He Was Called The Red Priest Novels & Stories

He nodded "Your father was a bit spiritual when you were young, he had a fear of witches and so he always came to pray at the church. He loved your mother a lot. He had a fear of the supernatural and was always confessing something. I was very young then." He turned his dark eyes to look at me "But I remember you, because you were so beautiful like your mother...like now." "Do you believe in witches...the supernatural?" I asked, staring at him. He shook his head "I know there are supernatural forces in this world, I just don't believe it because I haven't seen it." "You are very young for a priest..." I paused, rubbing my belly, "Why are you a priest?" "I guess service, faith, belief...I gre

Rejected her. Except it didn’t feel like rejection. It felt like defense. Like the encryption inside her wasn’t just protecting her body. It was evolving. And then came the message. ~~~~~~~~~~ NAPLES COMPOUND: PRIVATE ROOM A priest. No, not just a priest. A Cardinal. Red-robed. Eyes like pale stones. He entered flanked by Vatican emissaries, each cloaked and silent, their crucifixes glowing with discreet nanotech. Officially, it was a diplomatic call. Unofficially, it was an exorcism wrapped in inquiry.

"Who are you?" "Were you the one who called us here?" I asked. The man then tried to lift his body. Dylan and the others stiffened even more. “Child, easy, I bring no harm to you, all. I just hope, someone to, find me. And you, did it, the beloved child, of Lord Drachen.” The man held out his hand to Dylan. “I am, the high priest, from 40 years ago. Nice to meet you?” I was flabbergasted.

"Vieni qui adesso." He sat in the chair grinning down at Dale. He then took his chaplet and began chanting in a scared position. Once again he had assumed the role of the holy Reverend father, attacked by a naked thief who defended himself with the dagger and was now feeling blood-sick. "il sacerdote si apre tradotto." The native cry of the men he had called for filled the entrance accompanied with heavy pounding. The crowd of men had gathered holding weapons of war. "Good bye." He said as he stood form his position and opened the door and immediately turned back into a frightened priest.

He’s dressed in the same uniform as the others, except that his is white instead of black, and the cross on his arm is red, not white. This is not the Christian Pope everyone knows and sees on the television. This is the Templars’ Pope. Their high commander and a zealot of the worst kind. He’s worse than any of the modern Templars and on a mission to rid the world of every evil creature ever born. At Crystal Rose, we never paid much attention to the Templars and their beliefs because they weren’t a danger to us. I’m starting to think that we should have. “I’m Pope Innocent,” he announces himself, and sits opposite me.

"Lanci. Her fiancé." "You guys are friends?" "No... business associates," he said, his eyes turning cold. "My father requested my presence to oversee that everything goes right... and not left." As far as I can remember, priests were men of peace and sanctuary. "You’re not a priest anymore?" "Sadly, no.” I wanted to ask him why. I wanted to know what kind of sin could pull a man from an altar back into the blood-soaked world of the mafia, but I knew it was outside my bounds to ask.

I came to and found myself cradled in the arms of the priest who was shaking like a bloody leaf, eyes snapped wide as he watched the whole place being flipped upside down by men whose souls were so far gone there was no saving them. I recalled Lorenzo’s call from earlier, how he barked to whoever was on the other side of the receiver and telling them to get the priest to the chapel; even if they had to drag him out of bed. Looking at him, the poor guy looked like he’d seen the devil’s eyes. A moan slipped from me, everything in front of my eyes dancing. He screamed something in Italian before clutching me tighter. I realized we were stuffed behind the stone pulpit while war raged on the outs

“Are you still pretending?” “I'm not pretending, Ezreal. I am a priest,” I whispered, though the words felt thin, unconvincing. He laughed softly. “A priest who moans when I touch him. A priest who begged with his body at night, even as his lips prayed for deliverance.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Do you think God didn’t notice?” Heat crawled up my neck. I forced my gaze to the crucifix above, clinging to it like a drowning man. “You will not shake me. I was deceived. I didn't want it.”

<|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.