He Was Called The Red Priest Novels & Stories

He had to be meticulous. Sam said with uncertainty, “I didn’t see it myself, so I can’t be sure. But I heard that the pen belonged to a priest before the country was founded. I heard this priest was from Mountain Long, and he was proficient in drawing talismans to ward off evil spirits and making elixirs to cure diseases. “During the war, that priest came down the mountain to save people. However, he was arrested because people thought he was a quack. In the end, he died in prison and most of his belongings were destroyed.

The place was kept pristine and not a speck of dust could be found. He wasn’t a religious man, but he knelt and prayed for four straight hours, in an attempt to secure a miracle. He ran into a priest who was praying when he was about to descend the mountain. The priest pointed at him and mocked him, “No amount of prayer or donations is going to wash your sins away. The only way you can redeem yourself is by paying your debts in blood!” Then, the priest continued to murmur when he walked away, “There are countless unfaithful men in the world. How many among them are willing to sacrifice themselves for their wives and kids? How absurd! How ironic!”

"Do you, Roman Moretti-" I didn't hear the rest of the priest's words because my ears were suddenly ringing, blood rushing to my head, making me feel dizzy. No, I couldn't have heard right. The man standing before me couldn't be Roman Moretti, a man famously known as the mafia reaper. A man who killed for the mafia without any reserve and had more blood on his hands than entire armies. His name alone struck fear in people's hearts and made the police turn the other way. What had I done?

he repeated, proud that his voice didn't mirror his fear. The man before him was as tall as Valerik but smaller in build. The hilts of his weapons poked from their scabbards on both sides of his cassock where they hung from the belt wrapped around his waist. The cassock, white as the mist, marked him a priest. And while his presence was domineering, Sethlzaar did not fear it as much as he'd feared Valerik's. Because where the priest's seemed to have been called upon, Valerik's had dominated without command.

“I don’t want to let them know but I think I may have met this priest guy sometime in the past while I was in the military.” “Really? Are you sure?” heather was amazed. “Yeah but then he wasn’t going by the name, Priest. He was a notorious werewolf hunter and was called something….” He smacked his lips trying to recall the name but he couldn’t. “I can’t remember it now. But we were sent on a special mission to bring him in but he escaped somehow.” He paused. “But if he’s a changeling now, which he wasn’t at the time, then it means someone from the East wing is working with him. There was a rumor that all the changers in the East wing were killed. Lately, we have been having reports of change

<|control12|>The Confessional Flames I never thought my priesthood would lead me here, tangled in a web of forbidden desires that burned hotter than any hellfire sermon I’d ever preached. My name is Father Elias, and at 28, I was the epitome of devotion—or so the parish believed. Tall, with a lean build from years of seminary discipline, my green eyes and short dark hair made me look approachable, trustworthy. But beneath the cassock, doubts and urges simmered, especially since Luca and Marco entered my life.

They rushed toward the puddle and jumped into it. However, they soon howled in agony as their skin and bones melted and became part of that very blood puddle. The blood puddle increased in size quickly, gradually growing into a blood pool. Constantine had also arrived in Seechertown. He stood in the city and frowned, mumbling to himself, "He's hidden?" He walked slowly to a church, then found the priest and showed his identification. Constantine was the Red Archbishop. It was a position of much higher rank than that of a regular priest.

The kind that could make any woman feel something sinful stir deep inside her. But the man speaking wasn’t a mafia boss. He was hot, tall—yes. But he was also a priest. A fucking hot priest. One I lusted for. Obsessed over. The one who made me touch myself at night, desperate and aching in ways I never thought I could. Enzo Romano. A walking sin wrapped in holiness. Long black hair he tied back into a ponytail, piercing gray eyes that looked right into your soul, and features so divine they made you believe God really did have favorites.

The priest looked at the pew; there was no one in sight, the church suddenly holding a deep, eerie silence accentuated by the occasional rumbles of thunders accompanying the rain. "You think he listens?" The question caught the Priest unawares, and turning to see the man now fully facing him, Martin straightened his shoulders. He nodded, "Of course, Son." "Weird," the stranger commented, "Been asking him if a person named Salvatore Caruso strolled in here about a week ago, but nothing." It was the chill in hearing that name from a man he could smell evil from, evil so glaring it was almost a stench, " Lying was never part of the deal; he had left that world when he decided he wanted the prie

“He’s in Sicily already?, he asked rhetorically looking at the man He nodded signaling yes “Interesting ” he muttered. “That transfer was fast. I’ll need to tread carefully.” He straightened. “I sense conspiracy, well, get the cars ready. Prepare the orphan donations. And tell Anna to get ready—she needs prayers from this new priest . Let’s go pay him a visit, he might be expecting us too”, Arnold grinned. “Yes, boss,” the man said, hurrying out. At the Chapel… Carden—now Father Damien Narvick—stood before a mirror, dressed in priestly attire, staring at his reflection.