[Date shared to me: January 1, 2026]
____, Village of ______, France
Apostle Manifestation After-Action Report
The following compiles retrieved forensic analysis, and witness accounts. Very little of solid evidence remains in the aftermath of the ____ ________'s eventual arrival and the resolution of this incident.
At 10:52 AM 4 days prior to Primary Incident, near all contact was lost with the village of ______, France. Domestic investigating authorities, as well as travelers through the area, have been found to similarly produce no further contact at a staggering rate. Very few exceptions were found, which are in detail residents or travelers who had been near the outskirts of the village. This state of affairs proceeded for five days, whereby local Church authorities, reached out to by governmental contacts and receiving subsequent reports of leyline disturbance, suspected the involvement of the supernatural.
Though no details had been confirmed at this stage, local acting authority, representative A, declared an emergency, civilian government were convinced through separate channels of danger, (a leak of an underground reservoir of gas which had silenced the town.) For this reason they complied with our purpose, to cordon the area off, preventing further travel. At this time, Church authorities and contacts within the government successfully wrested control of the operation from domestic authorities and began protocols.
At 3 days prior, the presence of The Dead was suggested within the village by domestic observation, Representative expressed concerns that, given the nature of the specific supernatural event that would lead to such, anything less than a full and immediate response could cascade towards a complete breakdown of secrecy and an uncountable cost in human life.
Through review, we can confirm that no attempt was made by the entity involved to press beyond the borders of the village. At this time, a response team was assembled and deployed. Arriving in the village the next day.
Logs of their observation of the village confirms the presence of the dead, and authorization is given to begin operations in earnest. Given the lack of indicative presences for major players & the absence of any noted buildup, it is concluded that a fledgling Dead Apostle has emerged within the village, and subsequently time is of the essence to eliminate the creature before it can develop into a greater threat. Agents are advised to move cautiously, but as quickly as possible to verify and eliminate the target.
Day Prior to Primary Incident, Remnants of Team Member Camille Observations follow-
"Streets are deserted. So far we've seen no signs of life in any meaningful sense. Periodically a roaming Dead crosses between buildings, or is carrying something. Have yet to ascertain where or why." "Signs of life confirmed, though nothing good. Screams were heard in the distance, likely a survivor "The Dead are more coordinated in their searching than I expected, though team lead assured me this is normal. The Dead I've dealt with till this point have been after the Apostle was destroyed, while here the apostle is likely focusing all their efforts on the hunt, they often get so full of themselves- they think this whole world has become their kingdom the moment they're "Born", and want to remove anything to the contrary." "More life. A person was dragged down the street by two others. Team Lead acknowledged this much to be unusual, they should have simply killed him. He speculates the Apostle could be experimenting, could just be a sadist." "The paths The Dead take through town have led us to the center, the only building "Grand" enough for this creature to bother with is the church, so we've concluded that is where it's established itself."
Within the day, Executor Camille and the other members of their team had confirmed the presence of a Dead Apostle within the local church.
As the junior member, it was decided that Camille would not engage with the creature directly, but instead infiltrate, observe, and provide support as necessary. Vampires possessed a natural urge towards nocturnal activity, but in equal measure a caution towards the day itself as their weakness.
The infiltration and execution would therefore take place at twilight, before dawn. This did increase the likelihood of the vampire being conscious, but had the greatest possibility for it to be off guard.
The air conditioning system of the church provided a somewhat risky, but viable entryway into the main hall. Removing the grating which barred his access to the room ahead could take seconds, but to do so quietly had required several agonizing minutes, each hint of noise felt like a death sentence in spite of the magic which would, or should, prevent his detection in the worst scenario.
He pushed the grate forward, carefully turned and drew it back so that his view was unobstructed, the stench of the room ahead, of decay and blood, had already been a constant, but the gush of air from inside brought a fresh wave and with it a new sense of nausea. Nothing within should have been a surprise by this point, but nonetheless as he pressed himself forward to steal a look at the interior, through a haze and darkness, his stomach turned.
It was meticulous artistry. The end result of a week of one maddened thing, once human, given absolute power and the twisted nature of an abomination, attempting to stave off boredom. Each effort forming a ring denoting varying levels of interest towards the occupants. Towards the edges of the room were piles, discarded and rotting, not of full corpses but random parts, arms, legs, torsos, though no heads. As if torn from any given person, with tears and chunks of flesh bitten cleanly through or carved away, then discarded like half finished fruit.
Towards the pulpit he began to see more elaborate displays. Bodies, cut apart then stitched and sewn together, cages in which masses of flesh bulged against bars, the village's people, in their entirety, collected and processed into fleshy and macabre art or experiment, both physically and magically. No distinct purpose could be found with any of this, at least not from his perspective, and a gnawing voice in the back of his mind told him to avoid considering the matter further. But with that consideration in mind or no, he was compelled to look further, in the closest and smallest circle, cleared of most, but not all bodies or blood, sat the simplest displays.
A small table, a plain cloth upon it, trays, utensils, teacups. Save for the decapitated head that rested as the main course one would be forgiven for mistaking it as a normal meal.
And there, upon a throne that had replaced the Altar of the church, she, or it, was. It was difficult to make out specific features from this distance and lighting, but it was clearly a female body, yet doubtless the person she had been was gone by this point. She wore no clothing, instead fully and proudly, baring her flesh to the world. Here and there, around her mouth and belly he could make out patches of red, likely to be fresh blood, which he could only presume came from the discarded flesh beneath her throne.
She draped herself upon the seat lazily, one leg cast over the armrest on one side, the other drooped to the ground as she lied back. To her sides and rear The Dead, animate though unfeeling, danced, as much as it was that they could. Emotionlessly swinging themselves side to side to a clumsy beat, occasionally posing like ballerinas, a display that she must have found amusing at one point but was evidently now bored of, she paid them no mind at all... if anything his guess would be that she was already asleep.
Taking all of this in, Camille resisted the conflicting urges of his body. To vomit from the sight, to lash out and strike at this creature the instant he saw it, or to flee in panic, each gripped him momentarily, each informed by the same indescribable repulsion at its very existence. He forced these feelings down, doing as his training dictated. In mere moments he had successfully completed multiple rites, placing a seal upon this possible route of escape, and the rafters above, if the creature tried to cross upwards or through the vent, it would be gripped with terrible pain and, in that moment of distraction, surely destroyed.
He spared one last glance towards her as he began to pull himself backwards, and in the last instant could swear he had seen her eyes, bright, crimson, burning, cast not truly 'toward' him, but close enough that he momentarily feared discovery.
In that instant all he knew had been forgotten. He froze, entirely, daring not even to breath.
But those eyes passed him over, she had simply been looking towards something nearby at the time.
He could only thank God for that.
Within moments he was free of the confined space, and had reported both the presence of the creature and the ideal circumstances for the ambush upon it to his comrades.
There would be no escape.
These were the instructions Camille received from his mentor, Jacques. The possibility that the vampire, confronted by surprise and outnumbered, would flee and begin again in some other unsuspecting village by means they could not know, was too great.
So it was that Camille's orders were simple, to follow the combat team as far as the main hall, seal the door behind them, and only open it when certain the vampire had been destroyed. In his own paranoia he had checked each of the doors that led into the church from here, even applying the bolt of the side-door himself to be sure no outside help would come to the creature's aid once the battle began.
It had been only seconds ago that he and the others had rushed into this chamber, his last sight of them after pouring into the room ahead and began to split themselves up, smashing the dead with ease as the battle began. Dutifully he closed and then sealed the door behind them. The sounds of battle continued to rage within, the activation of numerous spells, crushing and clashing, wood, metal, stone, flesh. He winced when hearing a scream of pain from someone he knew, but they had all entered this place knowing that their lives were secondary to the mission.
That death was always a-
Silence
Mere seconds ago the battle had raged.
Now there was nothing.
Camille pressed his hands against the door, and then his forehead. The last thing he had heard was another scream- though he didn't recognize the voice. There were shouts, disparate and confused, but again he couldn't make out what they were saying.
The twin possibilities, success or failure, life or death, flashed between his mind.
The aged oak of the door wafted through his senses, he let out a final breath and channeled all he could into the seal. There was no room for doubt or error. The door was sturdy, physically, but only the rites and magic he cast upon it would keep him safe if the creature had survived.
Footsteps approached, he felt a presence beyond the door, felt it rumble from someone pressing against it on the other side.
Terror ran down his spine for the briefest instant before-
"Boy."
A deep, familiar voice, that of Jacques, through the door and pained, but all the same clearly his own.
"Open. Now. We have won."
One of Camille's hands lifted towards the bolt of the door, instinctive compliance with the command of his senior-
And yet.
"Sir, are you alright? I heard screams."
"Pay. No mind. Open the door."
Camille hesitated.
Something of this was wrong. Not the voice itself, there could be no other like it, but the way it spoke.
"Sir-" The word spilled out before he had formed the rest of the thought, he hesitated.
And in that moment of hesitation there was a shift in the air, the briefest flare of befouled magical energy from beyond the door. His instincts moved his body, leaping to the side and away, glancing up from the floor in time to see; the seal he had cast flickered and sputtered from existence in mere seconds, and immediately afterward the physical door cracked, in the merest of moments within the chaos, all he could catch was what seemed to be a claw- terrible and rending its way down and through wood and stone, the material melting away as what was left shattered like paper from within.
He clamored to his feet, instinctively shielding his eyes from splintered oak and whatever foul trickery may be afoot as he drew a weapon, he had a handful of blessed blades- Black Keys that resembled swords and could be thrown or used in melee, the blessings on which would burn any unholy creature. But nothing in his possession rivaled the arsenal that should have already been thrown at the creature- what hope could there be, with that in mind? Nonetheless the urge to survive compelled him to hold the blade at the ready, at the right opportunity to strike whatever emerged from the door, as a darkened mist poured forth through the gaps that obscured it.
Something moved within the mist, and obscured though it was he knew that it must be Jacques, the silhouette- broad as it was, surely belonged to the largest man Camille had ever laid eyes on. It left no doubt of this, but as the mist dissipated starting from the highest point, and the figure moved forward, he could now see its face. Blood dripped from the mouth and nose- and from the back of his mind a final piece of recognition of something wrong.
'Jacques is...' or perhaps, should be, 'taller...' The stray thought stood out, clear against a million other panicked considerations.
An odd thing to focus on, but he couldn't escape the thought. His eyes cast down as the thing before him fully emerged from the smog.
It was Jacques, but only... only part of him, severed at the torso, dangling in the air. Where his broad hips and muscled legs should be, Camille could instead only catch sight of a pair of dainty, pale, and bare naked feminine legs.
"Boy." Jacques voice echoed through the hall, his mouth sputtered with blood as it forced itself open with unnatural stiffness- the torso before him could not be alive... how was it-
A sickening crunch of bone and tearing flesh echoed from behind Jacques, his body now lowering towards the ground.
Revealed from behind it, he recognized the vampire. Now up close and the smoke cleared he could see her fully, her hair a vibrant blue and her eyes a deep and bright red, naked but for a cloak that rested upon her shoulders and the corpse of his mentor that she held to herself in feigned modesty.
She was there, and smiling with a mischievous sweetness like a child who had committed a prank,
in any other circumstance he might have thought her an angel, young, beautiful and eminently, terrifyingly charming. Even from this angle he could now tell, that the girl's hands were buried in Jacques' back, and she was somehow forcing his voice from his corpse like a puppet.
"What gave me away?" She asked, so casual and sweet that it seemingly gave no thought at all to what she was doing that very moment.
He didn't, couldn't, respond.
Only glare at her, as one leg slipped backward.
The exit was behind him, by the grace of God. All he had to do was clear a short distance and escape into the emerging daylight.
He expected her to step forth, to pursue as he retreated, but she stood in place, casually lifting and lowering what was left of Jacques as she spoke.
"Well, I have my guesses. I should have kept him alive a bit longer... he had a name for you, yes? If I'd known it I might have been able to put on a better show..." Her eyes looked up, focusing on Camille. " That much should have been obvious, but I-"
Her focus lapsed from him for the briefest of moments, and within that instant Camille's arm snapped forward, the Black Key he held sailing clear towards the creatures face. Yet with practiced ease she hefted the corpse upward, letting it plunge harmlessly into Jacques' chest with a dull thud.
"Oh, come now. Same as the rest of your friends... all so very rude, no ability to converse, or to play. You all storm headlong into your deaths without a thought for how terribly bored I'd be if you all die immediately."
Internally, Camille recited an activation rite, one that would detonate the blade embedded in Jacques' corpse, in that moment of distraction he could escape, or perhaps if the timing were just so even strike back.
But nothing happened.
Her slender fingers reached around the body, walking up the length of the blade, unharmed.
"So predictable, too. As if nothing in the world would ever know how these work! So shameful."
It all fell into place. The creature was an equal, if not greater, in the rites and strengthening the others had employed. The moment the ambush began she must have taken advantage of their confusion, turning each of their rites and sacraments against them.
Scrambling for alternatives he considered every option, if the creature was so inclined towards magic then there must be a weakness, a physical one, somewhere.
But the moment to ponder ended all too soon, she advanced, taking care to hold Jacques to her side, each step forward made with a sway of the hips, her once sweet smile twisting into a cruel and sadistic grin. Reveling in the power over their lives she held.
He lunged forward at her, even if a thrown weapon wouldn't work, so long as he could enter the correct range it surely wouldn't be able to avoid a sustained assault-
He expected her to retreat, to fall back upon magic or her minions. Instead she drew her arm back, expression in that unfailing smile. And by the shoulder, effortlessly hefted the corpse in her hands upwards, and then swung it down upon him.
It tore through the air like a club, there was certainly no magical energy in such a blow, but it came with such disastrous speed and power that the wind in the hall whipped around him as he barely dove to the side in time, watching in horror as she released it for a moment, gripping once again at Jacques' mangled hand before resuming. Chasing him in every movement, down, up, to the left, smashing into stone wall, floor, or wooden furniture alike in relentless pursuit. Cackling all the while as viscera and blood splattered across everything around them, including herself.
In this Camille saw his opportunity, the timing must be precise, but dodging towards the outer wall, she followed in exactly the path he had predicted, slamming her make-shift weapon towards him from the side in an instant and letting loose a loud bark of triumphant laughter.
Sturdy and powerful as Jacques had been in life, his corpse was no so durable. Exactly as he hoped, the edge of the body had struck the hard wall first this time, rending the flesh and bone from itself and reducing her reach-
Just enough to grant him a chance.
He surged forward, plunging the blade in his hands into her chest and shoving against her with all his might.
And for all that effort, she simply stood-
Shocked. Genuinely. For the first time since he had seen her, she no longer smiled. But that itself only lasted the briefest of instants.
Laughing once again, she gripped the handle of his blade, and his hand along with it, with such strength that he heard as much as felt it when his bones began to creak under the strain. He writhed, turned, kicked, punched, screamed, desperately doing anything and everything to get away, while she stood serene and calm, nothing he did, or had done, moved her in the slightest.
Her other hand stretched out, he recoiled from her as best he could, in such desperation that he found himself hoping his very hand would rip at the wrist and free him.
She gently cupped his chin, he could feel her fingers trace his cheek, his own hand flying up and trying, with all his might to pull her off of him. In his struggles she caught his other hand, and for a brief moment of clarity did he see the blood that now covered his fingers. His own? Jacques'? Hers?
He couldn't fathom, and didn't think of it, only of some kind of escape. Away. Away. Away. Away.
The only thought he could conceive of, for her to get away from him, for him to escape her.
Something. Anything. Repeated over and over as she softly pulled his hand towards her mouth.
He knew, this was a sadistic creature. At any moment she would kill him, and do so painfully.
As her fingers entwined with his, unable to resist any of her, her tongue slipped from her mouth, making a show of slowly and methodically licking his hand clean.
Her grip tightened like a vice, threatening to crush both his hands-
Then all at once relaxed.
With a laugh she pushed herself against him and shoved, such a graceful and quiet motion, up to a moment it might have seemed like a lover playfully rejecting her dearest after their embrace had gone too long.
But the force of it all was inhuman, with unreal strength that dainty and toying shove threw him backwards, flying far through the air and slamming against the ground. His head swam, vision blurring, at best he could see she still simply stood where she had been, watching him curiously.
But then he realized- she'd brought him closer to the door.
To survival.
Through pained breaths he pulled upself upwards, first in a crawl, and then on all fours, whatever pain wracked his body, however mangled he might be, if he could just get up and away- He shoved himself against the door with all the might he could muster. And felt nothing but a fresh round of agony.
Through tears he recognized it, the mundane stupidity that had brought him his death- He himself had bolted the door shut as a precaution to keep any of the remaining dead from entering. His hands protested each and every actions, screaming in pain at him as he fumbled, choking on his tears and gasps for air as he tried, over and over, begging this blasted godforsaken piece of metal to slide from itself and let him out. He only had seconds-
Or perhaps not even that much.
He felt it first and foremost, the dulled pommel of the blade he himself had plunged into her chest.
Now pressed into his back.
"Oh dear~, so much panic. Over so very little-."
Her hands wrapped around his chest from behind, and he knew from her display of strength moments ago that this was the end. There had been no escape, no possibility of it from the start.
Save that which she allowed him to believe existed for this moment of despair. "Shh. It's alright." She whispered directly into his ear as she once more began tracing her fingers upon his face.
So softly. So gently. As much as anything disgust welled up in him at the fact that it was, somehow, comforting. He cried, and prayers to the Lord spilled from his mouth, for mercy, absolution, forgiveness for his weakness and to be rewarded in death. It was all that was left to him.
Her lips pressed to his cheek, a splatter of warm blood leaving the impression of a kiss on him. Those awful, powerful fingers tipped with nails that he had seen rend flesh and stone alike slipped down, he felt the nail dig through his clothes, just barely drawing blood from his flesh as she moved-
Moved to the door, and the bolt in front of him.
With a ginger motion she pushed it down, and then slid it free. The door, already caught between the pressure inside and out, softly spilled outward with a gush of wind. Her hands slipped off of him, and he felt them once more press into his back.
One more shove- though this time every bit the shove of an adorable young girl.
He collapsed in a pile on the street, curling up and covering his head, desperate tears continued to flow as he awaited the final strike.
But it never came.
He could not see it- his eyes were winced closed and no force of will could bring him to open them.
Yet, he heard her giggle.
And heard the slow creak of the door as it closed once again.
"Do please come again my dear, the doors of this kingdom of mine shall always be open to such entertaining guests. Bring as much and as many friends as you like! But if you do... please do keep in mind that you may not be able to leave a second time."
With that, and a final gust of foutid wind pouring out by the force of the closing door, she was gone.