Based on past exorcisms, although all demons are demons, they still vary in strength and have a clear hierarchy.
If one can also masquerade as clergy of the Church, then this demon is definitely no small fry.
Not every demon can take the shape of a clergyman tied to God—after all, God is still watching.
"So which one is this…?"
Father Yorkes stared at the photo for a long while; it felt familiar, yet he couldn't place it.
"Forget it."
He gave up and dialed Ed's number again.
Since the demon had already invaded Ed's dreams, its power had likely grown formidable.
At this rate, he was certain The Warrens would soon run into another Ronnie Defeo-type case.
All he could do was wait.
"Father Yorkes?"
Ed's voice came through the phone; York replied calmly.
"Ed, if anyone else comes to you, let me know beforehand—whether you're just checking facts or whatever."
"Understood, Father Yorkes," Ed answered, grave and earnest.
"Good."
York smiled, offered a few more words of comfort, then hung up. He finished his lunch in one go and prepared for priestly duties—he could already hear footsteps behind him.
"Father, my name is Morse. Would you hear my troubles?" A deeply distressed young man asked cautiously.
He had the rugged, hirsute look common in the West, yet his face was completely unfamiliar—as if York were seeing him for the first time.
"Unfamiliar face…?"
York brightened; unfamiliar faces often triggered random quests.
"Uh, I've heard you're good at listening and giving advice…"
The anxious words spilled again from the young man called Morse.
Already wearing the kindly expression of both priest and man, York said gently,
"My child, every priest is good at those two things. Come, tell me your trouble."
[Random quest triggered]
[Solve Morse's distress]
[Reward: +0.5 points]
[Accept quest?]
Morse's eyes lit up. "Really?"
York nodded with a smile. "Have a seat."
He was happy to play counselor for the reward.
[Quest accepted]
Morse, not understanding, nodded gratefully and hurried to the indicated chair.
"…"
Most people's woes are much the same—money, family, child-rearing, or love.
Morse's problem was love, yet the more York listened, the more wrong it felt.
From the lad's rambling, he was the epitome of a "simp," worse than any York had seen.
How bad?
After dating a girl for a few months, they split—normal enough.
But right before the breakup, on her few careless words, he'd gone and had a vasectomy.
A vasectomy, as the name implies, meant those billions of swimmers would never see daylight again.
"Father, the reversal failed," Morse said, face full of regret.
"It means I'll never have children—what do I do?"
York's calm face twitched; he had no script for a problem this bizarre.
He kept stock replies ready for every believer, ensuring each left comforted.
But this? He hadn't a clue where to begin.
Still, for the quest, he glanced at the hopeful Morse and steered the issue elsewhere.
"May I ask a principle question?"
Morse nodded. "Ask, Father."
York was blunt. "Do you like children?"
Morse frowned, thinking hard, then nodded and shook his head.
"I suppose not. Those little brats seem annoying.
My neighbor's a single mom with three kids; I watch her age before my eyes. Now her sister's moved in—she's falling apart.
I can't imagine that life for myself…"
York thought of Robert outside with four kids, but he'd found an angle.
"Then why torment yourself? You've achieved exactly what you wanted."
Morse blinked; he'd never considered that, having spent days despairing over being childless.
York watched the silent Morse and sensed progress.
"Everyone chooses. Since this was your true choice, and you dislike kids, why regret it?"
"My choice…" Morse murmured, as though seeing light.
"Yes, your own choice."
York crossed himself, voice still gentle.
"Everyone doubts at times, but trust your choice. Believe in the strength God gave you and face it bravely."
Morse's eyes shone; he drew a deep breath.
"You're right, Father. It's my choice; done is done—regret is useless."
York smiled supportively; no need to say more—the boy would fill in the blanks.
Morse inhaled, stood.
"Thank you, Father. I won't fret over this anymore."
As the words left Morse, York heard the prompt and relaxed.
[Morse's distress solved (completed)]
[Reward: +0.5 (granted)]
"Go with God, my child," York said, habitually offering the blessing.
"He hears your heart and will guide you."
"Thank you!"
With new clarity, Morse nodded, pulled out his wallet, and stuffed bills into the offering box.
York inclined his head. "Thank you for your generosity."
"My pleasure, Father."
Morse smiled and left, resolved to return often.
York watched him vanish through the door, glanced at the elderly faithful scattered about, and exhaled.
That 0.5 wasn't easy money!
Recalling the talk, he shook his head, eyed the virtual window, and dumped the fresh 0.5 into Health.
[Health: 124.5 → 125]
He still favored Health.
Feeling the faint tingle of the increase, York sensed that once Health reached a certain level, his body would undergo a qualitative leap.
He scanned the hall, then carried his lunch trash toward the side lounge.
Holy Imbuement couldn't pause; before facing the demon nun, he needed something fiercer.
Now armed with three combat spells plus Holy Imbuement, he required further upgrades.
"Time to order ordnance for imbuement—say, a revolving grenade launcher…"
York's murmur faded down the dim passage, and the noon hour slipped quietly away.