ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ
"ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴏɢ"

Rain pattered on the pebbled floor. Grains of worn down grout and mortar grated underneath the man's shoes as he walked towards the massive building in front of him. The many faces engraved in the tympanum looked mournful to see him. Raindrops fell down on the stone and ran down from their eyes. They cried and the stone turned darker, almost as dark as the cloudy sky above them. The spires reached up to the heavens and disappeared within the smoke. 

The man took a second, just standing outside feeling the raindrops hit his skin. He didn't think to bring an umbrella. He had expected himself to turn around and go back home before it would start to rain, but unlike his expectations, he found himself at his destination. Maybe that was even more frightening than his cracking resolve.

It had been some time since he had been in a church. Last time it was a different church in a different town, but he still remembered it clearly. He remembered how he had walked to the altar and kneeled down in front of the stained glass and cracked cross and prayed his heart out. He could feel it bleeding as he did, but he couldn't stop. The man had a certain feeling that today would end much alike.

He walked towards the portal, pushing the heavy oak door open. He could feel his skin start to sting, the air suddenly turning to smoke. His questions were answered when he looked at the doorpost and saw the engravings. He was met by figures drawn by holy water and carved into the wood. Even though the liquid had long since disappeared into the wood, he could still see it glistering so clearly.

There were hardly any churches without protective enchantments nowadays. After all, it was a refuge for everything holy, a sanctuary for all fleeing from the darkness just like him. But terms like good and bad were just as grey as the cloudy sky surrounding the church still the spell drew a very strict line. He was on the wrong side.

Even with his skin crawling, he took another step forward. The heavy door closed behind him, letting the click echo through the massive halls. There was no one else there, no other penitents or worshippers. His lonely footsteps echoed, hitting him back just as hard as the many crosses and halos spread throughout the building. He could still hear the rain pattering on the ceiling and the stained glass. It was hard to see. Little light shone through the windows and the many candles didn't offer much more.

In the darkness, the marble statues seemed to stare at him. Their glances were as cold as the stone they were made from, but their judgement was as scalding as the fiery pits of the underworld, he would know. Maria looked at him the same way his mother did, with love and hurt, mostly blame. Those emotions often seemed to coincide with him. The child in her arms held the verdict of a God and his eyes were condemning. He had felt His judgement before, but this was a painful reminder that nothing had changed. Time healed, but not when it came to him. He might not be burning anymore, but he was left with blisters and burn marks and they carried the same implications.

The man stepped towards them. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a single coin, letting it fall on the donation pile. There weren't many candles left, but he only needed one. Whether he would light one or one thousand, his soul would still be damned. He was just doing it for his own sanity at this point, to know that he could still try.

It took some attempts before the lighter showed a flame, the lighter fluid almost gone. It was enough to light up a small flame. He swore he could feel his own darkness burn up with the wax, although it was probably just a figment of his imagination. He watched the candle burn for some more time afterwards anyway, finding calmness in the flickering of the light and how the wax dripped down.

The man walked further. Christ's story was displayed on the walls. Many horrendous images of blood and suffering were painted onto them, decorated with laurel wreaths and rusty nails. It was an inspiring story to many, but to the man dragging his fingers over Christ's bent shape, it was just a painful reminder. All people suffered, some more than others but they all did, but not all were loved before and after. Not all would be lifted again. He feared he might be one of them.

As he turned around again, he noticed a small light. The confessional booth was on and the light was green. For a moment the human just stood there, thinking about the possibilities. He had a lot to confess about, many sins crawling up his skin, but he knew he wouldn't be granted absolution for any of them. Still, it might clear just the slightest bit of weight on his chest.

With that thought, he pulled open the curtain and stepped in. The priest's face was hardly visible between the curves of the wood and the little light that shone in the room. He just knew the pastor was listening.

It had been some time, but he still remembered the words. "Bless me father, for I have sinned," he said. "It has been too long to count since my last confession."

"Make an assessment, my child," the priest spoke in a low voice.

The penitent scratched the back of his neck in thought. "Six years," he answered eventually.

"Very well," the priest said. "You may continue."

The man took a moment, staring at the dark fabric in front of him. He wasn't sure where to start. His mind went way back to the last time he had confessed. Anything from that point on was worth penance, but the words felt heavy on his tongue even when they rolled off.

"I have been unkind to others and I have screamed at my mother and father and cursed at them, I have abandoned them" he softly spoke, gulping before confessing more. "I have given in to evil, I have conspired against others, I have destroyed property, I have stolen, I have hurt others and have tortured them. Although... I'm not sure that was me."

For a moment there was silence. The man could feel the pressure on his chest grow in size, awaiting judgement. "Were you not aware?" the priest asked. The man on the other side just chuckled.

"Oh no," he scoffed. "I was more than aware, I just couldn't stop it. I had no control."

"Then those aren't mortal sins. I happened outside of your consent, these aren't your sins to carry—" the priest said.

"I have killed a man," the penitent spoke. "I have pained him and cursed him to Hell."

A loaded silence hung over the confessional. The silence after a lightning strike but before the thunder. The priest waited for the explosion, his breath stuck in his throat.

"And I was fully aware," the man added. He couldn't bring himself to look at the priest's face. He knew it was filled with judgement and fear. "I don't regret it. He has given me torture as well and I simply got rid of him."

The priest took in a shaky breath, gripping his rosary that much tighter. "Then why are you confessing here today, my child, if you do not wish to show remorse?"

The man couldn't help but let a sad smirk tug at the corners of his lips. Tears burned in the corner of his eyes although he wasn't sure whether they were from emotional or physical pain at this point. "Because even if he was a hellbeast, my conscience still weighs heavy on me."

The thoughts haunted him every waking hour. At night, it tormented his sleep. Although the shape in his memory was one with black eyes and claws, he couldn't help but feel his heart ache at his pain. He could still see him writhing on the floor, clawing and crawling like an animal, gasping for air in his shapeless form. He knew he had no other choice, the demon would've killed and tortured many more otherwise, but at the end of the day, his soul was just as tormented for it.

"Then pray," the priest simply spoke although his voice was filled to the brim with fear. "Pray that you might feel remorse as God will. Pray He will be merciful."

The man couldn't help but chuckle again. "I have done too much for God to grant me any type of absolution, not even my own," he said, voice growing quieter over the words. "But I will pray as you wish."

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For those who haven't read the other chapters: I wrote chapter one and two before writing this prologue. Idk man, I just got inspired and this is a way more intense and interesting opening to the story than Jungkook and Jimin waking up together.

And I'm sorry for the inconsistent updates. I'm working on other books as well and uni deadlines are killing me. Also, my motivation is lower than my job perspectives, so there's that. Hope you enjoyed it anyway!