Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep278: Episode 278: Vampire Hunter for the Vatican

Episode Date: September 25, 2025

Today’s fabulous podcast episode is both parts of ''I’m a Vampire Hunter for the Vatican: Here are my Stories’, an original series by Brandreth McClure, kindly shared directly with me via email for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.

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We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexsavers.cavers.ca.ca. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.com to learn more. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. The idea that the Vatican might secretly know about vampires fascinates us because it blends two powerful myths. The hidden archives of the church and the timeless terror of the undead. The Vatican already feels like a place of mystery, with locked vaults, forbidden texts,

and knowledge ordinary people are not allowed to see. When we imagine vampires lurking in that hidden history, it suggests that the church has been battling ancient darkness for centuries, and perhaps still is in secret. It's the fear that legends might be real, combined with a thrill that somewhere someone already knows the truth but refuses to tell us, as we shall see in tonight's feature-length story.

As ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Now let's begin. I'm a vampire hunter for the Vatican. Here are my story. I brandreth McClure.

Episode 1. Blood of the faithful. A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky over Vatican City, illuminating the ancient spires in a brief, ghostly light before plunging them back into darkness. The storm had rolled in swiftly, carrying with it an unnatural chill that seeped into the very stones of the Holy See.

Inside, the Vatican's corridors lay empty, save for the soft echoes of raindrops beating against the stained glass. and the occasional rumble of distant thunder. In a small chamber deep within the Vatican's labyrinthine halls, Arthur Gabriel Valente knelt in silent prayer. His head bowed, he clasped an ancient rosary, the beads worn smooth by years of devotion. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the room,

giving the impression that the walls themselves were alive, breathing with the tension that gripped the night. Gabriel's lips moved in a bed, barely audible whisper, reciting the familiar Latin phrases that had become his solace, his armour. Yet despite the piece these words usually brought, there was an unmistakable weight in his heart to-night, a foreboding he could not shake. A storm outside seemed to mirror the tempest within him, a storm that had raged for as long

as he could remember. As thunder boomed overhead, Gabriel's mind drifted to the past, to a night not unlike this one, when his life had been irrevocably changed. In his mind's eye, he saw the twisted, and old trees of his childhood home, the moon hidden behind thick clouds as darkness descended upon his family. He remembered the fear, the helplessness, as the creatures had come, eyes glowing red fangs bared, ripping through his home and his loved ones with merciless hunger. The screams of his parents and sister echoed in his memory, a haunting chorus that had on occasions driven him to the edge of madness, only to be pulled back by the strong hands

of a Vatican priest who had arrived too late to save them, but just in time to save him. Gabriel had been a mere boy, but from that moment on his path had been set. The Vatican had taken him in, raising him within the secretive order of Sancta Sanguiz, a sect few knew existed, even within the church itself. His life since had been one of rigorous training and uncompromising discipline. He learned the ancient rights of exorcism, the art of combat, and the knowledge of the supernatural creatures that stalked the earth. He'd been forged into a one-man weapon, a hunter of the night, sworn to protect the innocent and bring God's judgment upon all the damned. The faces of the many vampires he'd slain blurred together in his memory, but the face of the one who had taken his family remained clear, burned into his mind with the fire of vengeance.

Every mission, every kill brought him a step closer to avenging their deaths, but also deeper into the darkness that he fought so strongly against. It was a darkness that whispered to him in his dreams, that taunted him with the lure of power, and that he resisted with every fibre of his being. As the storm raged on, Gabriel rose to his knees. His prayer concluded, The room felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in around him.

He took a deep breath and crossed himself, feeling the cool metal of the crucifix against his chest. The scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest hint of sulphur, a saint that always seemed to accompany his thoughts of the past. Leaving his chamber, Gabriel moved through the shaded corridors of the Vatican, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. He passed through the grand ornate halls, lined with statues of saints and martyrs, their stone faces solemn and watchful. The casual observer the Vatican was a bastion of light,

a fortress of faith unassailable by the forces of darkness. But Gabriel knew better. The darkness had a way of seeping in, of corrupting even the holiest places, and it was his sacred duty to root it out. He entered the confessional, where his presence brought comfort to the penitent souls who sought his guidance. His voice was steady, calm,

as he offered absolution and counsel, But his mind remains sharp, alert to any sign of the supernatural. Later, he conducted an exorcism, his voice rising in powerful incantations that drove the unholy spirit from the afflicted, leaving them trembling but freed. In the training hall he sparred with fellow members of the Order. His movements were swift and precise, having been honed by years of practice. Each strike was measured, each parry a reminder of the battles he'd fought and the one still to come. There was no room for doubt or hesitation in his life, only duty and the unremitting pursuit of the enemy.

As the night wore on, Gabriel returned to his chamber, but sleep did not come easily. The storm outside had calmed, but the storm within him remained. He stared at the ceiling, the flickering candle casting shadows that danced in time with his relentless thoughts. Somewhere, out there in the night, evil lurked, biding its time. And as he finally closed his eyes, he whispered a silent vow to the memory of his family. He would not rest until every last vampire had been hunted down and destroyed, no matter the cost. In the silence of the Vatican, a new storm was brewing. And soon, Father Gabriel Valenti would find himself at its very centre.

The morning sun filtered through the high windows at the Vatican, casting rays of light across the marble floors of the apostolic palace. Despite the beauty of the day, an uneasy tension gripped the halls, a sense of dread that lingered like a shadow over the hearts of those who walked within its walls. Father Gabriel Valente made his way through the ornate corridors, his black cassock billowing slightly with each purposeful stride. He'd been summoned by the Pope himself, an unusual and urgent request that brooked no delay. As he approached the grandors of the papal study, two Swiss guards, clad in their traditional unit, uniforms stepped aside with a solemn nod, allowing him entry. The study was a room of quiet grandeur, lined with ancient books and religious artefacts.

The air was thick with a scent of incense. Behind a large intricately carved desks sat Pope Benedict XIV, his expression grave. The Holy Father, normally a figure of serene authority, appeared burdened by an invisible weight. His eyes, usually warm and full of wisdom, was shadowed with concern as they met Gabriel's. Father Valenti, the Pope greeted, his voice was measured but edged with unease. Thank you for coming so promptly. Gabriel bowed respectfully. Your holiness, how may I serve?

The Pope gestured for him to sit, and Gabriel did so, noting the deep lines of worry etched into the older man's face. The silent stretch for a moment, punctuated only by the distant toll of church bells marking the hour. Gabriel, the Pope began slowly, choosing his words with care. What I'm about to tell you must remain within the strictest confidence. The sanctity of the church and the faith of millions depends on it. Gabriel nodded. His expression was serious. You have my word, Holy Father. The Pope leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

Over the past two weeks, as I'm sure you have heard, three of our most esteemed cardinals and a revered priest have been found dead within the Vatican. The deaths have been unnatural. Gabriel's eyes narrowed. In what way? The Pope hesitated, then reached into a drawer, pulling out a small bundle of parchment. He unfolded it carefully, revealing a series of detailed sketches.

drawings of the victims as they'd been found. Gabriel's breath caught as he examined the images. Each body bore the same tell-tale marks, two puncture wounds at the neck, and a ghostly pallor, as if all the blood had been drained from their veins. Vampires, Gabriel murmured, a mix of disbelief and cold realisation washing over him.

The Pope replied, his voice strained, Oh, something that mimics their nature. The very suggestion of such creatures within the Vatican walls is inconceivable. This is hallow ground, a sanctuary protected by centuries of divine presence.

Yet these deaths they cannot be ignored. Gabriel's mind raced. The Vatican was the heart of the church, a place where evil should have no foothold. And yet here was undeniable evidence of a supernatural threat, one that somehow managed to infiltrate

the most sacred place on earth. Why have I not been informed of this earlier? Gabriel asked. His tone respectful, but firm. The Pope sighed heavily. At first, we believe the deaths to be isolated incidents. Perhaps the work of a deranged individual. But as the pattern became clear, we knew this was something far darker.

The church cannot afford panic, Gabriel. The very idea of a vampire within the Vatican would shake the foundations of our faith. We need this matter handled swiftly and discreetly. Gabriel nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. You wish for me to investigate? Yes, the Pope confirmed, You are the only one I trust with this task.

You're experienced with the supernatural, your unwavering faith. It makes you uniquely suited for this mission. You must root out this evil, whatever it may be, before it can spread further. The Pope stood and moved to a nearby cabinet, retrieving a small ornately carved wooden box. He opened it with reverence, revealing an ancient cross made of dark, weathered wood and inlaid with silver. The cross radiated a subtle, almost imperceptible warmth, as if imbued with some long-forgotten power. This, the Pope said, handing the cross to Gabriel,

is the crooks Sancti Benedicti. It was blessed by St. Benedict himself, and it is said to have great power against the forces of darkness. Carriage with you on your mission, let it be a beacon of light in the shadows you must now walk. Gabriel took the cross, feeling the weight of the centuries-old relic in his hand. It was heavy, not just with physical substance, but with the intense burden of the task ahead.

He slipped it into his cassock, near his heart and rose to his feet. Where do I begin? Gabriel asked. His voice steady, though his mind churned with the enormity of what lay ahead. Start with those closest to the victims, the Pope advised, the ones who had access to them, who knew their routines. Trust no one, Gabriel, who do not know how far this corruption has spread.

And remember, this investigation must remain in the shadows. the world must never know what we are facing. The Pope placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder, his grip firm despite his years. Gabriel bowed deeply, a gesture of both respect and resolve. I will not fail you, Holy Father. The Pope placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder, his grip firm despite his years. God, be with you, my son, and may he grant you the strength to vanquish this evil. With that, Gabriel turned and left the papal study, the ancient cross pressing against his chest,

serving as a reminder of the sacred duty he now bore. As he stepped back into the Vatican's endless corridors, the storm outside had subsided, leaving behind a cold, eerie silence. But within these walls, a far greater storm was brewing, a storm of blood and shadows that threatened to consume the very soul of the church. Father Gabriel Valenti was the only one who could stop it. Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic

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the silence felt oppressive, laden with the weight of untold secrets. Torchlight flickered against the stone walls of the underground passageways, casting long wavering shadows as Gabriel moved deeper into the labyrinth. The sense of something lurking in the darkness grew with each step. a sense that there was a presence just beyond the reach of the light. Gabriel's investigation had begun in the usual places. Personal quarters of the victims, the halls they frequented, the offices where they'd worked. But his inquiries were met with resistance, a reluctance among the clergy to speak openly,

as if they feared that even acknowledging the deaths could bring further misfortune. Suspicion clouded their eyes, Gabriel could feel their unease, their whispers that carried just beyond earshot. The first real league came from a young deacon who, after much hesitation, revealed that he'd seen one of the victims, Cardinal Santori, in a part of the Vatican rarely visited,

the ancient catacombs beneath St. Peter's Basilica. The Cardinal had been there late at night, long after the evening prayers had concluded, in a place where no living soul had reason to tread. The deacon's voice trembled as he recounted the strange encounter, and Gabriel knew that he had to follow this, thread no matter where it led. As he ventured into the catacombs, Gabriel felt the temperature

drop, the air growing colder and more stifling. The walls were lined with the remains of saints and martyrs, their bones resting in silence, yet the place felt anything but peaceful. There was an undercurrent of malevolence, as if the dead themselves were disturbed by the presence of something unholy. Gabriel's hand tightened around the hilt of the dagger he carried, its blade inscribed with prayers of protection. He explored the labyrinth for hours, piecing together whatever small clues he came across, fragments of parchment,

symbols carved into the stone, and remnants of rituals that have not been performed in centuries. These discovery pointed to something ancient, something that had been deliberately hidden away. And as Gabriel uncovered these secrets, a pattern began to emerge, the thread connecting the victims from their knowledge of a forgotten chapter in the church's

history. One night Gabriel found himself in the Vatican Archives, a vast repository of the church's most guarded knowledge. By day the archives were bustling with scholars and clerics, but tonight Gabriel was alone, save for the quiet rustle of parchment and the occasional creek of the ancient shelves. The deeper he delved into the records, the more the pieces fell into place. In a section reserved for forbidden texts, Gabriel discovered a series of manuscripts that chronicled the existence of a vampire known as Lucius. Once a revered cardinal, Lucius had fallen into darkness centuries ago, seduced by the promise of eternal life.

He'd risen to power within the church, using his influence to corrupt and destroy, until a secret order, a precursor to the order of Sanctus Sanguiz had risen against him. According to the manuscripts, Lucius had been defeated, his body destroyed and his name erased from his. history. But Gabriel knew better than to trust the finality of such stories. The evidence he'd uncovered

suggested that Lucius was not only still alive, but somehow found his way back into the heart of the church. Even more disturbing were the hints that Lucius might have had a hand in the founding of the Order of Sanctus Sankuess itself. The thought that this sacred order could have roots in such darkness shook Gabriel to his core, casting a shadow over everything he'd been taught. The manuscripts also hinted at something more insidious, but Lucius had left behind a legacy, a network of followers within the church who had kept his secrets alive through the centuries. His followers, hidden among the clergy, had waited for the right moment to strike, to bring Lucius back to power. And now it seemed that time had come, as Gabriel drew closer to the truth.

His knights became restless, plagued by strange visions that blurred. the line between dream and reality. In his sleep, he found himself wandering through the Vatican, his steps echoing in the empty halls. The shadows seemed to reach for him, whispering in voices he could not understand, yet that resonated deep within his soul. In these dreams, Gabriel would find himself often standing before a mirror, his reflection distorted, his eyes glowing with a crimson light that was not his own.

Lucius' voice were called to him, soft and simple. seductive, offering power, vengeance, and the promise of knowledge that had been denied him all his life. The vampire's words were honeyed, promising to fill the void left by Gabriel's losses, to ease the pain that had haunted him for so long. Join me, Gabriel, Lucius would whisper in the darkness. We are not so different, you and I. The church has used you, twisted your pain for its own ends, but I can,

show you the truth. Together we can reshape this world. Gabriel would wake from these dreams drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, the temptation lingering like a bitter aftertaste. During the day he remained vigilant, focusing on his mission. But the nights grew longer, the lure of Lucius's word stronger, the desire for vengeance, the grief for his lost family, and the doubts that have begun to creep into his mind all conspired to weaken his resolve. The Vatican, so long his sanctuary now felt like a prison, its wars closing in on him as he struggled to maintain his faith in the face of the darkness that surrounded him. The lines between his duty and his desire for vengeance began to blur, and he found himself questioning whether the path he had chosen was truly his own, or if it had been laid out for him by forces he could not control. As the investigation continued, Gabriel knew he was drawing closer to the heart.

of the conspiracy to Lucius himself. But with each step the darkness grew deeper, and the risk of losing himself to it became all the more real. The final confrontation was approaching, and Gabriel could only hope that his faith would be strong enough to see him through, before it was too late. The wade of the centuries pressed down on Father Gabriel Valenti as he descended the final steps into the hidden chamber beneath the Vatican. The air grew colder, more oppressive with each step he took. The flickering torch in his hand cast long dancing shadows against the ancient stone walls,

walls that had not seen light in ages. He could feel the presence of something ancient, something malevolent, lurking just beyond the edge of the darkness. Gabriel had pieced together the clues, followed the trail through the catacombs and the forbidden archives, until it led him here, to a place that he had been. it should not exist. The chamber was concealed beneath the Vatican's foundations,

buried so deep that even those who knew the labyrinthine secrets of the Holy See would have never stumbled upon it by accident. The door to this place had been sealed, hidden behind layers of forgotten history, its existence scrubbed from all records. Yet here it was, undeniable and real, and with it the truth he had been seeking. The chamber itself was vast, an expansive cavern carved out of the bedrock.

At its centre stood an ornate stone sarcophagus, adorned with symbols that Gabriel recognised from the ancient manuscripts he'd uncovered, symbols of power, of darkness, of blood. His heart powdered in his chest as he approached, the torchlight illuminating the intricate carvings that depicted scenes of death and resurrection, of a figure who had transcended mortality. Lucius

With trembling hands, Gabriel placed the torch in a nearby sconce, freeing his hands to push open the lid of the sarcophagus. It moved more easily than he'd expected, as though it had been waiting for this moment. The lid slid aside with a low, grinding sound, revealing the interior of the stone coffin. Inside lay a figure draped in rich crimson robes. Its hands folded over a silver cross that had tarnished with age. The figure's skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent, and its eye. eyes were closed as if in a deep, eternal sleep. But there was no mistaking it. This was Lucius, the vampire who'd haunted the church for centuries. Gabriel's breath caught in his throat as he

stared at the face of the monster who'd eluded the church's grasp for so long. Centrius had not been kind to Lucius. His body was frail, skeletal, but there was an undeniable power that radiated from him, a dark energy that made the hairs on the back of Gabriel's neck stand end. As Gabriel reached for the stake he'd brought, a voice echoed through the chamber, low and mocking, yet unmistakably alive. So, the prodigal son returns. Gabriel froze, his hand inches from the stake. The voice did not come from the figure in the sarcophagus, but from all around him, as if the very walls were speaking. Did you really think you'd be that easy, Gabriel? The voice continued, dripping with contempt.

Do you believe you could simply walk into my domain and destroy me? The figure in the sarcophagus stirred, its eyes slowly opening. They were a deep unnatural crimson, glowing with an inner fire that sent a chill down Gabriel's spine. The frail body that had seemed so lifeless moments ago now radiated an aura of pure, unholy power. Gabriel's hand shook as he gripped the stake, but before, Before he could strike, Lucius moved with a speed that defied belief. In an instant, the vampire was on his feet, his hand closing around Gabriel's throat with a vice-like grip.

The stake clattered to the ground as Gabriel gasped for air, his vision swimming with darkness. Lucius leaned in close, his breath cold against Gabriel's ear. You have no idea what you've stumbled into, do you? He hissed. I've been watching you for so long. guiding you, shaping you. Every step you've taken has been part of my plan. Gabriel struggled against the vampire's grip, but it was futile. Lucius was far stronger than he appeared, his

centuries of accumulated power, giving him strength beyond mortal understanding. Why? Gabriel managed to choke out, his voice hoarse. Why did you kill my family? Lucius chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Gabriel's spine. Your family. Ah yes, the night you lost everything. It was necessary, you see. A boy like you full of potential, driven by grief and rage.

That's exactly what I needed. You were so eager to serve, so willing to fight against the darkness, and all the while you were playing right into my hand. Gabriel's mind reeled as the realization hit him like a blow to the chest. His entire life, the death of his family, his training, his missions, had been orchestrated by Lucius.

The vampire had used his pain, his desire for vengeance to turn him into the perfect weapon, a weapon that Lucius could manipulate to further his own knees. You bastard, Gabriel spat, his fury giving him the strength to fight back. He reached for the cross hanging from his neck, the crooks-sancti Benedicti, and pressed it against Lucius' chest. The vampire recoiled with a hiss of pain, releasing his grip on Gabriel's throat. Lucius staggered back, his eyes blazing with hatred. You think that trinket can save you, he snarled.

You're nothing without me, Gabriel. Without your pain, your anger, you're just another lost soul. Gabriel staggered to his feet, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. grab the stake from the ground, his grip tightening around the weapon. I am not your puppet, Lucius, he growled. I am the sentinel, and I will destroy you. With a cry of defiance, Gabriel lunged at Lucius, driving the stake toward the vampire's heart. Lucius was ready.

Move with lightning speed, sidestepping the attack and delivering a crushing blow to Gabriel's side. The impact sent Gabriel crashing into the stone wall. pain exploding through his body. Lucius loomed over him, his eyes burning with triumph. You're a fool, Gabriel. You cannot kill me. I am eternal. Now you will die knowing that you have failed.

Before Lucius could deliver the killing blow, a distant sound echoed through the chamber. The ringing of the Vatican bells. They're tolling reverberating through the stone walls. The sound seemed to weaken Lucius, if only for a moment. and his grip on Gabriel was loosening as the bells continued to ring. Taking advantage of the distraction, Gabriel summoned the last of his strength and drove the crooks of Sainty Benedicti into Lucius' chest.

The relic flared with a brilliant light as it made contact with the vampire's flesh, burning him with holy fire. Lucius screamed in agony, his form flickering like a shadow caught in the sun's rays. But before Gabriel could finish him, Lucius wrenched himself free, the force of the holy relic driving him back. He staggered toward the shadows, his body already beginning to heal, his form becoming less solid, more ethereal. You might have won this battle, Gabriel. Lucius rasped, his voice echoing as he faded into the darkness.

But the war is far from over. I will return, and when I do, you will beg for death. Without Lucius was gone, his presence vanishing like smoke in the wind, leaving Gabriel alone in the cold, silent chamber. Gabriel clapped to the ground, his body battered, his faith shattered. The truth of Lucius's words hung heavy in the air. Everything he'd believed in everything he'd fought for had been a lie. The enemy had been within the church all along, festering, growing stronger. Now Gabriel, was the one left to pick up the pieces. As the Vatican bells continued to toll, their sound was hollow and distant.

Gabriel knew this was far from over. Lucius had escaped, but Gabriel would hunt him down no matter the cost, even if it meant confronting the darkest parts of himself, the parts that Lucius had so carefully nurtured. The battle for his soul had only just begun. Art three, Father Gabriel Valenti, stood alone in the dim light of his private chamber,

the flickering candles casting shadows on the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the weight of centuries of prayer. On the table before him lay an array of weapons, silver steaks, vials of holy water, consecrated blades, and the crooks sancti Benedicti, still glowing faintly from its encounter with Lucius.

Each drink had been blessed, imbued with the power of the church, yet they felt insignificant against the darkness he now faced. Gabriel's faith, once unshagable, had been tested to its very limits. The revelation that Lucius had manipulated his life, that the vampire had orchestrated his path from the shadows, gnawed at his very soul. His sense of purpose, his righteousness, everything he'd built his life upon, now seemed like the carefully laid bricks of a false foundation.

He'd been nothing more than a pawn in love. Lucius' game, his anger and pain turned into weapons against the very institution he'd sworn to protect. But even as doubt threatened to consume him, the deeper resolve took root. Gabriel knew he could not allow Lucius to destroy everything. The vampire's plan was clear now. He intended to corrupt the heart of the church by turning his greatest defender to unravel the sanctity of the Vatican from within. Lucius succeeded. The darkness would spread, tainting the faith of millions, leaving the world vulnerable to horrors beyond imagination. Gabriel knelt before the small altar in his chamber, clutching the crooksanti Benedicti to his chest.

He prayed not for strength, but he knew he had little left, but for clarity, but the wisdom to see his path through the lies and deceptions that surrounded him. Words came slowly at first, but then more surely, until his voice was steady, quiet defiance against the encroaching darkness. As he rose, a sense of calm settled over him. Gabriel knew that the final confrontation was inevitable, and he'd face it head on, armed with the only things that had ever truly mattered. His faith, his resolve, and the knowledge that, even if he fell,

he would do so standing against the darkness, not succumbing to it. With his weapons gathered in his mindset, Gabriel made his way to the Grand Cathedral of the Vatican, the very heart of the church, where Lucius had waited, anticipating this moment, relishing the final act of his twisted plan. The Grand Cathedral loomed before Gabriel, his towering spires reaching toward the heavens, a beacon of hope and sanctity for all who sought refuge within its walls. The vast space was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the air filled with the scent of incense and the quiet murmur of prayers that seemed to echo from centuries past.

This was the holiest place in Christendom, the very seat of the church's power, and yet tonight it felt vulnerable, its sanctity under siege. As Gabriel entered, he could sense the presence of something dark and malevolent. The air was heavy with a palpable tension, the sacred energy of the cathedral tainted by an invisible corruption. Lucius was here, waiting. Gabriel walked down the long nave, the sound of the sound of the his footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. He could feel Lucius's eyes on him, watching from the shadows, savoring the anticipation of their final encounter. Gabriel's hand tightened around the hilt of the consecrated blade at his side, the other gripping the crook's sancti Benedicti. It's cold metal a reminder of the power of faith. When he reached the center

of the cathedral, the shadows shifted, and Lucius emerged from the darkness, his form materializing with an unsettling fluidity. It was dressed in dark, flowing robes, his pale face almost luminousant in the candlelight. His eyes, red and glowing with an unholy light, locked onto Gabriel's with a predatory intensity. Welcome, Gabriel, Lucius said. His voice smooth and filled with dark amusement.

I have been waiting for you. I knew you would come, just as I knew you would find your way to me. Everything has led to this moment. Gabriel remained silent. His eyes fixed on Lucius as he slowly drew the blade from its sheep. The vampire's gaze flicked to the weapon and a smile curled on his lips. Do you really believe that piece of metal can stop me? Lucius taunted, his voice echoing in the vastness of the cathedral.

This place, this sacred ground. You think it will protect you. but you can feel it, can't you? The sanctity here is fading, Gabriel. I've been feeding on it for centuries, weakening it, turning it into a hollow shell. Lucius extended his arms as to embrace the very cathedral itself. This place is mine now, Gabriel. The church you swore to defend has already begun to fall.

I've corrupted it from the inside, slowly, surely, until nothing remains but a facade. And now it will serve as the stage for your final failure. With a roar of defiance, Gabriel charged at Lucius, the blade gleaming in the candlelight as he swung it toward the vampire's heart. But Lucius was faster, moving within human speed to evade the attack. He countered with a blow that sent Gabriel crashing into the altar, the impact reverberating through the cathedral.

Gabriel struggled to his feet. His body battered but his resolve unbroken. He splashed Lucius with holy water, the droplets sizzling as they make contact with the vampire skin. But Lucius merely laughed. The sound cold and mirthless. Is that all you have, Gabriel? Lucius sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

You're fighting a battle you cannot win. Your weapons, your faith. They are nothing against me. but Gabriel refused to back down. He launched himself at Lucius again, this time pressing the crook's sancti Benedicti against the vampire's chest. The relic flared with a brilliant light, burning into Lucius' flesh and eliciting a scream of pain from the creature.

For a moment it seemed as though the vampire might be defeated, his form flickering as the holy energy seared through him. Yet even as Gabriel pushed forward, his strength beginning to falter, Lucius's eyes blazed with a dark fury. The vampire reached out, his hand closing around Gabriel's wrists with a grip like iron. He forced the cross away. The light dimming as Lucius exerted his power. You cannot stop me, Gabriel, Lucius hissed, his voice of venomous whisper.

I am eternal. This church, this faith, it's all an illusion. A means to control to keep the masses in line. But I have seen the truth. I've seen what lies beyond the veil of lies you cling to. And soon you will see it too. With a sudden, powerful motion, Lucius flung Gabriel across the cathedral, his body slamming into a column with bone-jarring force.

The relic clattered to the ground, its light extinguished. Gabriel struggled to rise, his vision swimming, his strength nearly spent. Lucius advanced. His form towering over Gabriel. Gabriel, as he lay helpless on the cold stone floor. This is the end, Gabriel. You are never meant to win this fight. You are meant to fall to become the final sacrifice that seals my victory.

As Lucius prepared to deliver the killing blow, the cathedral seemed to shudder, his very walls groaning under the weight of the unholy power that Lucius had unleashed. The candles flickered, and the once holy light that had filled the cathedral began to dim, as if the very essence of the place was being drained away. But in that moment of darkness, Gabriel felt a spark ignite within him, something deeper than the rage, stronger than the despair.

It was the memory of his family, the faces of those he'd lost, and the promise he had made to protect the innocent, to stand against the darkness no matter the cost. The final surge of will Gabriel reached the relic once more, his hand closed around it and as he did he uttered a prayer not for himself but for all those who had fallen for all those who had suffered at the hands of the darkness sainte michael archangere defended no imploreal the words came slowly at first then with increasing strength the prayer was a call for protection for divine intervention and as gabriel spoke he felt a warmth spread through his body

a light pushing back against the encroaching darkness. Lucius hesitated, sensing the change, his confidence faltering as the light began to grow, emanating from the relic in Gabriel's hand. The holy energy surged, filling the cathedral with a blinding radiance that banished the shadows, driving them back into the depths from which they'd come. No!

Lucius roared, recoiling from the light, his form flickering, unstable. This cannot be. But Gabriel stood firm. His faith restored, his resolve unbreakable. He raised the crooks Sancti Benedicti high, the light pouring from it like a beacon of hope, of salvation. With a final desperate cry, Gabriel brought the relic down upon Lucius,

the holy power coursing through the vampire's body, searing him from within. Lucius screamed, a sound of pure agony, as the light consumed him, his form disintegrating into ash, his essence banished back to the darkness from which it had come. The light continued to shine, purifying the cathedral. Art four, a gentle hush settled over the cathedral as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the broken windows, casting a golden hue across the scattered debris. The chaos and destruction bore silent witness to the epic struggle that unfolded within these sacred walls. Slowly, the sounds of hurried footsteps and anxious voices filled the air as members of the clergy,

alerted by the earlier disturbances, rushed into the hall. Pope Benedict XIV entered, flanked by concerned cardinals and Swiss guards. His eyes widened in shock and sorrow as he took in the devastation before him, but his gaze quickly found Gabriel's still form lying near the altar. The Holy Father hurried to his sight, kneeling down and gently cradling, Gabriel's head in his hands. Gabriel, my son, the Pope whispered, his voice thick with emotion. What have you done?

Gabriel's eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused, but peaceful. A faint smile touched his lips as he looked up at the Pope, recognising the kindness and concern in the elder man's eyes. It's over. Gabriel murmured weakly. Lucius, he is gone. The Vatican. is safe. Tears glistened in the Pope's eyes as he nodded, understanding the magnitude of Gabriel's

sacrifice. You have done more than anyone could have asked, my son, you have saved us all. Around them the clergy began to tend to the damage, but many paused to bow their heads in respect and sorrow, recognizing the heroism and the cost of Gabriel's actions, even if they did not fully grasp what had transpired. Gabriel's breathing grew shallow, each in the extent of the hail more labored than the last, yet his expression remains serene, his eyes gazing upward as if seeing something beyond the physical realm. A soft otherworldly glow seemed to surround him, and a profound stillness filled the space. In that moment Gabriel was transported beyond the confines of the cathedral, found himself standing in a sunlit meadow, the air fresh and filled

with a sweet scent of wild flowers. A gentle breeze caressed his face, and all the pain of and weariness faded away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of joy and peace. Ahead of him, he saw familiar figures emerging from the light. His mother, father and sister, their faces radiant and eyes filled with love. They walked toward him, their arms open and welcome. Tears of happiness welled up in Gabriel's eyes as he rushed forward, embracing them in a reunion he had longed for his entire life. Boom, Gabriel, his mother whispered, a voice melodious and sound.

soothing. We are so proud of you, his father added, his hand resting warmly on Gabriel's shoulder. His sister laughed, a sound that filled his heart with pure delight. You were so brave, brother. You brought light to the darkness. Gabriel felt a profound sense of completion, of a journey ended and a purpose fulfilled. He looked back over his shoulder, seeing the world he was leaving behind, but feeling no sadness, only gratitude for the experiences and the chance to make a difference. As the vision began to fade, Gabriel's earthly body released a final, gentle breath. The Pope and those gathered around knew the moment to come, and a solemn silence fell over the cathedral. The Holy Father bowed his head, offering a prayer for Gabriel's soul, his words echoing through

the hallowed space and carrying with them the deepest respect and mourning of all present. In the days that followed, the Vatican honoured Father Gabriel Valente with a ceremony bevitting a true hero. Though the specifics of his final battle remained shrouded in secrecy, the church acknowledged his unwavering dedication and ultimate sacrifice in the service of faith and humanity. Eulogies spoke of his compassion, his strength, and his profound impact on those around him. A memorial was erected within the cathedral, a simple yet powerful tribute depicting Gabriel's standing tall, the Crook's Sancti Benedicti held aloft, a symbol of enduring faith and courage

in the face of unimaginable darkness. Pilgrims and clergy alike came to say their respects, inspired by the story of a priest who had given everything to protect the sanctity of the church and the souls it served. Life within the Vatican gradually returned to its routine, the wounds of that fateful night healing with time and devotion. But the legacy of Father Gabriel Valente endured. His story passed down through whispered tales and guarded writings within the order of Sanktus Sanguiz. It became a symbol of hope and resilience, a reminder that even in the darkest of times faith and humanity could prevail. As the sun continued to rise each day over the ancient spires of the Vatican, its light carried with it the enduring spirit of a man who had faced the darkness

and emerged victorious, not through power or vengeance, but through sacrifice, love and unwel favoring faith. The Vatican's corridors, usually bustling with activity, were eerily quiet as the first light of dawn crept through the ancient stained-glass windows. In the aftermath of the battle, the heavy stillness had settled over the sacred grounds, as if the very walls were mourning the loss of Father Gabriel Valente. Yet life within the Vatican persisted, and with it the duties of those who served its hallowed halls. A young initiate of the Order of Sanktos Sanguich, brother Michael had been assigned the sombre task of cleaning Gabriel's former quarters, a small austere room tucked away in the depths of the Vatican, far from the grandeur of the

cathedral. The space was as Gabriel had left it, sparsely furnished, with a bed, a writing desk, in a modest collection of religious texts neatly arranged on a shelf. A single candle flickered in the corner, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. As Michael went about his task, his mind wandered to the stories it heard about Gabriel, the sentinel who had saved the Vatican from an ancient evil at the cost of his own life. Gabriel was a legend within the order now, a figure of awe and reverence. Michael couldn't help feel a mixture of admiration and sorrow as he tidied the room, carefully dusting the relics and artifacts that Gabriel had once held so dear. His hand brushed against the writing desk, and something peculiar caught his eye.

a small or most imperceptible seam in the wood. Curiosity peaked, Michael pressed on it, and to his surprise a hidden compartment stood open with a soft click. Inside nestled among the layers of dust was an ancient weathered book bound in cracked leather. Its cover was adorned with strange symbols that seemed to writhe in the candlelight, and the edges of the pages were darkened as if stained by time or something far more sinister. With trembling hands, Michael lifted the book from its hiding place and opened it. The pages were brittle, filled with elegant, looping script that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

As he scanned the words, the chill ran down his spine. The book was a journal, and the entries were written in a language he did not recognize, and yet somehow understood. The name that appeared over and over again throughout the journal was one that filled him with dread. Lucius. Michael's eyes widened as he read further, his heart pounding in his chest. The journal chronicled the vampire's centuries-long infiltration of the Vatican, his manipulation of events and people,

all leading to the final confrontation with Gabriel. But it was the last entry that made Michael's blood run cold. Dated just days before the battle, it described a ritual, a dark unholy riot intended to ensure Lucius' his survival in the event of his physical destruction. The words on the page seemed to shift and blur, and as Michael read them aloud in a whisper,

a strange sensation washed over him. His vision clouded, and a dull throbbing pain pulsed at the base of his skull. He clutched the sides of his head, the journal slipping from his grasp and falling to the floor with a thud. The flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes, which suddenly flashed with a sinister, crimson glow. The pain intensified, spreading like wildfire through his veins.

Michael gasped, staggering back as memories not his own flooded his mind. Memories of darkness, of bloodshed, of an insatiable hunger that spanned centuries. He saw, through Lucius' eyes, felt his cold malevolent presence seeping into every corner of his soul. Welcome, my child. The voice whispered in his mind, smooth. than seductive. It was Lucius, his essence alive within the journal, waiting for a new host,

a vessel through which his dark legacy could continue. Michael stumbled, his back hitting the wall as he struggled against the overpowering force invading his consciousness. He could feel Lucius' influence growing stronger, taking root within him, threatening to consume him entirely. But even as the darkness encroached,

a part of Michael, the part that was still himself, fought back, clinging desperately to the light of his faith. For a moment the battle within him wavered, poised on a knife's edge. The candle in the corner flickered, its flame sputtering as if caught in a gust of wind. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain receded, leaving Michael standing in the middle of the room, panting and drenched in sweat. But something was different. The silence in the room was now heavy with a sinister undertone And the air felt thick with unspoken menace

Michael's eyes once so warm and filled with the light of faith Were now tinged with a faint, unnatural red He bent down and picked up the journal Cradling it in his hands as though it was a precious relic A crimson glow in his eyes intensified for a brief moment Then faded to a barely perceptible glimmer A slow, weary smile spread across his lips as he carefully placed the journal back in the hidden compartment and sealed its shut. With a final glance around the room, Michael extinguished the candle and left, his footsteps echoing down the dark corridor.

The ancient blood-stained book lay in its secret resting place, waiting patiently for the next time it would be found. His dark influence ready to seep into the soul of whoever was foolish enough to open its pages. As Michael disappeared into the shadows, the Vatican's bells began to toll, heralding the dawn of a new day. But within the Holy Sanctuary, the seeds of a new darkness had been sown, and the true battle against the ancient evil was far from over. The legacy of Lucius had found a new host, and the cycle of light and darkness was destined to continue. The Sentinel Chronicles would not end with Gabriel's sacrifice. Instead, a new chapter was about to begin. one where the line between Savior and Monster was blurred,

where the greatest threat to the church might come from within its own ranks. I'm a vampire hunter for the Vatican. Here are my stories. By Brandreth McClure, Episode 2. Shadow of the Dam. Part 1, a heavy, sorrowful silence hung over the Vatican, place where even the hallowed hallways seemed to mourn the loss of Father Gabriel Valente. The grand corridors, which were usually bustling with the quiet reverence of those who served within its sacred walls, now felt empty, hollowed out by the absence of the man who had been the Vatican's most formidable protector.

The darkened skies above mirrored the mood within, casting shadows over the ancient architecture, as if the very heavens wept for the fallen sentinel. In a small dank chamber deep within the Vatican, Father Thomas de Luka knelt in prayer. His hands were clasped tightly, the knuckles were white with tension, but his mind was far from at peace. The room, once belonging to Gabriel, still carried the faint scent of incense, a lingering reminder of the man who had taught Thomas everything he knew about fighting the forces of darkness. But now that knowledge felt like a burden too great for him to bear. Thomas' thoughts were a maelstrom of self-doubt and inadequacy. Gabriel had been a legend, a warrior of unparalleled. faith and strength.

Now that he was gone, Thomas was expected to fill the void. The weight of that expectation bore down on him, making his chest tighten with anxiety. How could he possibly live up to Gabriel's legacy? How could he protect the church from the same evil that acclaimed his mentor's life? These questions ran through his mind as he rose from his prayers, the cool stone floor pressing against his knees like the weight of the world. He moved through his daily routines with a mechanic. mechanical precision, hearing confessions, preparing for mass, assisting in the rituals of exorcism.

Each task was performed with the same meticulous care he had always applied. But now there was an edge of desperation to his actions, a need to prove, to himself more than anyone else, that he was capable of the roll thrust upon him. But deep down, Thomas knew that these routines, these rituals, were not enough. They were the trappings of a life that had once seemed straightforward. but now felt like a mask he wore to hide his fear. Beneath the surface, the darkness that Gabriel had fought so valiantly against still lingered, it was growing stronger.

Thomas could feel it, like a creeping shadow at the edge of his consciousness, waiting for the moment when he would falter. In the private chambers of the Pope, Thomas's inner struggle did not go unnoticed. Pope Benedict the 17th, an elderly man with eyes that had seen too much, observed the young priest closely. He'd seen the uncertainty in Thomas's eyes, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he thought no one was watching. The Pope knew that Thomas was untested, unproven, and yet there was something in the young man, a potential that had yet to be fully realised. Church was in desperate need of a new sentinel, and despite his vulnerabilities, Thomas might be their last hope.

The Pope's thoughts lingered on Thomas as the young priest was making his way to his chambers, unaware of the path that lay ahead. The Vatican was a fortress of faith, but it was also a place where secrets were buried deep, and darkness had a way of seeping through the cracks. Thomas would soon be called upon to face that darkness, and when the time came the Pope could only pray that Gabriel's teachings would be enough to guide him. As Thomas walked through the echoing halls, the weight of his mentor's legacy borne down on him like a leaden shroud. It was no longer just an apprentice, a follower in Gabriel's shadow.

He was now expected to be the new sentinel, the guardian of the Vatican, the slayer of the damned. But with every step he took, he could not shake the feeling that the shadows were closing in, that the darkness Gabriel had fought to contain was not yet vanquished, that his own faith would soon be tested in ways he could never have imagined. The afternoon sun cast long golden beams through the stained-glass windows of the Vatican, illuminating the intricate mosaics that adorned its hallowed halls. despite the warmth and light outside, an undercurrent of unease permeated the sacred enclave. Whispers of unrest and shadows of doubt lingered among the clergy,

hinting at troubles that lay beneath the surface of daily rituals and prayers. Father Thomas de Luca walked riskily through the intricate maze of corridors, its footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors. He'd received an unexpected and urgent summons from the Pope himself, an audience in the Sanctum Sanctorum, the most secretive chamber within the Vatican, reserved only for matters of utmost importance. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine. This was a place steeped in mystery and profound significance,

one that Thomas had never before been granted access to. As he approached the massive oak doors guarded by the Stoic Swiss guards, Thomas took a deep breath, attempting to steady the fluttering in his chest. The guards exchanged a brief glance before one nodded and pushed open the heavy door, revealing a solemn chamber lined with ancient tapestries and shelves laden with dusty tombs and sacred artifacts. The air was cool and carried the faint scent of aged parchment and burning candles. At the centre of the room stood Pope Benedict XIV, his regal presence commanding yet gentle. Clad in his ceremonial white robes, the Pope's weathered face bore lines of four.

fatigue and concern, his eyes reflecting a depth of wisdom and burden. Beside him stood Cardinal Marconi, the head of the Order of Sanctus Sanguiz, his expression equally grave. Welcome, Father Thomas, the Pope intoned softly, his voice resonating through the quiet chamber. Thank you for coming on such short notice. Thomas bowed deeply, his voice barely above a whisper. Your Holiness. It is my honour to serve.

The Pope gestured toward a simple wooden chair opposite his own. Please sit. We have much to discuss. As Thomas took his seat, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of trepidation. The gravity in the room was palpable. The silence was heavy as the Pope regarded him with a solemn gaze. Thomas, the Pope began, folding his hands atop an intricately carved table. The church finds itself in a...

time of great peril. Darkness stirs once more, threatening the very foundations of our faith and the safety of the innocent. Thomas's brow furrowed as he leaned forward, attentive and alert. What has happened to your holiness? Cardinal Marconi stepped closer, holding a thick weathered journal bound in cracked leather. The edges were afraid and a faded cross was embossed on the cover. A symbol Thomas recognized immediately as belonging to his late mentor, felt Gabriel Valenti. In the weeks following Gabriel's passing, we have monitored for any lingering threats connected to his final mission. Marconi explained, is always low and measured. Unfortunately, our worst fears are coming to fruition. The Pope nodded gravely.

Reports have reached us from Buenos Aires, a series of brutal, unexplained deaths. The victims were found drained of blood, their bodies mutilated in ways that suggest a sinister. a supernatural force at work. A chill around Thomas's spine as he absorbed the information. You believe this is connected to Lucius, he asked, his voice barely concealing the dread that clawed at his insides. The poet exchanged a solemn glance with Marconi before responding. We fear that Lucius's spirit was not wholly vanquished during Gabriel's sacrifice.

Evidence suggests that he has found a new host. Marconi placed the journal gently on the table before Thomas. This belonged to Gabriel. It contains detailed accounts leading up to his final battle with Lucius, as well as warnings about the vampire's resilience and cunning. Thomas hesitated before reaching out to touch the journal, his fingers tracing the worn edges reverently. As he opened it, pages filled with Gabriel's meticulous handwriting unfolded before him.

Accounts of horrors-faced, battles fought, and the relentless pursuit of an evil that refused to die. One passage caught his eye, inked in bold strokes. Should Lucius' spirit endure beyond my efforts, he will seek a new vessel, un susceptible to his whispers and promises of power. Vigilance must be maintained, for his corruption spreads like a plague,

unseen until it is too late. Thomas looked up, his eyes wide with realisation. Do we know who has been put in? possessed. The Pope's expression darkened. We believe it is Michael. He was a promising young initiate within the order, devoted and pious, but he has been unaccounted for since Gabriel's passing, and evidence places him in Buenos Aires at the time these atrocities began. Thomas's heart sank. He'd known Michael, who trained alongside him, shared meals and conversations about faith and duty. The thought that his fellow brother could be the vessel for such evil was almost

too much to bear. Are we certain? Thomas asked. Desperation creeping into his voice. Perhaps there is another explanation. Mokone's gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. We have considered all possibilities, but the signs are undeniable. Michael has fallen under Lucius' influence, and his actions are escalating. If we do not act swiftly, countless lives will be lost, and Lucius's power will grow beyond our capacity to contain. Silence settled over the chamber as Thomas grappled with the gravity of the situation. Doubt and fear warred within him, doubt in his ability to confront such a formidable foe, and fear of failing those who depended on him. He closed Gabriel's journal, its weight in his hand symbolic of the burden he was being asked to carry.

The Pope leaned forward. his eyes piercing yet compassionate. Father Thomas, you have trained under Gabriel's guidance. You possess the knowledge and the faith necessary to face this darkness. We're entrusting you with this mission. Travel to Buenos Aires, find Michael, and put an end to Lucius' reign of terror before it spreads further. Thomas's throat tightened, words momentarily failing him. He felt the enormity of the task pressing down on him.

his earlier doubts resurfacing with renewed vigor. Your holiness, he began hesitantly. I am honored by your faith in me, but I fear I may not be the one suited for such a mission. Gabriel was a seasoned warrior, and even he fell in battle against Lucius. I am but an apprentice, inexperienced and untested. The Pope's gaze softened,

and he reached across the table to place a reassuring hand on Thomas's shoulder. True strength does not come from experience. alone, but from the purity of one's faith and the courage to act in the face of darkness. Gabriel saw a potential in you, as do I. You are not alone in this fight. The Lord's grace will guide and protect you. From within the faults of his robes, the Pope withdrew a gleaming artifact, a crucifix of exquisite craftsmanship, adorned with intricate engravings in a brilliant sapphire at its centre. Thomas recognized it instantly. The sacred reliance was a that had belonged to Gabriel, known as the crooks, sancti benedicti. It was said to possess

powerful protective properties against evil, a symbol of divine light against encroaching darkness. The Pope held out the relic to Thomas, his expression resolute. Take this, let it be a symbol of the responsibility now entrusted to you, a reminder of Gabriel's enduring spirit. With this and with your unwavering faith, you can prevail. Hands trembling, Thomas accepted the relic, feeling a surge of warmth emanated from it as it settled into his grasp. The weight was comforting, his presence instilling a flicker of confidence amidst a sea of uncertainty. Marconi stepped forward, his voice firm, yet encouraging. You leave at first delight.

Arrangements have been made for your passage and support upon arrival. Time is of the essence, Father Thomas. The longer we wait, the stronger Lucius becomes. Thomas nodded slowly, his resolve beginning to solidify. Thomas nodded slowly and rose from his seat, carefully tucking Gabriel's journal and the sacred relic into his rose. I will do all that I can to stop this evil, for Gabriel, for Michael, and for all those who stand to suffer.

The Pope offered a gentle, reassuring smile. Go with God's blessing, my son. May his leg guide you through the shadows. As Thomas exited the Sanctum Sanctorum, the weight of his mission settled upon him, heavy yet purposeful. The corridors of the Vatican seemed darker, the shadows deeper, but within him a small flame of determination burned brighter than before. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with danger and temptation, but he also knew that

he carried with him the legacy of his mentor and the hopes of those who believed in him. The battle against darkness was about to begin anew. and this time Father Thomas DeLuca would be at the forefront, ready to confront the demons that threatened to consume the world he had sworn to protect. Part 2. Father Thomas DeLuca arrived in Buenos Aires under a available thick, grey clouds that hung oppressively low over the city. The rain fell in never-ending sheets, drenching the cobblestone streets and casting a gloom over the already shadowed alleys. The city, with its towering cathedrals and crumbling colonial buildings,

felt like a place out of time, his beauty marred by an undercurrent of dread that seemed to seep from the very stones. As he walked through the rain-soaked streets, it almost couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The people he passed on the streets moved quickly, their faces turned down, as if the rain carried more than just water, perhaps a sense of something dark, something malevolent, lurking just out of sight. Every shadow seemed to shift unnaturally, every gust of wind carried wind, carried with, whispers that sent chills down his spine. His first stop was the local diocese, a grand yet aging structure nestled in the heart of the city. The walls of the diocese were thick with the smell of incense and old wood, a stark contrast

to the fresh clean air of the Vatican. Here Thomas hoped to gather information and support from the local clergy. However, he was met with an icy reception. The priests he spoke to were tight-lipped and evasive, their eyes filled with fear as they muttered about the recent deaths but offered little else. It's clear they knew something, but were too terrified to acknowledge it. The local law enforcement was equally unhelpful. The officers were either unaware of the supernatural nature of the murders or simply too afraid to confront it. They dismissed the deaths as the work of a deranged serial killer, unwilling to consider the possibility of a darker, more

sinister force at play. Thomas quickly realized that he was on his own, forced to navigate the labyrinthine streets and delve into the city's underbelly without any official support. The bodies of the victims have been found in various parts of the city, each one drained of blood, their throats bearing the unmistakable puncture marks of a vampire. The brutality of the killings, coupled with the sheer number of them, pointed to a predator who was not only powerful but growing bolder with each passing day. Thomas knew he had to act quickly, but the city itself seemed to conspire against him. Its mazes of streets and shouts, Cadu Ely is obscuring his path at every turn.

As his investigation deepened, Thomas ventured into the darker corners of Buenos Aires, places where the light of day had barely reached, and where the influence of Lucius had taken root like a spreading cancer. In these hidden enclaves, he discovered that Michael had not only embraced the power bestowed upon him by Lucius, but had also begun to gather followers. Some were lured by the promise of immortality,

seduced by the allure of eternal life and power. others were coerced into servitude, their wills bent by Michael's growing influence and the fear of death. The underbelly of the city, with its crumbling tenements and decaying warehouses, was a breeding ground for this new evil. Thomas found himself descending into these dark places, his faith tested with each step. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own, as if the very city was rotting from within. In a dilapidated church, long abandoned and now serving as a hideout for Michael, Thomas found Gabriel's hidden journal. The discovery was both a blessing and a curse.

The journal, stained with blood and filled with cryptic notes, revealed the full extent of Michael's transformation. It detailed the young initiates descent into darkness, the gradual erosion of his humanity as Lucius' spirit took hold. The journal also contained Gabriel's final warning. Orleans, scrawled in a desperate hand. Lucius' power and grows with each passing day. The true thread lies not in his strength but in his ability to spread the darkness, to corrupt others as he has been corrupted. Reading these words, Thomas felt his resolve began to waver.

The journal spoke of horrors that Gabriel, a seasoned warrior of the faith, had barely survived. How could he, a mere apprentice, hoped to succeed where his mentor had fallen? them. Doubt gnawed away at him, its tendrils wrapping around his heart and mind. The deeper Thomas delved into the investigation, the more the darkness began to take its toll on him. His nights became played with nightmares, visions of Gabriel's final moments, of Michael's twisted grin as he drained the life from his victims, of the Vatican engulfed in flames. These dreams were vivid, almost real, leaving Thomas shaken and disoriented upon waking.

But it wasn't just his sleep that was haunted. During the day he began to experience unsettling hallucinations. At times, he would catch glimpses of shadows moving on their own, or hit the distant echo of sinister laughter. Faces in the crowd seemed to morph into twisted demonic visages before snapping back to normal. He would find himself lost in thought, only to realize that minutes, sometimes hours, had passed without him noticing.

The worst of these visions came one night as he stood before a cracked, mirror in his modest lodgings. As he stared at his reflection, he saw his own face begin to change, his eyes darkening his teeth elongating into sharp fangs. For a brief, horrifying moment, he saw himself as a vampire, a twisted reflection of what he feared he might become. He recoiled, stumbling backwards, his heart pounding in his chest. His visions preyed on Thomas' deepest insecurities, feeding on his fear that he was not strong enough to resist the darkness. He began to question his own sanity, wondering if Lucius' spirit was not only corrupting Michael, but also seeking to break him, to turn him into the very thing he'd sworn to destroy.

The line between reality and illusion blurred. Thomas found himself slipping into despair. The more he confronted the darkness, the more he felt it consuming him, pulling him into an abyss from which there might be no return. His faith, so unshakable, now felt fragile and brittle, like a candle flickering in a storm. As the bodies continued to pile up and the city of Buenos Aires fell further into fear and chaos, Thomas knew that time was running out. He had to confront Michael,

but the question that now played him was whether he had the strength to do so, or whether he would fall, as Gabriel had before him, into the waiting arms of the darkness. The rain had finally stopped, leaving Buenos Aires cloaked in an eerie stillness. Father Thomas De Luca moved swiftly through the narrow streets, his breath fogging in the cold night air as he made his way toward a grand ancient cathedral

that loomed over the city like a silent sentinel. Beneath it lay the catacombs, an intricate web of tunnels and chambers that had served as a place of worship and burial for centuries. It was here in the bowels, of this sacred place that Thomas had uncovered the horrifying truth behind the recent string of deaths. Michael had not been acting out of mere bloodlust. The murders were part of a carefully orchestrated ritual designed to grant Lucius full manifestation within Michael's body. Each victim had been

chosen for a specific purpose, their blood used to empower the ancient vampire spirit that had taken root within Michael. The ritual, Thomas learned from Gabriel's bloodstained journal and from the cryptic symbols etched into the walls of the catacombs, was set to reach its climax during a major religious event, a citywide celebration that would draw thousands of devout Catholics into the streets and into the very cathedral under which they now stood. Thomas's heart pounded as the full weight of the situation settled on him. If Michael succeeded, Lucius would not only return with all his former power, but would also have the strength of countless innocent souls fueling his resurrection. The prospect of such evil being unleashed upon the world was almost too much to bear.

The ritual would culminate in just a few days during the grand procession in honour of the city's patron saint. The streets would be filled with the faithful, making them easy pray for the unspeakable horror that Michael intended to unleash. The realization struck Thomas like a blow to the chest. Michael was no longer the young initiate he'd once known. he'd become something far more dangerous, far more monstrous. Lucius's corruption ran deep, and there was no guarantee that even if he managed to defeat Michael, the vampire's influence could be fully perched.

Stopping this ritual was no longer just a matter of saving Michael. It was about preventing the apocalypse that Lucius had been planning for centuries. But as Thomas prepared himself the inevitable confrontation, a darker thought was eating away at the edges of his mind. What if Michael's corruption was irreversible? What if the only way to stop Lucius was to destroy Michael completely, sacrificing any chance of saving the young man he'd once known? The possibility chilled him to the bone,

but he knew there was no time to dwell on it. He had to act and fast. Descending into the catacombs beneath the cathedral, Thomas was greeted by a suffocating darkness that seemed to close in around him. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. and the walls were lined with the bones of those who had been buried here long ago. He moved cautiously. The sacred relic, Gabriel's cross, clutched tightly in his hand.

It's called meddle a small comfort against the overwhelming sense of dread that permeated the ancient tunnels. The further he ventured into the catacombs, the more oppressive the atmosphere weighed on him. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the distant drip of water and the soft echo of his footsteps. The path twisted and turned. leading him deeper into the labyrinth until he reached a massive chamber illuminated by the dim flicker of candlelight. In the centre of the room, standing before an altar adorned with arcane symbols and the remains of the ritual's previous victims was Michael. The young initiate looked nothing like the man Thomas had once known.

His eyes, once bright with the light of faith, now burned with an unnatural crimson glow. His face was twisted in a cruel smirk, and his posture radiated confidence and perhaps, The sight of him, fully under Lucius' control, sent a wave of sorrow and anger crashing over Thomas. Michael, Thomas called out, his voice echoing off the stone walls. You don't have to do this. It's not too late to turn back. Michael turned slowly. His expression was one of cold amusement.

Turn back. Oh, Thomas, you truly are naive. Lucius has shown me the truth. He has given me power beyond your confidence. comprehension. Why would I ever want to return to the weak, pathetic existence I once knew? Thomas took a step forward, his grip tightening on the relic. This power is a curse, Michael. It's destroying you from the inside. Lucius doesn't care about you. It's just using you as a vessel, nothing more.

You can still fight this. We can still save you. Michael's laughter echoed throughout the chamber, a chilling sound that made Thomas' blood run cold. Save me. There's nothing to save Thomas. Lucius and I are one. Together we will reshape this world. Perjured of its weakness and usher in a new age of darkness. Realizing that words would not reach him, Thomas raised the relic, its silver surface glinting in the candlelight. You've truly given yourself to the darkness, then I have no choice. I will stop you, Michael, even if it means destroying you. Michael smirk faded, replaced by a look of contempt.

You stopped me. You couldn't even save Gabriel. What makes you think you can defeat me? With a roar of fury, Michael lunged at Thomas, moving with a speed and ferocity that took him by surprise. The two clashed in a violent struggle, the force of their blow sending echoes throughout the catacombs. Thomas swung the relic with all his might, but Michael's strength was overwhelmed. overwhelming, he strike pushing Thomas closer to the brink of defeat. The battle was brutal and desperate.

Thomas fought with everything he had, drawing on his training, his faith, and the memory of Gabriel to fuel his resolve. But Michael, empowered by Lucius, seemed nearly unstoppable. His attacks were relentless, each one landing with bone-crushing force. Thomas could feel his strength waning, the way to the relic growing heavier in his hand with each passing moment. Just as Michael was about to deliver the killing blow, his face twisted in a triumphant sneer. Thomas summoned the last of his strength and drove the relic into Michael's side. The sacred object burned with a holy light as it made contact, and Michael led out a scream of pain and rage.

The force of the blow caused Michael to stagger back, his expression shifting from confidence to shock as he realized he'd been wounded. Panting heavily, Thomas watched as Michael retreated into the shadows. his form dissolving into the darkness of the catacombs. The chamber fell silent once more. The echoes of their battle fading into nothingness. Thomas sank to his knees, exhausted and battered, but alive. He'd survived the encounter, but the victory was hollow.

Michael was still out there, and the ritual was still in motion. As he knelt in the cold, damp chamber, the full gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him. The battle had been won, but the war was far from over. Lucius' influence had grown too strong, and Michael had become something far more dangerous than Thomas had ever anticipated.

The ritual would continue, and the only question that remained was whether Thomas could find the strength to stop it, or if he would fall, like so many before him, to the darkness that threatened to consume everything. Part three. The streets of Buenos Aires were alive with the sights and sounds of the grand religious festival.

Thousands of faithful are gathered, their voices lifted in prayer and song, their hearts filled with devotion as they celebrated the city's patron saint. Up beneath the surface of this joyous occasion, the dark undercurrent pulsed, while that only Father Thomas de Luca could sense. He moved through the crowd with grim determination, his eyes fixed on the towering cathedral at the heart of the city, where he knew Michael would be waiting. The night had fallen, casting long shadows over the first time.

and the cathedral loomed ominously against the dark and sky. Thomas has spent the last few days preparing for this final confrontation, gathering every weapon and sacred object he could find. The relic of Gabriel's cross hung heavily around his neck, its weight a constant reminder of the responsibility he bore. In his hands he clutched a consecrated blade, his silver edge gleaming with a holy light. He had performed every ritual, whispered every prayer,

and fortified his resolve for the battle to come. Yet, despite all his preparations, a deep unease gnawed at him. He pushed through the throngs of people, making his way toward the entrance of the cathedral. The heavy wooden doors creaked open as he stepped inside, the vibrant sounds of the festival fading into an eerie silence. The interior was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, but the atmosphere was oppressive, as if the very air had been tainted by the darkness

that now resided within these sacred walls. The far end of the nave, standing before the grand altar, was Michael. He was clad in a long, dark robe, his figure barely visible in the dim light. His eyes, now fully concerned by Lucius' influence, flowed with a malevolent red hue. The sight of him sent a chill down Thomas' spine, but he staled himself, knowing that this was the moment he'd been preparing for. Michael, Thomas called out, his voice echoing through the vast space. This ends tonight. Michael turned slowly, a twisted smile playing on his lips.

Does it, Thomas? Or is this just the beginning? Thomas advanced, holding the consecrated blade out before him. We don't have to do this. Whatever power Lucius has given you, it's not worth a cost. I know there's still a part of you that remembers. who you were, who you really are. Michael's laughter echoed off the cathedral's walls, cold and mocking.

You still don't understand, do you? Lucius has shown me the truth, the church, the order, even you. Thomas, you're all just pawns in a game far older than any of us. Lucius is the future, and I will help him usher in a new age, one with a strong rule and the weak are purged. With a sudden movement, Michael raised his arm. and the shadows around him seemed to come alive, swirling and twisting in unnatural patterns. The air grew thick with the stench of decay, and the candles flickered wildly as if caught in a fierce wind.

Thomas tightened his grip on the blade, feeling the holy energy within it pulse in response to that evil that now filled the cathedral. Well, you leave me no choice, Thomas said. His voice filled with both sorrow and resolve. each arched forward the blade slicing through the darkness as he aimed for Michael's heart. The battle erupted with terrifying ferocity. Michael moved with unnatural speed and strength, his every strike imbued with the dark power of Lucius. But Thomas fought back with equal fervor, drawing on the strength of his faith and the memory of Gabriel to guide his hand. The clash of blade against dark energy echoed through the cathedral, each strikes sent a shockwave through the air. As the battle raged, it became clear that this was more than just a physical confrontation.

It was a spiritual struggle, a test of wills between two forces, one rooted in light, the other in darkness. Michael taunted Thomas with visions of his failures, his doubts and his fears, trying to break his spirit. Thomas fought back with every prayer, every ounce of faith he could muster, refusing to let the darkness take hold. The two competent, were evenly matched. Their powers clashing in a deadly dance of light and shadow. But as the fight wore on, it became clear that Michael was drawing strength from the very cathedral itself, feeding off the corruption he'd spread through the sacred ground. Thomas could feed himself weakening, his strength ebbing away as the darkness closed in around

him. Just as it seemed that Michael was about to overpower him, a sudden surge of divine energy He coursed through Thomas' body. He fell to his knees, grasping the relic around his neck and began to pray with all his heart. The words of his prayer echoed throughout the cathedral, and the consecrated blade in his hand began to glow with an intense, blinding light. Lord, grant me strength to vanquish this evil. Thomas whispered, his voice trembling with both fear and hope. Let this light shine through me, so I may deliver your justice. As he spoke, the light from the blade intensified, filling the entire cathedral with a brilliant radiance that cut through the shadows like a beacon of hope.

Michael staggered back, his eyes wide with shock as the holy energy washed over him, disrupting the ritual and severing his connection to Lucius. No, Michael screamed. His voice filled with rage and fear. You cannot stop this. I am Lucius. I am eternal. Thomas pressed on, channeling the full power of the relic into a final desperate attack. He thrust the blade forward, piercing Michael's chest with a surge of holy energy that exploded outward in a blinding flash. The cathedral shook with the force of the blast, the very ground trembling beneath their feet as the power of Lucius was violently expelled from Michael's body. For a moment, everything was still. The light faded in the darkness that at once filled the cathedral began to dissipate.

Michael crumpled to the floor, his body smoking and lifeless. The ritual had been interrupted, and Lucius' spirit had been severely weakened, unable to fully manifest in the physical world. The city had been saved, but at a terrible cost. Thomas stood over Michael's body, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his mind reeling from the intensity of the battle. He'd won, but the victory felt hollow. Michael had been lost to the darkness, consumed by the very evil he'd sought to control.

And now Thomas was left to pick up the pieces, to carry the weight of yet another life lost to the curse of Lucius. As the sounds of the festival began to see you back into the cathedral, Thomas sank to his knees of the consecrated blade falling from his grasp. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his sacrifice settled over him like a shroud. The city was safe, but the battle had left him physically and emotionally shattered. And in the silence that followed, he sensed that this was only the beginning. Lucius' influence had been weakened, but it was far from gone. The vampire's spirit still lingered, waiting for another chance to strike. And Thomas, though victorious, was left to wonder whether he truly won

or if the darkness had merely found another way to take root within him. The days following in the climatic battle in Buenos Aires were marked by a slow return to normality, though the city remained shadowed by the recent horrors. The festival, once vibrant and joyous, now carried a somber tone as whispers of the gruesome events spread throughout the populace. The streets were no longer filled with the carefree revelry of the faithful,

but with a muted sense of relief, an unspoken understanding that something terrible, had passed, giving scars that would take time to heal. Father Thomas De Luca, barely able to stand after his confrontation with Michael, was taken in by the local clergy, who remained unaware of the true nature of his mission. They treated his wounds and offered prayers of gratitude for his service. But Thomas' mind was elsewhere, consumed by the memories of the battle and the terrible choices he was forced to make.

Each wound he bore was a reminder of the darkness he faced. and of the friend he could not save. As he recovered, Thomas moved through the city in a daze, observing the people of Buenos Aires as they attempted to move on with their lives. The city might have been saved, but it felt different now, like a place touched by something otherworldly, where the ordinary and the supernatural briefly intersected. The streets, once so teeming with life, now seemed quieter,

as if the city itself was mourning the losses it endured. When Thomas finally returned to the Vatican, he was met with a hero's welcome. The Pope and the surviving members of the Order of Sanctus Sanguiz greeted him with solemn respect, acknowledging the sacrifice he'd made to protect the church and the world from the darkness. They praised him for his courage, for standing where others might have faltered, and for fulfilling the legacy of Father Gabriel Valenti. The sacred relic Gabriel once wielded was returned to its place of honour, now a symbol of Thomas's victory.

Thomas couldn't shake the hollow feeling that nor did his soul. The accolades, the praise, the recognition, it all felt empty. As he walked through the hallowed halls of the Vatican, where Gabriel's presence still lingered like a ghost, Thomas was haunted by the knowledge that his battle was far from over. He knew that Lucius' spirit, though weakened, had not been destroyed, that the ancient evil could return at any moment.

That victory, hard won as it was, seemed fragile, as though the darkness was merely lying in wait, providing its time until it could strike again. In the quiet moments between his duties, Thomas reflected on the toll the battle had taken on him. His faith, once unwavering, now felt strained, tested by the horrors he'd witnessed and the choices he'd made. The weight of his role as the new sentinel pressed down on him, heavier with each passing day. Gabriel's shadow loomed large, and Thomas couldn't escape the fear that he would never be able to live up to the legacy of his mentor. He spent long hours in the Vatican's vast library, pouring over ancient texts and records, searching for any clue that might have helped him understand the darknesses he now faced.

But the more he learned, the more he realized how little he truly knew. The battle with Michael, the loss of his friend, the near destruction of Buenos Aires, his events had shaken him to his core, leaving him questioning whether he had the strength to continue in his role. Late at night when the Vatican was quiet and the shadows stretched long across the floor, Thomas knelt in the chapel, alone with his thoughts. He prayed for guidance, for strength, for the wisdom to know how to proceed. But his prayers were met with silence, and in that silence Thomas felt the weight of his burden more acutely than ever. He wondered if he had what it takes to be the church's protector

to stand against the darkness that still lingered in the world. As the days passed, Thomas slowly began to recover from his physical wounds where the emotion on spiritual scars remained. He knew that the battle was far from over and that the true test of his faith and resolve was yet to come. Vatican may see him as a hero, but Thomas knew the truth. The darkness was still out there. waiting, and the fight against it would require more than just strength and courage.

It would need a sacrifice of the soul, one that Thomas was not sure he was ready to make. The skies of Washington, D.C. were darkening, and the city's bustling streets were lit by the low glow of neon signs and the steady stream of headlines. The nation's capital, a symbol of power and influence, was now unwittingly playing host to a new insidious presence. In the shadows of the city, a figure emerged, a man seemingly ordinary yet moving with an eerie purpose. Michael, his wounds miraculously healed, is step steady and confident. The haunting pallor of his skin and the unsettling gleam in his eyes were the only signs of the darkness that resided within him.

Lucius' spirit, far from being vanquished, had intertwined itself fully with Michael's essence, making him more dangerous than ever before. Michael blended effortlessly into the city's crowd, his face a mask of calm as he surveyed his new hunting grounds. The bustling energy of Washington, D.C. masked the ominous undercurrent that followed him, an ancient evil reborn and ready to unleash its full potential. As he disappeared into the throngs of people,

the city's skyline darkened, a start reminded that the cycle of darkness had not yet been broken, but merely relocated, preparing for its next phase. Meanwhile, back at the Vatican, Father Thomas de Luca was finally beginning to find some semblance of peace after the harrowing events in Buenos Aires. Exhausted, he retired his quarters, hoping for a brief respite. However, a terrible sense of unease pulled him from his rest. He felt compelled to check on Gabriel's journal, the very tone that had both guided and haunted him,

during his mission. To his horror, Thomas discovered that the journal was missing. The dusty old shelf where it was carefully placed now held only in empty space, devoid of the book that contained the secrets of Lucius' past, and the terrible warnings of what was to come. Anix seized him as he searched frantically, but it was as if the journal had simply vanished into thin air. Realisation dawned.

Someone within the Vatican, perhaps someone called, close had taken the journal. The implications were terrifying. Could it be that the darkness had not only survived, but had found a way to infiltrate the very heart of the church once more? The thought was almost too much to bear, but the missing journal was undeniable proof that Lucius's influence lingered, perhaps even within the order of Sanctus Senghis itself.

As Thomas stood in the dim light of his quarters, the weight of this discovery was too much to bear. The victory in Buenos Aires was not the end, but rather the beginning of a new and more dangerous chapter in this story. The enemy was closer than he'd ever imagined, hiding in plain sight, and the true battle was only just beginning. Thomas looked out over the Vatican, the sense of foreboding deepening as he realized that his fight was far from over. The darkness that had plagued the world for centuries was not easily defeated, and as long as Lucius' spirit endured, So too did the threat to the very soul of the church. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast.

My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more.

Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.