He Was Called The Red Priest Novels & Stories

Although red roses are good for funerals, in my case they wouldn't since it's a joyful color. "We thank you here Father as you let this man go to peace," said the priest and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. There shall be no peace for him but only fire for all the wickedness he has done. Suddenly they started singing which made me feel sick and I couldn't help but put out a gun and rest it on the priest's head. Everyone including Leornado looked at me in shock. "Cut the crap and put this man where he truly belongs" I yelled angrily.

His grip on my hand tightened as he helped me up the steps to stand before the priest, his movements gentle, making sure my dress draped perfectly around me. He adjusted the train with surprising gentleness, then straightened and caught the priest's eye. The priest was younger than I'd expected, maybe in his early fifties, with slightly grey hair at his temples. He didn't look old, exactly, but there was a hardness to him that spoke of a life lived outside normal church walls. He was dressed in traditional robes, but I could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from beneath his collar. "Try not to put her to sleep, Father," Dante said, his tone dry. "Keep it short, or I might skip to the goo

The day of the evaluation arrived. A priest from the Church of the Eternal Flame was summoned—a tall, solemn man dressed in deep blue robes, carrying with him an ornate crystal staff. He introduced himself as Father Reinhart, a man of wisdom who had performed this ritual for countless noble families. Lucian sat stiffly in a high-backed chair as the priest stood before him, his piercing gaze measuring him. “Do not be afraid, young one,” the priest said gently. “This process will not hurt.” I’m not afraid, Lucian thought bitterly. I just don’t want to embarrass myself.

His cassock was splattered with crimson, but he stood perfectly still, his posture unbothered, as if he were simply admiring the architecture of the bloodbath. Krystal's breath caught in her throat. She has never seen him before. She do come to this church dozens of times over the past few weeks, confessing her sins to the faceless voice behind the screen, never once laying eyes on the priest who had heard her darkest secrets. But now, seeing him standing amidst the chaos, something stirred in the back of her mind. He is familiar. Why does he look familiar? she thought, her brow furrowing. I've never seen his face.

Harry didn’t answer so I continued, “He kept calming the little girl down but at first I didn’t understand why she was half naked in front of him. The little girl was even stuttering, maybe because she was too scared when she told the priest that he was going to hurt her again.” Harry was once again silent. “What was weird is that the priest had the same name as you. He called himself Father Harry.” I added to which Harry replied a dry chuckle. “He kept telling the little girl not to tell anyone their secret and the look on the little girl's face was almost too pitiful.” Harry clears his throat, “What happened next?”

in far off Carcosa . . . a former resident of the Boys Home who “ran away” six years ago after being shadowed by Hammon Bale, which also was a derivative of the child-consuming god Baal-Hammon. Martin Spencer, who’d written him several letters seven years ago as part of a school-sponsored Letters to Soldiers campaign. Martin Spencer, who’d expressed dreams of becoming a policeman someday, to whom Father Ward sent a rosary with a medal of St. Raphael, patron saint of policemen, a rosary Father found in the confessional the night a voice (his imagination? his paranoia?) whispered to him: He takes us. A voice which lead him to the desecration at the foot of Mary in the rectory’s garden.

He was very intimidating. I had so many questions, who were they? Who was Saint Christopher? Did the man know that red wasn’t his color? But I had to shut my mouth, or my curiosity would lead me into trouble, again. Mother Renata halted as the man on the red robe started walking towards her. His every step echoed as he used his staff to guide him forward. When he finally stood beside her, Mother Renata did not flinch, even a bit. He was bigger and taller, but it seemed that he was not intimidating enough to scare the mother of the convent.

But the world had other plans. The first time he had stepped into the Cali estate, he had been a young priest, barely twenty-six years old, fresh out of seminary, still adjusting to the weight of his robes. He had still believed, still carried the naïve hope that even the worst of men could be saved if they truly sought redemption. He had come to the estate with a couple of other Priest friends who knew one or two people in the Cali family. That was the day he had met Don Cali.

NIA The Holy Priest came in bright purple as he stood in front of us. He made a speech about how Holy viewed marriages and what they had demanded of the married couples. I did not hear about the Holy often during my time in Princess Viviana’s palace. They were mentioned in places where God would be mentioned back home so I recognized it as some sort of an all-mighty religious figure that people had worshipped. Seeing the officiant pray to him as well, only strengthened my argument.The fire cackles. I sit with my back against a tree, eyes on the flickering flames.

The Priest scoffed as he shook his head again. “ What's the commotion here? ” a tall man with a huge body build, he had long pitch-black hair and sharp hazel eyes, said with a raucous voice that echoed as everyone went silent. The priest had a smug look on his face as he watched the man walk in his direction. “ Alpha King Theon! These miscreants called the temple a lie” the priest said. “And they even travel with a daemon” someone from the crowd said. “ Despicable! ”