Update: Little edit in the story from a suggestion 👍🏾
Day 24, Church, from KPDH Advent Calendar
Gonna do things different here.
Alternate Universe: You’re both a performer and a demon hunter that works solo. You’re also one that’s half demon. Your patterns are growing, and while you’re doing your best to hide them when having a performing career in mix with being a hunter, a part of you bears curiosity outside of what you’ve learned in the past. One of them involves how affected can you be when heading to a random church on Christmas Eve, something you know demons can’t enter without getting hurt.
Funny how the gifs of women I chose with Rumi to get the mental hunter idea for the reader all have ponytails. Not braided but I’m counting it 😁
“Put these patterns all in the past now, and finally live like the girl they all see…”
It’s a cycle in my head. Creating, repeating, and cleaning up the verse to be part of a new single also holds nothing but the truth of what I am. A constant reminder on what is in my DNA. One that I hate and need to find a way to get rid of it with sealing the honmoon.
Patterns. Real, violet, tiger-like stripes that form under my skin from my chest and biceps.
My imprint of demon blood – me, as a demon, what I was raised to hate and destroy. At least, half demon as my father was a demon… But, my mother, a former demon hunter, was human.
Thinking back, it became a thought for younger me to acknowledge as a fact about myself. Now, it manifested to have me wonder how the two came together and form me as their proof of a forbidden relationship. An idea like that comes natural on occasions, done long before my existence came to be and has been happening today based on families’ viewpoints and mindsets.
The only catch is knowing both sides are one hundred percent human.
Mine is an anime story waiting to happen.
My use of weaponry from the honmoon faded long ago, my last extermination on a stray demon done before a group of teenagers would notice. Wouldn’t that be something? Whether they’re fans or recognize my face, spotting a famous performer killing demons before their eyes, and phone cameras would be quite the immediate trend of attention.
Double life as a performer and demon hunter isn’t really something to have on the bucket list. It’s an experience I was chosen to go through, a continuation that I can and should follow after my mom’s death when I was born. Unlike me who works solo, Mom had companions that also became a singing group. One of them became my mentor and parental figure – the only voice that tells me of the fated day where my patterns can finally be gone forever, stamped with permanent ink on my heart and mind.
I worked so hard to get where I am today so I can get rid of the constant reminder of betrayal and deception to human kind, resting in my veins.
I’m determined to escape from this nightmare, and be free.
Why is it at times I would trail a finger over a pattern, watching it flare a soft glow of a sunset’s purple like bioluminescence, and I end up with a sense of doubt… and curiosity?
Working by myself, I don’t have anyone to tell or share my life about. Sure, I get along with others, especially my manager – one that I am completely, immensely grateful to have in both my life and career! But, it’s not like it’s casual conversation I can pass on so easily; I avoid going to bars, not wanting to risk exposure by drinking away my stress.
Therefore, at a time I was bored that ultimately becomes a habit, I’d look at my patterns. Really take a gander on them with finger trails, looking over the structure of appearance, and come up with questions I know I won’t get straight answers on.
What makes of me other than half human, half demon?
How are these patterns made to be the mark of a demon?
Why did my mom fall in love with one? Bear a child with one?
Was my dad in love with her, too, or was it out of manipulation for Gwi-ma?
Why am I claiming a monster as my father…?
Will these spread anymore after sealing the honmoon? Stop? Fade off? Burn off?
Will I still get to live after they’re gone?
… Can I survive in holy places?
Walking among the cold streets, people can be oblivious to me standing feet away from the entry of a church.
I’m not – well, technically, by how I was brought up – in the exact sense of religious belief. Especially when you’re born with the blood of a creature that is to be abolished with holy water or something.
I lost that belief long ago.
I don’t know if I actually had it, or something I just considered. Younger me considered that since I’ve never step foot in a church because of my patterns, shame rests from God and chose to abandon me. Sure, no one ever said that was true, but I believed it enough to focus on what I need to do as a hunter. Now, though, it’s a different case of doubt.
Along with a curiosity that has me also question: ‘Can a church do the same to me as they can on a full-fledged demon?’
On open streets, I fought off demon after demon until they disappeared from my actions. All but one, where sending a kick made it hit its back against the church doors. Luckily, it wasn’t at an hour of service, having everything off and locked during the time. But it didn’t stop the side effect, where a demon before my eyes actually engulf into flames, overwhelmingly in need for mercy from the holy contact.
If I wasn’t half demon, I’d be just as stunned as I was when witnessing until eventually coming to a point where pity actually comes before me, sending the demon into disappearance with one cut. Its screams stayed with me for two days before moving on, but the memory remains by incorporating my own fear.
It was only weeks ago when it happened. Now, on Christmas Eve, the church is alive. Golden lights and muffled hymns from behind the closed doors capture my attention – and my caution. Wanting to enter, to try and see what it’s like, at the same time wish to be distant and not go through a repeat of history with myself. Hiding in there wouldn’t be a problem for someone like me, though; the massive and decorative foundation has to hold a large quantity of the city’s population, religious or not.
Stepping on the steps weren’t enough to be a hazard. Touching the door is why I’m hesitant once reaching in front of it.
I can feel the small flare on my collarbone; my nerves are getting the worse out of me.
I could get burned, injured without complete annihilation of my lifeline. Heck, closest I’d be once entering is mimicking Crowley from that Good Omens episode, the only demon (while fake) that I can sympathize. Hoping on one foot over the other without drawing too much attention, as well feeling discomfort in sitting as if the bench is made out of the most uncomfortable material ever.
I’m half human. I could feel discomfort in a sense that is bearable, an ache I know is there but will fade eventually.
No eyes lay on my back. So late in the evening, everyone’s either in the church, doing late work at their jobs, doing early Christmas parties, or at home in rest while expecting the upcoming holiday tomorrow.
No one to stop me, disturb me, provoke me into doing anything.
Just me. And my hand, coming towards the handle with a shake releasing.
I’ve fought demons on a daily basis, as well sang to hundreds and hundreds of fans both physically and virtually present to watch me. The fact I got a fear over being burned by a building should be laughable if not for my nerves on overdrive.
At least, I’ll know what to do if I do get hurt. If the results are bearable, I’ll stay for a long as I can manage. If not, I’m out. No seconds chances, and avoid all churches for good.
Darkness soon becomes my vision, my eyelids shielding away the anticipating results for a small sense of grounding.
My body tenses the moment I grab the handle, and I wait for the burn to destroy my glove for better direct contact to harm me.
My body relaxes. My eyes open, blinking for adjustment and realization.
Even though my winter gloves, no pain comes at me. Not a single flame. Not one negative reaction due to my demon blood.
I blink once on purpose. Twice. Then make little effort in pushing the thick door open. The singing ceases long ago, having a reader on a podium be the voice to the audience’s ears.
My steps are cautious as a newborn’s attempt to walk, or someone like myself that doesn’t want to spoil the holy silence. I jump a little, though, as an elderly woman turns away from the reader to me, welcoming in hushed tones before passing a mini booklet made of printer paper, decorated with text of what the program is and certain Christmas lyrics, and a Nativity image at the front.
With a nod in thanks, I enter further in to find a seat. No one else notices me as they take in following the reader’s narration, my focus on searching a spot until finding one alone and in the shadows from the lights. It’s as though the church knew, and reserved it just for me.
Careful, I lower myself. Once more, no pain as comfortable cushioning was the given result. Once seated, the reader finishes and the choir takes over, singing a repeated hymn.
Seeing services on entertainment programs in comparison to actually being in one to witness are concepts I’ve never envisioned to be alike and opposite of each other. Of course, there won’t be any disruptive drama, nor spewed-out comedy acts – at least, not those more appropriate to adults – but there is a sense of comfort and safety that I’ve gathered in certain movies that takes the plot on a serious note.
A sense that makes me feel… noticed.
As though these patterns are not the wall between me and a holy ground. Only the assumption.
I stay for the whole program. I donate a large quantity of money when the basket is passed, my head ducking to avoid eye contact with the holder until their departure. I sing along in soft tones towards myself from the music of the church’s provided hymn book, and later the Christmas song lyrics in the booklet. I smile during them all, knowing a few from my past and some new to me today despite how long they’ve been out.
So invested by this new environment, my guard slowly fades.
Just enough to find my heart slamming into my rib cage when hearing bells. Thankfully they came from outside, or else a new idea of discomfort comes in mind.
Wait. Bells? Church bells?
I take out my phone to check the time – midnight. Christmas Day. And I’m still here, a bearer of demon blood within a church.
The priest soon ends the service with a send off to go in peace and love while sharing the Lord’s name in mix with a Merry Christmas. The choir then follows with “Joy to the World”, everyone singing along as it fills the church with warmth and happiness on this night.
I clap and sing along until the very last note, feeling more awake and relaxed than having couch time after a successful tour.
In time, with a few people standing in between the pews while in conversation and volunteers working about in cleaning up the place, I stay where I am with my gaze up on the statue.
I don’t know much about him other than being born from the Virgin Mary, being crucified on a cross, and resurrected days after. Looking up at an image of him, his arms out in welcoming with the nail marks in his palms… A thought comes to me.
He had his own marks. Not patterns, but something close to mine.
A man born of human and God. A savior to the world.
Not a hunter, but someone willing to do what is best for all.
A feel of understanding washes over me as I get up, bow in thanks again to the kind woman, and exit the building, unscathed. Such understanding places a new note inside my mind.
I’m a human with demon blood.
I’m not much of a religious believer despite my position against the supernatural.
I can’t tell anyone about it.
No one, not even hunters, can ever understand what I’m going through.
And yet, when sitting inside that church and seeing him, for once in my life, I feel less alone, more safe, and actually feel wanted despite what’s in my veins.
A little moment where I can acknowledge myself.
Got lucky when writing this yesterday. Something happened before work even started, so I got to stay home a few hours longer!
Also, not so sure if this is longer than the one with Rumi with mentions of Celine or not, but definitely was a treat to write! Hope you guys enjoyed it!
1 MORE DAY UNTIL CHRISTMAS!!
