Requiem of the Pathways

The final hymn faded into silence.

A haunting stillness settled over the chapel, heavy as a shroud. The air was thick with the scent of incense and melted wax, clinging to Adam's skin like something alive. The grand chandeliers above cast pale, flickering light upon the four polished caskets lined before the altar, identical in their solemnity.

Samuel Gavril. Daniel Martinez. Jose Sawano. Shinji Momotaro.

His brothers in arms. Now reduced to cold, corpses beneath carved oak and embroidered cloth.

The ceremony had ended. One by one, priests, exorcists, and mourners had filed out of the chapel, their voices hushed, their gazes avoiding him. Some had offered quiet condolences, words that felt hollow in the face of what had happened. Others simply left without a word.

It was over for everyone except him. 

Adam stood there, unmoving, as the last footsteps faded beyond the chapel doors in his silence.

A deep, suffocating silence, broken only by the soft crackling of dying candle flames.

Slowly, as if in a trance, he stepped forward.

His gloved hand hovered over one of the coffins whose name bore Daniel before his fingers finally made contact. The wood was cool beneath his touch.

"You saved me."

The words slipped from his lips, barely more than a silent whisper.

"You bastards...."

His hands clenched, nails digging into his palm. His shoulders shook. His chest felt too tight as if something inside him was about to snap.

But instead, he laughed.

It was quiet at first, barely audible. A small, breathless exhale that should not have been grew into a trembling, hollow laugh, spilling from his lips before he could stop it. His shoulders trembled, his breath hitched, and suddenly, the laughter broke into something else.

A choked sob.

Then another.

His vision blurred. His knees buckled, and he collapsed forward, forehead pressing against the coffin as his body convulsed with something between grief and hysteria.

"You saved me, you bastards…" His voice cracked. His hands curled into fists, pressing against the casket as if holding on could change anything. "…And I couldn't save you."

No one answered.

Of course, they didn't.

Because they were gone.

The chapel remained silent, offering no comfort, no acknowledgment of his agony. His mind was filled with thoughts that clutched his heart tightly.

It should have been me.

It should have been me in those coffins.

Instead, I was here. Alive. Breathing.

And they were not.

The candlelight flickered one last time.

And in the dim, sacred halls of the Church, Adam Morgenstern wept.

***

The chamber was dim, suffocating in its silence. Incense burned low, the air thick with smoke and a heavy weight settling over everything.

Adam sat stiffly across from Father Gregor, fist clenched over his lap. His uniform was pristine, and the funeral was over, but none mattered.

Gregor watched him with that same measured patience he always had. "Do you know why you're here?"

Adam responded bitterly, "To investigate the incident around our mission."

"No, my child. This is your final task. Everyone else will spar with the instructors while not holding back to gauge their level, to determine if they are ready."

"This was my discretion," Gregor continued. "And I will be your judge."

He let that sink in, then asked, "Do you believe you failed?"

Adam's jaw tightened. "They're dead," he said, voice sharp, barely restrained. "Isn't that answer enough?"

Gregor didn't flinch. "And yet, you live."

Adam scoffed, bitter. "You think that means something?" He leaned forward, golden eyes burning. "Tell me, Father, if God has a plan, was this part of it?"

Gregor was silent.

The quiet stretched between them, heavy, suffocating.

Adam exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I did everything I was taught. Followed every rule. And they still died screaming." His voice was quieter now but no less raw.

Gregor reached into his desk, pulling out a small, leather-bound book. He placed it between them.

"This belonged to an exorcist who once asked the same questions," he said. "You can read it, if you want. This can help you find your answer."

Adam snatched it up, fingers digging into the worn leather. "And if I don't?"

Gregor met his gaze, expression unreadable. "Then you won't last long."

Adam stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone. He turned without another word, his footsteps sharp as they echoed down the empty hall.

The silence felt like mockery.

***

The following day arrived with cruel indifference.

The world had not stopped.

The sun rose. The sky was clear.

But something had changed.

Adam stood among the other exorcists, dressed in ceremonial white and gold robes, before the cathedral's grand altar. At the funeral, the air smelled of holy incense and candle smoke.

Today was supposed to be a day of honor.

Their graduation—the day they would no longer be mere trainees but fully recognized exorcists of the Church.

Yet as Father Gregor stood before them, delivering his speech, the words felt… distant.

"You have endured trials that many could not. You have shown your faith, strength, and devotion to the Lord."

"Today, you stand not as mere aspirants but as warriors of the Church, defenders of humanity against the forces of darkness."

His mind drifted.

Back to the mission.

Back to the moment Samuel, Daniel, and Jose died.

Back to Shinji's cowardice.

Back to the truth they had told him before their deaths.

"The Church lied to us."

"It was a setup."

"They sent us to die."

A sharp breath. His pulse quickened.

He could still see the look in Samuel's eyes as he was dragged down. The sound of Daniel's final moments before everything went silent.

Why?

Why had they been sacrificed?

They had fought for the same Lord and served the same faith.

Then why had they been betrayed?

A sharp clap echoed through the hall.

The ceremony had ended.

The exorcists bowed their heads as Father Gregor gave a final blessing, his voice carrying through the grand chamber.

Adam didn't move.

He barely registered the applause from the gathered clergy, the murmurs of pride, the weight of the Church's expectations settling upon their shoulders.

It meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

***

Later that evening, Adam sat alone in his dormitory.

The others had already packed their things, preparing for their departure to where they had been assigned. The next morning they would all leave together and he would make his way to the Vatican. Their voices drifted through the halls, it was all laughter, conversation, and excitement.

He envied them.

They could still look toward the future without the weight of the dead dragging them down.

He stared at his belongings. His uniform. His holy cross. His sword.

Tomorrow, he will leave this place.

Tomorrow, he will take his first steps as a full-fledged exorcist.

But what did it matter? Would he simply obey? Would he pretend he didn't know? That the Church had set them up?

That their faith meant nothing to the ones who controlled their fates?

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Sleep.

He needed sleep.

His body was exhausted. His mind was tired. He needed rest.

And so, he let the darkness take him.

And then, he dreamed like never before.

***

This dream was different.

Hazy. Unclear.

Like memories buried beneath layers of fog.

A strange voice that soundly similar to his. 

"Pathways."

The word sent a shiver down his spine.

The fog began to clear.

Fragments of knowledge flooded into him. Knowledge no human should hold. 

A Lord of the Mysteries.

22 Pathways.

His breath hitched.

These memories collided with his own, becoming part of his very being. 

Memories flashed through his mind: about a clown, a detective, and a traveler—supernatural powers fueled by madness. Entities of godlike nature observe mankind. Adam became aware of their existence: the Goddess of Misfortune, the Ancient Sun God. 

The knowledge poured onto him like a flood.

This isn't just a dream.

This is real.

It hit like a jolt of lightning.

Pain.

A sharp, searing pain behind his eyes.

Adam gasped awake.

His body jerked as if struck by lightning, his breath tearing from his throat in a ragged, shuddering choke. Pain roared through his skull—searing, blinding, unbearable.

He collapsed forward, clutching his head, his fingers digging into his scalp like he could rip out whatever was burrowing into his brain. His vision fractured.

A hoarse, strangled sound torn from his throat as his body convulsed. Blood pounded behind his eyes, thick and suffocating, like his skull was being crushed from the inside out. His fingers clawed at the sheets, his skin, and anything to ground himself, but there was nothing.

His stomach lurched. He barely made it to the side of the bed before vomiting onto the floor. Bile burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to the pain that had embedded itself in his very soul. His body slumped, trembling, his breath ragged and uneven.

The pain was still there, a dull, throbbing thing at the base of his skull, but the pain had passed. He inhaled and exhaled shakily, attempting to calm his body down. 

His fingers twitched against the sheets, and that's when he saw them.

Two stone tablets.

Ancient. Worn. The cryptic symbols carved into them pulsed, alive in the dim light. Although Adam had never studied these symbols before, he knew them like he knew how to walk. He knew what they were, what they meant, and their origin. He had memories of them, memories that were not his own. 

His gaze flickered toward his bed.

And his breath stopped.

Two stone tablets lay there, resting against his sheets.

Ancient. Worn. Cryptic-like symbols extended through them.

But he knew what they were.

The Blasphemy Slate. The very slate that contained the information to reach 'Divinity.' 

His fingers trembled as he reached forward, brushing against the carved surface. He thought as he caressed the rocky slates,

What would Divinity look like in this world? Would I be on the same level as those who watched humanity in the fifth epoch? Will I meet the one who made me in His image…? 

The weight of knowledge settled upon him.

But tomorrow, he could figure it out; right now, he was dead tired.

***

Morning arrived sooner than expected.

Adam sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. They trembled slightly, though whether from exhaustion, grief, or the impossible knowledge now buried within him, he couldn't say.

The headache from last night had dulled into a steady, lingering ache behind his eyes. His thoughts, however, remained sharp.

The dream had been absolute.

The Pathways were real.

He knew of them, not from this world, but from before.

He didn't know everything. His knowledge was limited and fragmented, as if something prevented him from grasping the whole picture.

He knew of the Ancient Sun God, the Evernight Goddess, and the Hanged Man… but something was missing.

Whenever he tried to think about what lay above, his mind recoiled, an unseen force pressing against his thoughts.

Was it corruption? Madness?

Or something worse?

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Instinct kicked and immediately tried to hide them under his sheets.

The door creaked open.

A fellow exorcist stood in the doorway, offering a hesitant smile.

"We're heading out soon. Just wanted to check if you were ready."

Adam nodded, standing.

The exorcist hesitated.

"Listen… if you ever need to talk, I'm here. We all are. We're in this together, fighting for the same cause."

Adam stilled.

"The same cause."

The words twisted in his mind, dark and bitter.

It was what Samuel had believed, what Daniel had died believing.

And yet, it had all been a lie.

The Church had sent them to die.

And for what?

Adam forced a small smile, nodding.

"I'll be there soon."

The exorcist seemed satisfied with that. He gave a slight nod before closing the door behind him.

Adam exhaled.

He stood there for a moment, collecting himself.

Then, he moved to look where he had previously placed his new power, but they were gone.

And then his gaze flickered toward the space on his bed where the Blasphemy Slate had been. He had hidden it when he heard the knock at his door last night. But now, it was gone.

A spike of panic shot through his chest. He immediately began searching under his bed, beneath his sheets, inside his belongings.

Adam's desperation began to surface as he searched around his bed thoroughly—a command formed in his head. 

I need that Blasphemy Slate! 

Adam reached forward towards his desk. A sharp, unnatural stillness suddenly settled over the room as if time had paused to witness what was about to unfold. The shadows in the dimly lit chamber stretched, bending at impossible angles, writhing like living things.

Two stone tablets materialized in his outstretched hands, not appearing but forming, piece by piece, out of thin air. 

Adam sucked in a sharp breath, amazed at what he saw.

His fingers traced the engraved symbols, his pulse steadying as the weight of the slate settled against his palms.

He could summon them at will.

A slow smile curled at the edges of his lips.

***

Before leaving, Adam wants to visit Leo just one last time. The chapel hospital was quiet.

Not the sacred kind of quiet, the kind that filled the Cathedral during prayer or mass. No.

This silence was suffocating. Stagnant. Heavy.

It smelled of antiseptics, faded incense barely masking the stench of medicine and dying faith. The soft flicker of candlelight did little to warm the cold walls, nor did it reach the lone figure lying motionless in the small cot near the center of the room.

Laid Leovanni Pucci, his eyes open but lifeless. The once vibrant, sharp-tongued noble looked... hollow. His golden hair, always perfectly styled, lay in tangled waves against the pillow. Once radiant with life, his skin had faded to a sickly pale. His chest rose and fell in slow, mechanical motions, proof that he was still alive, but only just.

Adam stood at the foot of the bed, his hands clenched at his sides.

Leo didn't move.

He hadn't moved since they had pulled him from the wreckage of St. Marcella's Chapel. Since the mission that had left four of their brothers dead. Since they had been sent on a death mission.

Adam swallowed hard as his gaze drifted over his friend's frail form.

He had faced the devil and fought it. Almost killed by it.

And yet, this?

This was worse.

Leo had always been loud. He filled the room; he made his presence known; he talked his way into and out of anything. He was the kind of person you couldn't ignore.

And now?

Now, he was nothing but silence.

Adam exhaled sharply, forcing himself to step closer. His boots echoed against the stone floor, but Leo didn't react.

The Church called it a miracle that he had survived at all.

Adam called it a cruel joke.

He pulled up a chair beside the bed, lowering himself slowly. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows over Leo's face, emphasizing how unnatural this was.

Adam let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand down his face.

"I don't even know if you can hear me," he admitted. His voice was rough, strained. "I don't even know if you're still in there."

No response.

Not a flicker. Not a twitch. Nothing.

Adam's fingers curled into fists.

"You should've just died."

The words left him before he could stop them.

A confession. A resentment. Grief he didn't know how to carry.

Because if Leo had died, at least there would have been closure—a body, a funeral, a certainty.

But this?

This thing left behind wasn't Leo. It was just a hollow shell, barely breathing.

"You'd hate this," Adam muttered, rubbing at his temple. "Being stuck like this. Not being able to talk, not being able to move, not being able to gloat about how much better you are than the rest of us."

His lips twitched, but there was no humor behind it.

"You always wanted to be remembered," he murmured. "But not like this."

The candlelight flickered again, and for a brief, delirious second, Adam imagined that Leo would smirk and roll his eyes and say, "Well, obviously. I would've preferred a statue or a holiday in my name, but I suppose this will do."

But there was nothing.

Just the beeping of the heart monitor.

Just the ragged, hollow breathing of a boy who should have died with the rest of them.

Adam leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly.

"I'll find out why they did this to us," he said.

His golden eyes flickered in the dim candlelight.

"And if you ever wake up, Leo… I'll ensure you see it."

Adam leaned forward, closed his eyes ,and clasps his hands in prayer,

"Why is life given to a man whose way is hidden, whom God has hedged in? My sighing comes instead of my bread, and my groanings are poured like water. The thing that I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me. I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest, but trouble comes." Job 3:23-26.

He stood, adjusting the collar of his uniform.

He didn't say goodbye.

Leo wasn't here to hear it.