homes for the selected Infernals. 

There’s no other way– you couldn’t allow them to leave this church. This much you knew from your time as the portal. Your eyes drag across the room finally resting on the figure you were looking for. 

Wooyoung. 

You’d need his help, but you weren’t sure if he’d be able to pull through with it, else you’d have to seal this off all on your own. At this point, the tether connecting the demons to their branded bodies could only be solved by physical means– even Seonghwa’s spiritual weapons couldn’t do much unless he’d manifested them physically but would only incur needless butchering and a long night of fighting. Wooyoung clutched his head in his hands as he hid in a corner of the church and blood stained his rolled-up sleeves–cassock discarded. You don’t know what happened but now’s not the time to hesitate.

You hastily make your way to him, shaking him when he finally perceives your hidden presence with a gasp, positively frightened. Gripping onto his shoulders with resolve, you stare at him wide eyed and urgent.

“Wooyoung, it’s too late. There’s no saving them– they were gone long before we got here. All of them are corpses being puppeted by demons making home in them. No matter how much we try to psychically exorcise them– it won’t work. The demons are bound to their bodies until the bodies decompose or disappear entirely.  They can’t leave this Church. All hell will break loose. I need your help, because I need a leeway. These things could fight for hours on end, especially if they know we won’t harm the bodies they’re in. Your fire Woo– it could keep them from being able to run out of the church if we barricade them in… and it would also burn everything that they could attach to. If you do this, I’ll get the chance to act as a portal to send them back without risk of any of them escaping.” 

Wooyoung's bottom lip trembles, terrified as he reached out to tug at the sleeves of your coat, lowering his head as he grasped onto you– fat tears fall as he sobs in frustration.

“Fuck– Oh god, why? Strega, they’re just kids–” He thumps his head against your sternum, still grabbing onto your upper arms as he thrashed and sobbed.

You hold his head against your chest when you say

“Woo, we can’t let these infernals run free in the bodies of innocent children. There’s no telling what they might do, and I can’t imagine that their souls would be able to finally rest if we don’t stop this now, while we can.” You whisper this into the thick of his hair, stopping mid comb through the locks. “Please Woo, I need your help. This is something only the two of us can do effectively without risking the others as the night thickens. Set them free– your gift is the only one that could truly help doing that alongside me. You and I will carry this sin together.” You’re pleading to him as he slows his tears into silence and moves to stare bloodshot and helpless into your own eyes. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know that he agreed to do it.

You needed to reduce the church and everything inside of it to ashes with Wooyoung’s gift before you were able to act as a portal the moment the brands were removed.  He needed to give you that segway, his burning’s the perfect barricade; this was the plan. You had to remind yourself and make a tiny makeshift checklist in your head to steel yourself for what was to come. 

You pull a blade out of your trenchcoat after tugging its sleeves up, preparing ahead of time by piercing various scarred sigils, smearing the blood with your thumbs across the entire expanse of your arm– grimacing as you made contact with your own stigmata. The universe was cruel, and you bit back a sob as you stared at the children rabidly fighting the others as they blocked the entry ways. 

“Stop! It’s too late–get out of the church. We can’t exorcise them like this.” Most of them stared with apprehension, not wanting to leave the situation as is but also not knowing how to move forward.

You choked back a sob but couldn’t stop your tears from falling “We have to burn everything. Everything.”

Horror dawns on their faces but parts of them already noticed that everything they tried had failed. 

“Go– get out now. Wooyoung and I will deal with this.” You see them rise to protest, but you immediately shut them down. “Now’s not the time, go.”

As they rush out, Wooyoung marches to the center of the church, unbuttoning his dress shirt before rolling the sleeves up once more. With a quick roll of his neck, he holds his hands out to drag his hands almost languidly across the sides of the pews, slowly walking towards the center. 

The demons stop their laughter to tilt their head curiously before one hissed at a drifting ember, eyes widening in realization. ‘Hellfire!’

By this point, Wooyoung had burnt the surrounding pillars, barricading them in as the beams of the church fell before them. Their screams of panic sounded frighteningly similar to a child's as they started to beg– to manipulate their way out of this. 

“You’re going to burn the children, Exorcist?”

You could see the affect these words had on Wooyoung and yell out “No! Wooyoung, don’t let it fuck with you.” 

The demons finally take note of your presence when you finally unveiled it, and their eyes widened in horror as they took in the renowned sigils and stigmata on your arms.

“Strega!”

The shrieks only heightened as you turned to Wooyoung “Woo, finish it and get out of the church– it’s starting to cave in, and I need to do my end of things.”

At this, you run back towards the entrance–coughing as the smoke thickened the air. 

Pressing you forearms together, you call upon Raziel– dragging your thumb to reopen the already sealing wound on your skin. A white light pierces through the air momentarily as thin as a shooting star slicing across the open space, waiting–opening.

The air shifts as the Exorcists watch you inhale deeply. The parish is officially up in flames and Wooyoung stumbles out of the church to stand next to you, covered in soot. His skin is reddened but not blistered– a common factor of using his ability to more extreme extents. 

A faint light radiates from you and your scars as you mumble incoherently in a language they can’t recognize. Tongues.

The group moves forward to stand behind you both as you watch the remainder of the church fall, and your body lurches forward at the familiar weight of pressure passing through your spirit.

You haven’t forgotten this part, and you dreaded it. It always felt like stretching an internalized bruise– pushing at your organs like saran wrap, before disappearing passed you into the frightening place that looms like a death sentence behind you; the infernal, waiting with only a thin layer between your soul and its gate. You don’t count how many passes through you– but your gifts feel like a weakened muscle after so long without its use. 

You don’t know how long it went for, but you fall forward once it ends. Catching Wooyoung’s gaze as you both are suddenly aware of the new nightmares that will now greet your restless sleep. Wooyoung alas falls to his knees before crumbling backwards into your form, his loud sobs carrying into the soot-stained wind.  You cradle him from behind, wrapping your arms around his larynx, and stare blankly at your irreversible sin.

Before you realize it, a song leaves you. The liturgy that was sung at the funeral not many hours before this fast-landing terror–

You suddenly remember its name now. 

In paradisum. 

Without your knowledge, you finally break to join Wooyoung in his cries– singing into his shape. You push through to shakily utter a final hope– one you were unable to say was a prayer because you didn’t know to who it’d go.

”From the fire we came and to the fire we return to–may it blaze and welcome all of those who herald its holy light. In its warmth, may our bodies alas release the weight of our Earthly burdens and pains. Gone is the body, ash to the soul.”

You rock Wooyoung’s body before meeting Hongjoong’s strangely empty eyes.

♰𖣐♰

© velvetdolor 2025. All rights reserved.

Siren’s corner: i have no clue how i suddenly wrote this today but here i am– somehow devil’s catch is always the easiest to breeze through of all my stories. as some of you may know, i’ve bravely released a FUCK ton of incoming works– but finishing fatal attraction and for the thrill of the hunt is on the top of my priority list. thrill of the hunt may take a bit longer to finish since there’s about three to four chapters left (this includes san’s special chapter, but only two chapters for the main storyline)

i’ve released two special series events/ masterlists for my ateez cinema series (pt.ii) and my ateez mythology series, gods of the old and forgotten world. i recently completed a mini drabble series, i give my first love to you. feel free to check out my masterlist if you’d want to read any of my other ongoing/posted works! 

[Siren’s witchy corner/Dark historical facts]

The song mentioned, in paradisum is an actual liturgy, often heard at a Requiem Mass, which is a special type of Mass for the dead. 

The liturgy translates the meaning of a souls arrival into the ‘Holy City’, aka Jerusalem  with hopes that a choir of Angels would welcome them and they’d finally achieve eternal rest. 

My choosing of the name Polycarp was intentional for the church/parish. As in history, Saint Polycarp was Martyred by being burnt at the stake and stabbed with a dagger when the fire failed to kill him. It’s actually quite sad. Very sad. 

[ozzgin]

I was pondering on what horrors to write for Halloween and when I remembered how many times I’d hoped for Valak content…I ran and whipped out my Grimoire and started typing in delirious inspiration.

Yandere! Valak x Reader

Featuring the Infernal President and a blissfully unaware reader backpacking through Romania. Warning: NSFW, blasphemy, non-consent

[Horror Masterlist]

“Mommy told me something

A little kid should know

It’s all about the Devil

And I’ve learned to hate him so

She said he causes trouble

When you let him in the room

He will never ever leave you

If your heart is filled with gloom”

"Now, you can't really say you've visited Romania until you see at least one monastery! Most Romanians are very religious, so churches and monasteries are popular attractions for tourists and locals alike." The tour guide is awfully enthusiastic for a cloudy Sunday morning. You nod politely and follow the group, although you can already feel yourself become distracted.

You're mostly interested in the old castles and bucolic hiking trails that Transylvania has to offer. Religious places...not so much. Alas, it's part of the experience. You check the flyer containing today's travel plans and google the location mentioned by the guide. Cârța Monastery. Seems to have some ruins included, and you'll be right on time for the Sunday chorus service, huh. Maybe that's why they picked today for a visit. 

You hurry along the cobblestone path until the first traces of a building come into view. Somehow you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You scan over the visible windows, wondering if someone is watching from above. Nothing. Once you lower your gaze again, you notice the tour guide vigorously waving his arm and encouraging you to enter the church with everyone else. You were at the very front of the group, so how long did you stare at walls? You flash an apologetic smile and rush inside. The wooden door closes with a grating creak and you fumble to the first available seat. There's a few coughs and shuffles and eventually the Liturgy begins. Your eyes wander until they find a clear window, so you entertain yourself with the sights outside. It's not like you understand the words of whatever is currently happening, and you're not religious to begin with. 

"How long is this going to take?" you groan internally and switch your focus to your hands, intertwined and resting in your lap. The monotonous chants cause your eyelids to feel heavy and they gradually lower themselves until all you see is black. It's okay, you're not sleeping. It's just a short nap, until...huh...the voices of the singing men diffuse as if distorted by distance and now everything is quiet. 

"Took you long enough." 

You jolt awake. You turn your head to check if whoever is sitting next to you has just spoken, but the room is suddenly empty. You jump from your seat and the thud of your feet hitting the stone floor creates a cavernous echo that sends a shiver down your spine. Ah, could it be that you're dreaming? The candles of the chandelier flicker, as if startled by a breeze, and abruptly go out. 

"I don't like waiting. Especially for mere humans like you."

The same voice as before reverberates through the chamber. It's deep and jarring, sounding almost unnatural. You don't like it. You tilt your head, afraid to find the source of speech but too curious nonetheless. It's a person dressed like a nun. For a brief second you relax your shoulders, assuming it's one of the people living here. But after one step ahead the figure becomes vaguely illuminated, and you can discern the features bearing on this creature's face. Blood drains from your face and you can feel the bile pooling at the back of your throat. A blasphemous deformity, oozing with blight and evil. From within the hollow, dark sockets, two yellow orbs glisten with raw malice. You realize you've held your breath until now as your lungs contract in a pitiful attempt to pump more oxygen. The movement brings back your senses and your flight instincts kick in. You immediately sprint for the door and use your elbow to slam it open, nearly collapsing to the ground. Your eyes squint under the flash of bright light. 

As you pant for air you notice you're back outside. There's people taking photos and talking cheerfully, and inside the church your group seems to have gathered before the iconostasis, listening attentively to a hearty discourse from your guide. The liturgy ended. What on Earth did you just witness? Before you can ponder the event, you feel a tug at your sleeve. It's an old lady, short and comically hunched. She's dressed all in black, with a head covering that hides most of her face, though you can still see the deep wrinkles that cross her features. 

"Oh? Sorry, I don't speak-"

"L-am văzut și eu. Diavolul, maică. Aici nu mai e demult casa Domnului. Pleacă cât mai poți, am să mă rog pentru tine." 

Her voice is shaky and she seems in distress. She strokes your arm once before limping away hastily. You blink and spend a moment trying to collect your thoughts. There's no one else nearby to ask for a translation, so you can only hope she finds help somewhere else. You return to the group and hope you won't have to deal with any other adventures. 

"This is the annex. You can still see some details in the arches." Your guide points around the pillars and mossy brick patches. You take out your phone for some photos and your arms tremble slightly. 

"It's suddenly very cold here, don't you think so?" you remark to your neighbor. 

"Really? I'm quite literally sweating right now" they respond, baffled.

"It's a shaded area, that's probably why."

"Or you're just that excited to see me again."

Your eyes widen. It's the voice. You blink, and you find yourself in the empty church once more. No, no, no, this isn't happening. No. You're dreaming. This is an absurdity. Some hallucination of sorts. You try the door handle, except this time it's locked. 

"It's not often I become interested in a mortal. In fact, this is the only time."

The nun is sitting on a bench, hands together in a praying motion. There's a mocking grin on its face. 

"Maddening, truly. Deplorable, disgraceful, outrageous. Humiliation would await me if they suspected my intentions with a perishable being like you."

"Who the hell are you?" you interrupt the erratic monologue. The nun stands up and locks eyes with you, instantly making you nauseous. 

"The Sixty-second Spirit, President Mighty and Great. His Office is to give True Answers of Hidden Treasures, and to tell where Serpents may be seen. The which he will bring unto the Exorciser without any Force or Strength being by him employed. He governeth 38 Legions of Spirits."

"What?"

"Valac." the creature extends a hand, as if expecting a handshake. "At least that's how they introduce me in the Lesser Key of Solomon." The fingers spread out and you feel a gravitational force pull you closer. It chuckles.

The cold fingers sink into your back and feel like claws digging your flesh. You let out a scream of protest and try to push away without success. It hurts. The touch burns your skin and spreads out like a wicked plague. What would this fiend even want from you? You search your mind for potential meanings and explanations. Truth be told, however, you're not well-versed in theological fantasies. 

"You can't just possess someone's body. I won't accept it. You don't have my permission."

The creature erupts in hysterical laughter and you feel your knees weaken at the sharp, grotesque teeth that creep their way out. Everything about it is vile, scandalous. Unholy.

"If you want to call it like that...Then sure. But for this kind of possession I don't need your input, I'm afraid."

Your limp body is picked up and sloppily thrown over the altar table. The impact of the hard surface against your stomach causes you to gasp. You try to turn your head and look behind, but the large, clawed hand locks around your neck and keeps you in place. You can only glance ahead. You can sense your garments being ripped apart with one swift move and shudder at the unexpected contact with the cold air on your bare body. The creature's other hand slides over your forms before stopping on your bottom, adjusting it. The realization sinks in and you begin to panic. Is this the time to say a prayer? You don't know any. 

"Our Father..." you mumble, trying to remember the continuation. 

"Go on. I'm sure He'd love to hear from you while you're being fucked on His altar. Send Him my regards."

He forces your hips upwards, exposing your intimacy. Without any further delay he thrusts his member in, painfully stretching your entrance around it. Tears well up in your eyes at the sudden discomfort. The iconostasis in front of you blurs and sways with each violent plunge into your frail body. 

"Oh, God" you sob.

"God ends here."

[nordicsilents]

“Liturgy of Hellwings”

At the edge of the world, where the fjords vanish into fog and time ceases to whisper, she spreads her arms - and the fire answers. From the living tattoo on her flesh, wings erupt: no feathers, no mercy, only flame and ash. The raven is calm. The stars have turned red. The covenant burns through her veins.

This is the second chapter in the infernal prophecy series The Ember Covenant by @nordicsilents - a gothic triptych carved in bone and flame:

🔥 Part I – The Covenant is Whispering

🔥 Part II – Liturgy of Hellwings

🔥 Part III – The Raven Throne of Skulls

A tale of fire that walks, of death that dreams, and of a woman who became the prophecy.

The skies burn not by accident — but by vow.

Art by @nordicsilents

Like what you see?

Support the vision on Ko-fi — and help bring more darkness to light.

https://ko-fi.com/nordicsilents

[aurinavenir]

The Grimoire of Honorius

The Grimoire of Honorius is a notorious book of black magic that's often attributed to Pope Honorius III, though its authorship is dubious. The text likely appeared in the 17th or 18th century, well after the death of Honorius III in 1227.

The grimoire became infamous for its detailed instructions on summoning demons, controlling spirits, and performing necromantic rituals, positioning it as one of the more notorious books of black magic. The book was unique because it was designed specifically for priests, containing rituals that intertwined elements of Catholic liturgy, such as saying a Mass, with occult practices. This aspect gave it a sinister reputation, as it appeared to blur the line between religious rituals and dark magic.

Critics of the time, including notable occult scholars like A.E. Waite, labeled it a "malicious imposture" intended to deceive priests and the religiously inclined into believing they could wield infernal powers sanctioned by the Church. The association of Pope Honorius III's name with such a text appears to be a way to lend credibility to the work during a time when magical grimoires were becoming popular.

Despite its dubious origins, the Grimoire of Honorius significantly influenced later occult traditions and grimoires, standing alongside other major works like the Key of Solomon.

[bylagunabay]

Prophecy for the End Time

ANGELIC TRISAGION

The Angelic Trisagion is one of the most beautiful prayers in honor of the Most Holy Trinity and is one of the most ancient hymns in the Christian church. It is a garland of invocations and of praise taken from Holy Scripture and from the Liturgy, which opens the heart to adoration, thanksgiving and love for the Three Divine Persons. It is a solemn echo of the “Holy, Holy, Holy” which the angels and saints sing in heaven. It fills the universe and finds a joyful resonance in the heart of man: “one unceasing hymn of praise to the Holy Trinity.”

Prophecy:

Our Lord Jesus Christ and our Blessed Mother recommended the Holy Trisagion in many of their revelations to Luz de Maria de Bonilla so that humanity may find protection against the infernal powers, from unexpected death, lightning, earthquakes, plague, pestilence and tribulation.

Luz de María: “Jesus told me that humanity, when it has tribulations, may turn to the prayer of the Holy Rosary and to the prayer of the Holy Trisagion" (18 March 2018).

Mary to Luz de María: "The earth will tremble! I call you not to forget that where a soul devout to the most Holy Trinity prays the Holy Trisagion, lessening of the scourges will be granted" (29 September 2010).

Jesus to Luz de María: “The water continues to lash the whole Earth unexpectedly, the winds are stronger, volcanoes are activated, and the earth shakes strongly. The signs overhead do not stop and still you do not believe. The moon looks slightly darkened, a harbinger of darkness coming to human creatures. In October you will see the ring of fire and earth trembles. (16 September 2024)

Note: You have the option to pray the English or Latin version of the Trisagion.

[sisterdivinium]

I.

War, he’d said, as if they had not just lost Shannon to it. War, as if the scars on her own body and the bruises and broken bones of her girls were due to child’s play.

But Mother Superion would obey; the cane she grips tight had taught her.

War not against the infernal hordes, but to a heretic — Jillian Salvius, scientist extraordinaire, defiler of holy relics who could not be bled dry with impunity… She would be decimated. Demons ran rampant, but she must fall.

Superion clenches her jaw. This is a distraction, dangerous folly.

… Yet this is war.

II.

She could tell those keen blue eyes had pierced through her veil as easily as her own had shredded the lab coat; where others saw enmity, their opposed species of wisdom saw equivalence. Faith, science… And one conclusion.

This fiend, this blasphemer she would have destroyed, with whose blood she would’ve dirtied her hands and the souls of her sisters, was but a woman. Intelligent, ambitious — suffering, devoted… Mother Superion might as well have hunted herself.

Jillian Salvius is no threat, not to the church.

She wonders whether this woman might forgive her for the crimes against her never committed.

III.

Jillian comes to her, as a sinner to confession.

She finds herself going to Jillian, too.

It would be indecent with any of the others; they hadn't been scarred, branded by their own hands as the two of them, they hadn't shared in enough shame as Jillian and Suzanne had.

The words sound foreign at first, but their tongue proves to have the same root.

When all slumber, they meet. Night shadows cover the open wounds and they are no longer nun or doctor or allies or enemies — only voices in the same darkness, glimmering faintly, tasting of common blood.

IV.

She is a soldier; her purpose is death. To kill — to be killed.

Mother Superion's life seeps out of her slowly rather than in the blast she had readied herself for. The pain is nothing; ignominy stings deeper.

Regrets...

Jillian's eyes analyse her, her hands travel her frantically, grip her, denying the pull of the tomb. Suzanne regrets that they waste so much energy, that she wasted so much life, that she saw so many sisters go — and now this woman would keep her.

But she cannot.

Beatrice loosens the chains.

Darkness.

Nothing.

... Light. Breath.

A daughter in her arms.

V.

... And a son made saint through the sin of sapience, a daughter's ghost left behind in the manner of a miracle.

Memories, now. Martyrs.

Suzanne's scars might have healed but still they ache. Jillian trembles and burns and breaks in her embrace. She is not used to irrevocable loss — she is not used to war.

Nor should she be, nor anyone.

Jillian had held her, refused to surrender her, so she would return the favour: in the void, there would still be love. In despair, she would still have a sister.

Common blood. A holy ritual of two — violent consubstantiation.

VI.

She would have killed her once, a target upon her heart.

But now, in darkness, baptised in their children's blood, she finds herself in her bed, underneath her, vows silenced by starving skin.

Their words had been soaked in crimson for too long — they had need of another language they could speak, a new liturgy in a godless world.

After mass, when adoration has quieted, Suzanne wakes to a hunched Jillian, veil in hand, avoiding the naked woman she has just worshipped.

"... What have I done now?"

Suzanne pulls her gently, discards the fabric, kisses her.

"Nothing I didn't want."

VII.

The carnage is done: angels are rid of their wings; the formulae that explain life were struck out and written anew; oaths were broken, oaths were sworn.

New lines are drawn, the battlefield swells, and hallowed places are no more. The devils sound the horns of holy war and tear down the icons, set hellfire on temple and laboratory alike, perverse, pitiless.

But their church stands.

Built upon forbidden land, intangible, eternal, its walls and halls were carved out of their names. Suzanne and Jillian find refuge amidst the pandemonium in one another's arms.

Not always, not only — but enough.

[pronounsmegamix]

hii! i saw you answer requests so i wanna ask: can i get come cemetery or church related, horror related and/or in general "unholy" pronouns? :3 you don't have to answer if you don't want to ofc!

btw thank you for all your time and work!!

Hi! Of course! I love the aesthetic, btw, it's amazing! :D

cemetery:

cre / crim / crypt / crypts / cryptself

ne / nec / necro(polis) / necros / necroself

ca / cad / cadaver / cadavers / cadavself

co / cor / corpse / corpses / corpseself

en / tombed / tombs / entombedself

de / dec / decays / decayself

mau / maus / mauso / mausos / mausoself (or mausoleumself)

church:

fae / faith / faiths / faithself

lit / litur / liturgys / liturself

dei / deim / deus / deusself

choir / choirs / choirself

cathe / cath / cathedral / cathedrals / catheself

an(oi) / anoin / anoint / anoints / anointself

horror:

blee / bleed / bleeds / bleedself

cho / choke / chokes / chokeself

wi / wick / wicked / wickeds / wickself (or wickedself)

bo / bone / bones / boneself

te / ter / terror / terrors / terrorself

gre / grim / grims / grimself

sla / slash / slasher / slashers / slashself

unholy:

co / cor / corrupt / corrupts / corruptself

sa / sacri / sacrilege / sacris / sacriself

fie / fien / fiend / fiends / fiendself

in / infern / infernal / infernals / infernalself

ana / anath / anathema / anathemas / anathself

Thank you for requesting! I hope you have an amazing day!

[testudoaubrei-blog]

Well if I run out of long ass She Ra analyses I can always do a series of like 12 posts on the role of liturgy, infernal imagery and Marian symbolism in Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Just kidding I will never run out of long ass She Ra analyses.

[alephskoteinos]

It's a shame that the Mithras Liturgy might be contextualised by a negative account of genesis (the instruction of the magician to avoid the moon) and that there's a link to it in the Chaldean Oracles which tell you never to invoke the image of Physis (the moon). It tracks, but it does seem that the cosmic pessimism of some schools of Platonism and theurgy really illustrates a fearful attitude to matter that I'd say is not all that befitting of the sun. Fortunately as Edmonds reminds us, the same spiritual ecosystem is home to very different views. Yet there is a sense in which Crowley revolutionised the conceptualisation of theurgy centuries later, because even if "the White School" does not "deny the evil in matter", it also loves matter/Physis, and most of all loves the transmutation of matter.

I believe this idea has some harmony with Iamblichus' views on embodiment, which in turn are (funny enough) ultimately based on Plato's Timaeus. As far as this part of Platonism is concerned, the soul's embodiment and genesis are basically good, being necessary for the manifestation of the divine. I embrace a sado-surrealist extension of this: alchemy as John Balance said is the transformation of matter, the embodiment of the soul is the reason for its ability to experience all sorts of pleasures that perhaps it otherwise wouldn't and enables it transform the body-self complex and the cosmos. Existence is joy indeed: the embodied soul may access the ability to modify the world around them, along with themselves, and derive the Sadean pleasure from it that Geoffrey Gorer described. And, of course, the embodied soul can go on to realise a new unity in itself, and fornicate with reality. And of course, every "spiritual alchemist" worth their salt knows that sin is good at least because it can be turned into the basis of all the greatest virtues there are, greater than any of the pious virtues.

To borrow what I'm sure is an Orphic metaphor or at least via the Derveni Papyrus, the sun does not depart from the sea (or the world): it fornicates with it. As does the Thracian king fornicate in the underworld after his death. Therefore, where some of the old theurgists viewed Hekate and her demons along with the other chthonic gods as adversaries (and some definitely didn't), I'd say that in this light these chthonic-demonic beings are your friends, and the demons of goetia and their infernal leaders just the same.

The moon, in a cosmology that takes such a negative view of genesis, can become a threatening presence, a powerful force for harm. The face of the full moon is associated with terror and madness, the gorgon’s head the sight of which can kill or petrify. The moon is the image of Physis, the personification of the material world, and theurgists are warned not to invoke the image of Physis or to look upon her. She is the mother of the daimones that inhabit the material world, the evil spirits who work harm upon the human race. Looking upon the moon or calling on her name brings the powers of genesis, the forces that bind the soul into its body. The moon, is seen not as a helpful intermediary, a necessary step on the way up through the heavens, but as a dangerous power that must be avoided, bypassed with an appeal to beneficent powers of the higher realms, to prevent her from keeping the soul in the dark realm of matter. As the ruler of genesis, the moon is a power whose influence is dangerous and hostile to the soul that is trying to escape from the shackles of fate that bind it to the material world.

"At the Seizure of the Moon: The Absence of the Moon in the Mithras Liturgy", by Radcliffe Edmonds in Prayer, Magic, and the Stars in the Ancient and Late Antique World.

[forbidden-sorcery]

An interesting document that explicitly explored the intersection between magick and anarchy is “Liber Nihil: The Book of Nothing – Magickal Nihilism” by Hunter. This began with an exploration of how the concept of formal truth colonizes and controls existence, and “what flourishes outside these gates of uncertainty remains unbound; wild forests of though, uncharted ideas, hidden pathways, experiences unknown and yet-to-be-reduced to description. This piece consciously modeled itself on the occult texts used by groups like the Ordo Templi Orientis or the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, in much the same way Discordians and Subgenii appropriate the forms of liturgy and evangelical tracts. Max Stirner’s concept of the creative nothing was applied to magick: “Thus the creative nothing which spawns from the individual is also the magickal nothing”. Ceremonial conceptions of ritual is replaced with play (“aesthetically driven experimental acts”).         Through exploring the use of hoax documents such as The Necronomicon, Liber Nihil attempted to explore how magick can be consciously used to break down belief systems: “the immense power to make-believe must always be constructed on non-belief, and remain suspensions of belief rather than entrenchments of such”. A conscious, active nihilism is a very healthy thing. It is a necessary component of any anti-civilization project. This relates to a verse by Blake: “This I shall do, by printing in the infernal method, by corrosives, which in Hell are salutary and medicinal, melting apparent surfaces away, and displaying the infinite which was hid”.

Jason Rodgers - Feral Magick (Oak Journal 1)

[anthonychiozza]

AGE OF ABORTION PREFIGURED

     The Seven Sorrows Rosary is not incredibly well known among most Catholics. Some know about the Seven Sorrows devotion to Mary, also know as the Seven Dolors, but are unaware of the Seven Sorrows Rosary, which Mary herself has asked we pray in our modern times. “It was on 3rd March 1982 that this Rosary was introduced at Kibeho, during the apparition when the Virgin Mary promised Marie-Claire Mukangango that she would teach her. The Virgin Mary taught this prayer to her children after repeatedly asking them (in the apparitions to Alphonsine and Nathalie) to accept the pain and to be converted without delay.” This apparition has been approved by the Bishop of Kibeho, and thus is worthy of belief. (1) This meditation on the suffering of Mary and Jesus in the Seven Sorrows Rosary inspired the well known film directed by Mel Gibson, “The Passion of The Christ.” We are all called to carry our own cross, which the Lord has fit to our shoulder specifically, and will lead to our salvation, given we cooperate with His Grace. There are seven meditations, and there are seven very powerful promises granted by the Lord, through Our Lady, for those that utilize this devotion. The final promise is the most powerful of all. The seventh promise is the closest thing you will ever see to being assured of salvation in the Catholic Faith.

     “According to the visions of St. Bridget of Sweden (1303-1373) our Blessed Mother promises to grant seven graces to those who honor her and draw near to her and her Son every day by meditating on her dolors (sorrows) and entering into her grief.”

"I will grant peace to their families."

"They will be enlightened about the divine Mysteries."

"I will console them in their pains and will accompany them in their work."

"I will give them as much as they ask for as long as it does not oppose the adorable will of my divine Son or the sanctification of their souls."

"I will defend them in their spiritual battles with the infernal enemy and I will protect them at every instant of their lives."

"I will visibly help them at the moment of their death-- they will see the face of their mother."

"I have obtained this grace from my divine Son, that those who propagate this devotion to my tears and dolors will be taken directly from this earthly life to eternal happiness, since all their sins will be forgiven and my Son will be their eternal consolation and joy." (2)

    Why are we being called to this devotion in our particular time? We are surrounded by the culture of death, and the snares of the devil are more prevalent in our age than before the Great Flood. The worst sins dragging those to hell are sins of the flesh. This is confirmed by the apparition of Our Lady of Fatima, which is not only Church approved, but has its own feast day as well! (5) When people are addicted to fornication, death is sure to follow in the form of war. Further, gravely disordered perversions have arisen in society. What else could we expect, but millions of dead babies through abortion, when such perversions reign in mans’ heart? For those that believe that the creative power is their power to use as they see fit, one only need read Pope Paul VI encyclical letter, Humanae Vitae from decades past. The document reads like a prophecy when we compare his warnings to what has unfolded in society regarding the destruction of the family. (3)

    The second Sorrow in the Seven Sorrows Rosary devotion asks us to meditate on the flight of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus into Egypt. Egypt was a pagan culture, much like the culture we find ourselves in today. Is this meditation a prefiguration of the culture of death and abortion? Consider in Scripture we see King Herod ordering the death of all of the baby boys in order to try and destroy the Christ Child. “...And an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there till I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child to destroy him.‘ And he rose and took the child and his mother by night, and departed to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet, Out of Egypt have I called my Son‘‖ (Matthew 2:13–15). However, unlike in our times, when women and men celebrate the death of babies, the women spoken of in Matthew weep.

“A voice was heard in Ramah,

Lamentation, weeping, and great mourning,

Rachel weeping for her children,

Refusing to be comforted,

Because they are no more.”

    Recall that king Herod’s future son, and future king, would have John the Baptist’s head put on a plate because John dared to speak the truth regarding the indissolubility of marriage. Do you think the son just happened to pick up the sins of lust and fornication, or did his father pass these thorns on to him? We have the same situation today with skyrocketing divorce, hearts left shattered, and human sacrifice of the most vulnerable of our society to satan’s altar, all in the name of the “god of freedom.” Free love isn’t love, but lust on fire for temporary pleasure, even when the cost is death.

    Why should you start the Seven Sorrows Rosary devotion? The real question is why wouldn’t you? You are assured the Graces you need to make it to heaven by spreading this devotion. The easiest way to start is to say this devotion with your children, and have them pass it on to their children. Through this chain of roses to Our Lady we will not only fall in love with Jesus, but save our souls, and transform this culture of death. Our Lady of Kibeho, pray for us!

Diocese of kibeho. Kibeho Sanctuary.http://kibeho-sanctuary.com/index.php/en/liturgy/holy-rosary Accessed January 2016.

(2)

http://battlebeads.com/chaplets/7sorrowspromises.html

Accessed January 2016

(3) Pope Paul VI. Humanae-Vitae.

http://w2.vatican.va/content/paul-vi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-vi_enc_25071968_humanae-vitae.html

Accessed January 2016.

(4) Knights of Columbus. Seven Dolors.

http://www.kofc.org/un/en/resources/cis/devotionals/sevendolors.pdf

Accessed January 2016

(5) Matthew Pearson. ChurhcMilitant.

http://www.churchmilitant.com/news/article/fatima-how-to-save-mankind-from-hell

Accessed January 2016.

PHOTO BY: Anthony Chiozza

WRITTEN BY: Anthony Chiozza

[nordicsilents]

“The Raven Throne of Skulls”

She no longer walks - she reigns. Crowned with thorns and flame, seated upon a throne of bone and ash, she is the silence after prophecy. The raven watches from her shoulder. The mountain behind her weeps blood through ice. At her feet lie kings long dead, their crowns shattered, their names forgotten.

This is the final chapter of The Ember Covenant, the infernal trilogy by @nordicsilents - a descent through fire, ruin, and divine reckoning:

🔥 Part I – The Covenant is Whispering

🔥 Part II – Liturgy of Hellwings

🔥 Part III – The Raven Throne of Skulls

She was the omen. She became the blade. Now, she is the throne.

The fire does not burn out - it takes form.

Art by @nordicsilents

Like what you see?

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[shinss1-blog]

Exorcism Latin and English

EXORCISM SPELLS (LATIN & ENGLISH) This is a prayer against Satan and his rebellious angels. It was published by the Order of His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. This simple prayer must be said by a priest only.

The term “exorcism”“ does NOT always denote a solemn exorcism involving a person possessed by the devil. In general, the term denotes prayers to "curb the power of the devil and prevent him from doing harm.” As St. Peter had written in Holy Scripture, “your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion,goes about seeking whom he may devour.” [1 St.Pet. 5:8]

The Holy Father exhorts priests to say this prayer as often as possible, as a simple exorcism to curb the power of the devil and prevent him from doing harm. The faithful also may say it in their own name, for the same purpose, as any approved prayer. Its use is recommended whenever action of the devil is suspected, causing malice in men, violent temptations and even storms and various calamities. It could be used as a solemn exorcism (an official and public ceremony, in Latin), to expel the devil. It would then be said by a priest, in the name of the Church and only with a Bishop’s permission.

EXORCISM SPELLS): † (Original Latin Spells) Exorcizamus te, omnis immunde spiritus, omni satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomini et virtute Domini nostri Jesu Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguini redemptis.

(In English Version) We cast you out, every unclean spirit, every satanic power, every onslaught of the infernal adversary, every legion, every diabolical group and sect, in the name and by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ. We command you, begone and fly far from the Church of God, from the souls made by God in His image and redeemed by the precious blood of the divine Lamb.

Source(s): Roman Ritual, 1952.

† (Original Latin Spell) Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux. Vade retro Satana! Nunquam suade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!

(In English Version) May the holy cross be my light! May the dragon never be my guide. Begone Satan! Never tempt me with your vanities! What you offer me is evil. Drink the poison yourself! This is from the St. Benedict exorcism medal.

The method of exorcism most useful against demons is to recite an incantation which is long and detailed, which is heavily charged with energy that comes not from the mind, but from the glory of the gods. This kind of exorcism is often used by religions such as Christianity, because you do not need to possess magical gifts to be able to use energy that comes from the gods.

This method is a good one for two reasons. First, it uses a force so pure that when the demon leaves the body of the victim, it will already be so immersed in this energy that it will be annihilated. Secondly, you do not need to adapt the incantation according to the identity or strength of the evil spirit, since the power of the gods still exceed the power of the demon.

The Latin language was the vulgar language of Rome, used by scholar, orator, prostitute and the apocalyptic beast. The Roman Church wanted to use the common, vulgar language, making this the sacred language of the Church, that is, the language into which Scripture would be translated (the Vulgate [from vulgar or common]), and in which the Liturgy would be celebrated, including sacramentals like exorcism.

Some decades before the dumbed-down non-translation of the first ICEL attempt to translate the Mass into English some 40 years ago, translations of the rite of exorcism started to appear. They were clearly translated by someone who either did not know Latin very well, or who just wasn’t worried about how precise he was, perhaps because the “translation” was never meant to be used. It was just an indication of what was happening in the Latin text, which surely would be used.

Texts are important inasmuch as they are used to communicate. Different texts communicate differently. One would want to express that which the Church wants to be expressed, especially with something so sensitive as exorcism, no? This would be the primary benefit of using Latin.

The language itself as a language has nothing to offer more than that. “Is using Latin more powerful in exorcisms?” is a question that is raised frequently enough. Very frequently, in fact. No, it’s not more powerful. One shouldn’t use it superstitiously. And, by the way, I don’t care who you are or what schooling you’ve had, the devil is better at Latin than you are. If you use it out of pride, he will make your head spin. Humility in all things.

Even if an excellent translation of the 1614 ritual were to be used, it is not always a good idea to use it, depending on the circumstances of those present. Not all those assisting might have a stomach strong enough to take even hours of these kinds of texts in English being recited, so dramatically evocative are they.

There are parts of the ritual for which you might want to use a translation, even if you laudably recite the rest in Latin. For instance, the litany of saints.

However, for obvious reasons, it would be good to ask the mandated questions to Satan in Latin or in an obscure language you are certain that the possessed person does not understand, and has probably never seen on TV or heard on the radio.

[tempslong]

A mesure que le soleil s’efface, la campagne tiédit. Après une longue étreinte, le ciel accouche de l’heure mauve. Prés et bouchures se parent d’une teinte antique. Partout les routes de granit rose reflètent une lueur d’or. Sur les collines avoisinantes, les éoliennes suffoquent. Le vent a cessé. Ici aussi, le bien a semé ses graines. On y sert la liturgie de la planète propre. Après avoir déclaré l’environnement en danger, on y aura enfoui des fondations de béton et d’acier sur lesquelles trônent à présent des mâts de terres rares. Les nouveaux moulins se dressent et clignotent rouge dans le soir. L’avancisme envoie fièrement les signaux dérisoires d’une victoire en trompe l’œil. Le cortège infernal du mieux fait son oeuvre. Le chant qui flotte autour de lui redouble de puissance. Son oriflamme est brandie fièrement pendant qu’opposants et partisans guerroient ici et là. Survit péniblement le monde de toujours, que les uns et les autres appellent de leurs vœux à l’enfouissement ; un monde angoissé de disparaître, encapsulé, excommunié, incompris par les chirurgiens du progrès et les apôtres de la tolérance. Pas d’emploi ? La fibre optique passera et le ciment fera le reste. Pas de vie ? Pousseront les lotissements éco-construits et les villages fleuris, les supermarchés américanistes et les chapelles de sport. Ceux qui savent pour autrui se chargent d’introduire leur fiel dans toutes ces gorges que l’on gave avidement. La salamandre du bien traverse les territoires, nourrissant le bon feu, éteignant le mauvais.

[republicstandard]

Spineless Anglicans Appease the Progressive Reich. Cowards!

Amazing Appeasement, how sweet the sound, that saved an evangelical wretch like me!

Let me say this without an iota of irony. The Church of England’s evangelical bishops and clergy are decent, gracious and godly. They are refined and respectable—gentle, genteel, and gentlemen. They are steeped in the English tradition of courtesy and fair play. “It’s not cricket,” they’ll tell you if you put a foot wrong. They can spot a split infinitive a mile away.

Most have been to public school and Oxbridge; those of less noble upbringing managed to make it to the London School of Economics. One of my former parishioners, who attended Emmanuel Church, Wimbledon, would joke about how no one there ever enquired which university you went to, but what college you were at. “They presumed we all went to Oxbridge; I never quite felt at home because I went to Uxbridge,” he would say with a grimace and a chuckle.

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These honorable men (they are all biological men) also have a zeal for biblical doctrine and liturgy unadulterated by Popery. They’d suffer a fit of asthmatic wheezing if they inhaled a whiff of incense; candles on the altar would prompt an iconoclastic purge, and a priest wearing a chasuble would be seen as embracing the Whore of Babylon. Some of these courageous men refused to don even a stole at their ordination.

Not surprisingly, conservative laypeople in the CofE have looked to these leaders to remain as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar and as brave as the English reformers who chose to be barbecued rather than bought for a price. Recent events, however, have left us a tad disappointed.

The juggernaut of Archbishop Welby’s progressive Panzers has stampeded like rogue elephants into the heart of the evangelical Sudetenland. How have these our evangelical bravehearts responded? Surely they haven’t been frozen into ice sculptures by the vulturine glint from Sarah Mullally, Bishop of London, as in Tennyson’s Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner?

Bishop Mullally holds him with her glittering eye—

The conservative evangelicals stood still,

And listened like a three years’ child:

Bishop Mullally hath her will (adapted).

I had waited with great expectations for these gospel champions to hunt down heresy with horses and hounds and blaring horn in a full-blooded foxhunt (ignore Oscar Wilde who called it “the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable”).

Surely they would rise in pulpit and media and with full-throated Churchillian fortissimo goad their troops: “we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the pulpits, we shall fight in the parish church and in the cathedrals.” No? Perhaps not like Churchill, who was vain as a peacock, volcanic with his insults and an indefatigable consumer of tobacco and alcohol—All Souls Langham Place would give him the bum’s rush.

So who might be a more fitting exemplar of our conservative evangelical leaders? How about Churchill’s predecessor Neville Chamberlain, who was hailed as semi-divine? His Munich deal with Hitler led journalist Godfrey Winn to exclaim:

“Praise be to God and to Mr. Chamberlain. I find no sacrilege, no bathos, in coupling those two names.”

Opening and closing to the strains of the song “A fine old English Gentleman” Harry Roy and his Orchestra recorded this song in praise of Neville in 1939.

God bless you, Mr. Chamberlain

We’re all mighty proud of you,

You look so swell holding your umbrella,

All the world loves a wonderful fella.

Historian John Charmley, Chamberlain’s greatest defender, presents him as most people in the 1930s saw him—a “far-sighted” and decent man doing his best for his people, while Churchill is a war-mongering opportunist with terrible judgment.

“My good friends, for the second time in our history, a British Prime Minister has returned from Germany bringing peace with honor. I believe it is peace for our time … Go home and get a nice quiet sleep,” Chamberlain says, waving his umbrella, on his return from his Munich meeting with the Führer. Archbishop of Canterbury, Cosmo Gordon Lang, chimes in: “We sincerely hope that this measure of appeasement may lead to others in its train.”

Historian Telford Taylor defines appeasement as “a conciliatory, yielding approach” to conflict resolution … reflecting a “foolish faith in the pacifying effect of concessions to a foe bent on aggression, or a gullible reliance on promises from a source already established as untrustworthy”. Churchill puts it more pithily:

“An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.”

Evangelicals who until very recently were troubled by Justin Welby’s mantra of “good disagreement” suddenly find themselves making “good appeasement”, treating their sworn enemies with the same degree of distrust Bertie Wooster would have for Steggles the bookmaker. Are these examples of appeasement?

The President of the Church of England Evangelical Council Bishop Julian Henderson appeases the transgender lobby by overseeing and blessing the baptism-based liturgy for transgender initiation.

Bishop Rod Thomas, the only evangelical bishop who rejects women’s ordination, tacitly endorses a woman bishop by his presence at Vivienne Faull, Bishop of Bristol’s enthronement (and trumpets it on his website).

William Taylor, Rector of St Helen’s Bishopsgate, who refused to cede authority to Bishop Mullally until she had affirmed an orthodox position on sexuality, steps forward to rake in armfuls of dosh and offers his church as a ‘national resource church’ (along with a merry band of evangelicals from All Souls Langham Place, et al).

I asked Bishop Rod for clarification. He says he attended Faull’s enthronement because he’s an assistant bishop in the diocese. He writes: “I am intending to clarify with Bishop Viv what her standpoint is on same-sex relationships.” Hasn’t Rod heard of Google?

“The blessing of a gay relationship is not theologically a problem for me personally, but I’m under the discipline of the Church, and I keep the rules,” says Faull. In an interview, she reveals that though she follows the rules banning official wedding-like services for gay couples, she has previously “found ways” of celebrating gay and lesbian couples’ civil partnerships. What more does Rod need to know?

You see the problem? The Achilles Heel of the entire evangelical leadership is their “foolish faith in the pacifying effect of concessions”, a “gullible reliance on promises” and their Chamberlain-like naïveté in the face of totalitarian progressive forces “already established as untrustworthy”. As Nazi tanks crossed into Poland in 1939, an American senator said:

“Lord, if only I could have talked to Hitler, all of this might have been avoided.”

Evangelicals are responding to the crossing of the Maginot Line by the baptism-based transgender liturgy. The godly Lee Gatiss conducts a skillful autopsy of this liturgical cadaver and gravely states that “we continue to have extremely serious concerns”. He regrets that people will “find themselves more estranged from the Church of England”. So, Lee, what do we do now? Because this middle-class English circumlocution leaves us neither here nor there! Like Lee, evangelicals issue statements; so far not a single evangelical leader has issued a call for action.

How do they think the progressives in power will respond to evangelical huffing and puffing? In India, when an elephant walks the streets, dozens of stray dogs begin to bark and howl. But the elephant knows one thing. The infernal racket will only last a few minutes. The pachyderm doesn’t pay the slightest attention to the diminutive canines. He walks on unruffled.

Anglican social media sites are abuzz with the usual mix of debate, whining, and fake bravado. But none of those shielded by their computer screens are willing to go public. Some parishes stopped funding the diocese a long time ago, few say they are making exit plans, but there is no notice of D-Day yet. Do they think the powers-that-be will take the slightest note and change their course of action? No! Nein! Nada!

Why? Because conservative evangelical Chamberlains are plentiful, but there isn’t a single Churchill calling for “blood, toil, tears and sweat” and offering “hunger, thirst, forced marches, battle, and death” and loss of stipends, buildings, pensions and privilege in return.

I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet, but I’m going to hazard a prediction. Not a single conservative evangelical cleric or parish will begin its Exodus from the CofE in days or months or even years to come. The progressives will continue their rampage through the Church of England destroying everything holy, true, righteous, orthodox and biblical. This is what cultural Marxists do—they destroy what others have built.

Conservatives, on the other hand, conserve; they also build and create. But because conservatives are too cowardly to oppose the new Anglican realpolitik, they will appease and ultimately acquiesce. I so desperately want my prediction to be proven wrong, so Lord hear my prayer!

We already have a striking illustration of this capitulation. Last year when the Scottish Episcopal Church (SEC) amended its canon law to allow same-sex weddings, a smaller congregation left but St Paul’s and St George’s one of its largest and wealthiest evangelical congregations remained even though the denomination had crossed the “red line”.

Its 2018 financial statement reveals that the congregational giving increased by 4% to £1,020,170. Ps and Gs Church gives £78,197 to the Edinburgh Diocese and the SEC. “We will continue to encourage the Diocese (together with the leaders of other churches) to establish mixed-mode training for ordained ministers. We want to train and equip younger ordinands, mission-minded leaders and worship leaders,” it proudly announces.

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Bruce Thornton, in his book The Wages of Appeasement, offers three reasons why we appease powerful and tyrannical forces: fear, self-interest and ideals/ideas. The first two are self-explanatory in the case of Anglican evangelicals. The third is a delusional ideal that remaining within an apostate church is to be preferred for the cause of the gospel.

There was once an evangelical Churchill—Dr. Martyn Lloyd Jones. On 18th October 1966, he addressed a packed meeting in London and pleaded with evangelicals to leave denominations corrupted by false doctrine. Chairing the meeting was John Stott, Rector of All Souls. Stott had already spoken at the meeting. But just as Lloyd-Jones finished his address, Stott arose not to close the meeting, but to contradict what Lloyd-Jones had just said. Stott was afraid that many evangelical leaders would respond to Lloyd-Jones and would leave their denominations—particularly the Church of England.

I hold both John Stott and Martyn Lloyd-Jones in the highest esteem. Both had a profound impact on my life and ministry. It was difficult for me to takes sides in an issue that divided two of my Christian heroes. For years I believed Stott was right. But as false teaching began to poison the Church of England, I was forced to admit that Martyn Lloyd-Jones was right. If clergy had heeded his call and left the Church of England, we wouldn’t have evangelicals appeasing the bishops like a chorus of Chamberlains.

“Appeasement, then, did not happen just once, in the England of the Thirties. It is an eternal temptation for all peoples who for various reasons lose their nerve in the face of an enemy who wants to destroy them,” warns Thornton. The wages of appeasement is death.

Besides this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep.

from Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine https://ift.tt/2LlFfw8 via IFTTT

[nordicsilents]

"The Covenant is Whispering"

She stands amidst the shattered bones of sanctity - the ruins of a forgotten cathedral, where crosses crumble and skulls remember. The raven carries her oath through fire and dusk, bound by a thread of living flame that flows from her burning tattoo. Shadows gather behind her, not to haunt — but to witness.

This is the first vision in the gothic prophecy series The Ember Covenant, an infernal triptych from @nordicsilents that traces the ascension of a flame-born oracle:

🔥 Part I – The Covenant is Whispering

🔥 Part II – Liturgy of Hellwings

🔥 Part III – The Raven Throne of Skulls

Each chapter drips with blood, ash, and prophecy - born of fjords, crowned in flame.

Follow the fire. The end is not near - it is here.

Would you follow the flame if it whispered your name?

Art by @nordicsilents

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