..."Oh! What a relief—truly, I have to thank Father Yorkes!" Morse, having figured things out, paused at his own doorstep, feeling lighter than air.
Just as he was about to open the door and step inside, a racket erupted beside him.
"Hey! Danny! Let me see what you found!"
Instinctively Morse turned; three kids had appeared at the far end of the corridor.
The one called Danny, a boy of about fifteen or sixteen, was clutching something wrapped in cloth, while a tiny girl—no more than five or six—hung on his arm.
"Come on, show me!"
"No way, Cassie! Don't even think about it!"
Trailing behind them was a short-haired girl of fourteen or fifteen, sauntering along at her own pace.
"..."
These were the children of the single mother next door—Lisa's brood—and one of the main reasons he disliked kids.
Recalling how Lisa had grown haggard and worn-down, Morse shuddered; he had no wish to end up in such a wretched state.
"Hey, Morse, heard your operation failed?" Danny's irritating voice reached his ears.
Morse didn't even answer; he hurried inside and shut the door.
But as the latch clicked, he caught the final, jeering remark:
"Jeez, poor guy—gonna be a nutless wonder?"
"Shit!"
Staring at the closed door, Morse cursed under his breath; the lightness he'd felt moments ago evaporated.
"..."
"Thank you, Father Yorkes!" an Old woman said gratefully.
"The Lord be with you, Mrs. Yula." Having just completed another flawless one-on-one spiritual counseling, York replied gently.
The lavishly dressed old lady beamed like a sunflower in full bloom, then slipped the banknotes she had prepared into the offering box.
York's expression didn't change.
"Thank you for your generosity, Mrs. Yula; the Lord surely knows your heart..."
"Hmph!"
Purse in hand, the Old woman left in high Spirits.
York watched her go, then turned back to his priestly duties.
That day he received eight parishioners in total; only the unfamiliar Morse had triggered a random quest.
Still, it hadn't been a total loss; in his spare moments he had performed Holy Imbuement on fifty Holy Hand Grenades and two-hundred-and-ten holy bullets of various calibers.
He had also spent over six hundred thousand dollars with Ward Martin ordering more ordnance—focusing on deadlier grenades, revolving grenade-launchers, even rocket-launchers, high-tech drones, and the latest in military hardware.
Six hundred grand gone in an instant; his savings shrank to just over three million. That was why he always felt broke—his stockpiled weapons were money incarnate; a single rocket-launcher set cost nearly a grand.
Another day passed.
Before Ward Martin's shipment arrived, York had already performed Holy Imbuement on every last weapon in the church as well as the speakers he'd specially purchased.
He also dumped the few stat points gained from recent quests into Spirit;
at the rate he was imbuing, plans couldn't keep up—his meager 84 Spirit was no longer enough.
[Spirit 84 → 85]
[...]
The following day, before Old Mike's investigation report came in, York received Ed's call.
Just as he'd guessed, The Warrens were about to step into their next supernatural case.
They had received an investigation commission—from a TV station and a parapsychologist—asking them to verify whether a haunting was real.
"Father Yorkes, should we accept?" Ed sounded hesitant.
"I can't shake the feeling the nun is involved."
Hearing Ed's worry, York smiled calmly. "Why not accept?"
"But..."
Before Ed could finish, York cut in.
"Ed, you're a seasoned demonologist; you know what happens if we run. Either it devours you, or we destroy it."
Crude but true. Ed glanced at his wife asleep on the sofa; concern for her had made him falter.
"I understand, Father Yorkes."
"Don't worry, Ed; darkness can never outshine the Lord's light."
York lifted his gaze to the Jesus Statue; evening was near, and sunset streamed through the rear window, bathing the image in resplendent holiness.
"Pick me up tomorrow; we'll go together."
"All right!"
With Ed's answer, York ended the call, rose, and walked out, moving through the sunset-filled hall toward the main exit.
The hall was empty.
Outside, only Robert remained at his post, ever diligent.
Thanks to him, the once-chaotic church now gleamed; even the pews, decorations, and window-sills looked pristine every day, drawing praise from every visiting believer.
For Pluto Church's first employee, York felt genuine satisfaction—at least he'd never again worry about lunch.
"Father!" Robert called out the moment he saw him.
York nodded with a smile. "Robert, you can head home in a while."
Robert blinked. "Father, it's not time yet."
"It's fine. Go on, you don't have to stay late tonight." York waved him off, said nothing more, and left the church under Robert's bewildered stare.
That night.
York appeared in the basement storeroom of his house.
Although Ward Martin's shipment hadn't arrived, he'd still stockpiled Holy Hand Grenades, holy water, Bibles—his usual exorcism kit—for this nun who looked like serious business.
It was the same gear he'd relied on all along, now supplemented by a few Bluetooth speakers to spare him more preaching.
Yet when he thought of a heavy-hitter connected to a nun, York still felt uneasy.
He walked straight to a corner he hadn't visited in ages and stopped before a crate, eyes tinged with nostalgia. He hadn't known why he'd ordered the stuff back then.
Blame it on the mindset of a freshly transmigrated soul, he supposed; in a world of ghosts and demons he'd simply felt no sense of safety.
He opened the box. Neatly wrapped brick-shaped blocks appeared—C-4 plastic explosive. He planned to use it to build something even nastier than a grenade: iron-jacketed charges.
Looking at the C-4 that had once anchored his peace of mind, York rubbed it absently, all sorts of schemes already swirling in his head.
The explosive was so stable gunshots or fire wouldn't set it off; it needed a detonator.
That trait, paired with the methods he could deploy, might make timed detonation more useful than a hand grenade.
With Holy Imbuement to add sacred properties and Enchantment to amplify essence, stacking both buffs onto the kinetic blast of C-4—he honestly didn't know how fierce the result would be.
The crucial part: the yield was up to him. He could make the blast as powerful as he wished.
Five kilos equaled roughly the filler of a 125 mm shell; ten kilos matched a 155 mm heavy shell—yield was justice!
"Am I making this too big?"
York caressed the C-4 bricks and unconsciously licked his lips.
He wasn't afraid of the demon; he was afraid he might blow the situation out of proportion.
After a moment's thought he capped the charge at enough to flatten a three-storey apartment block—about twenty-four kilos of TNT.
"Let's build it."
"Honestly, I've never tried this before—no idea if it'll work…"
Time passed.
An electronically triggered bomb—detonator, C-4, and assorted parts—was finished. Recalling the 120-point enchanted grenade test at Jesse Building, York wore a slightly crazed grin.
[160 Mana spent]
[65 Spirit spent]
[…]
In the corner, annabelle and its carrier medium grew ever fainter, as though trying to erase their presence… The next day.
After a sleepless night of waiting, York heard Ed's eight-seat SUV pull up.
"Father Yorkes!"
Seeing the familiar heap of bags at the priest's feet, Ed and Drew hurried out to help.
"Mm."
York slung the backpack containing the triple-block-charged, double-buffed bomb over his shoulder, let them load the rest, then climbed into the back seat.
Lorraine was already waiting beside him.
"Father Yorkes."
He set the backpack at his feet and studied her haggard face.
"How are you holding up, Lorraine?"
A shadow crossed her eyes; the nun haunted her dreams ever more often, and she'd seen Ed's death replayed again and again.
"Father, She's appearing more and more."
"As time passes, Her power grows." York comforted her and handed over a Cross.
It bore sixty-four points of Holy Imbuement, its sacred energy thicker than ever.
"This should let you sleep."
Lorraine pressed her lips together, hung it round her neck, and—just as the priest promised—felt a peace she hadn't known in ages.
"Thank you, Father!"
Gratitude shone in her eyes.
York gave a calm smile and looked ahead; Ed and Drew were in their seats, watching.
"Ed, let me see everything you've gathered."
"Yes, Father."
Ed glanced at Lorraine and passed back a folder and tablet.
"Here's the footage the TV station and that expert sent."
"Right, let's go."
York took them and began to flip through.
Ed and Drew exchanged a look, started the engine, and headed for their destination.