The roar of the chainsaw filled the mausoleum’s underground chambers, echoing off the stone walls. Matthew tightened his grip on his weapon, watching as Sister Anastasia’s body convulsed in a spasmodic, unnatural laughter.

  Her head, still twisted 180 degrees, slowly began returning to its normal position. But her eyes had changed color—they were now black as the abyss, reflecting no light.

  "What a monstrosity…" Matthew muttered, adjusting his grip on his weapon.

  Crock stood to the side, grinning in his new, skeletal form.

  "I see you still have a bit of faith left in you, little priest. Otherwise, you’d have run by now."

  Matthew glanced at him but quickly refocused on Anastasia.

  "Don’t try to distract me. I know what you’re up to."

  Crock let out an exaggerated sigh.

  "So, nothing gets past you… What a shame."

  Behind him, deep in the chamber, lay a stone sarcophagus. Thick wooden stakes had been driven into it, each adorned with ancient, now-faded talismans. Matthew narrowed his eyes. He knew what was inside. He knew what he could not allow to awaken.

  "Even you aren’t stupid enough to wake that up!" Matthew shouted, stepping forward.

  Suddenly, the sister lunged at him. He turned his head, but it was too late. The blow struck his side, throwing him several meters backward. When he looked up, he saw her terrifying grin. He had taken his eyes off her for just a moment.

  Without hesitation, Matthew charged. The chainsaw roared, its blade slicing through the air—but he missed. She was unbelievably fast and agile, effortlessly dodging each of the priest’s attacks.

  Meanwhile, completely ignoring the chaos, Crock reached for the sarcophagus. Slowly, with almost reverent care, he began pulling out the wooden stakes. With each one he removed, the air around them trembled, as if something was stirring from a long slumber. When he pulled out the last one, a terrifying tremor shook the underground.

  Thick, black smoke rose from the sarcophagus. The stench of old blood and decay filled the air. From within, a slender yet unnaturally strong hand emerged, its nails like razor-sharp blades.

  Then, they heard a voice. Deep. Ancient.

  "Who… woke me?"

  Crock laughed, kneeling.

  "My lord, welcome back to the world of the living."

  From the sarcophagus, a man rose. His skin was pale as marble, and his crimson eyes seemed to devour all light. Long, dark hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his lips curved into a faint smile.

  Vlad the Impaler. Dracula.

  Matthew cursed under his breath.

  Dracula gazed at his own hand, slowly clenching it, as if testing his strength.

  "It has been a long time…" he said, rising from the coffin.

  That was when Matthew realized—the time for games was over. He had to summon his spiritual guide.

  The Awakened could summon their weapons, but they could also call upon their spiritual guide—though it was far more difficult. To do so, one had to fully accept the path they walked. Just as a spiritual weapon was the shape of one’s soul, the guide was the embodiment of one’s life journey.

  The priest closed his eyes for a moment, and soon, something began to emerge from his body—a translucent, crimson wolf. It was massive, its fur appearing soaked in blood that dripped slowly onto the ground, forming pools. Its eyes burned, reflecting light in the darkness.

  The Wolf. A loner. He never had a pack. He never needed one. He had survived only because he fought.

  The demon, seeing this, shouted at Crock, "Dracula is still too weak! We have to get out of here!"

  "Count, you need to recover. Now is not the time to show off your strength—we must flee," Crock said nervously.

  Dracula did not respond. In silence, he moved toward the exit.

  Matthew had no intention of letting them go.

  They burst onto the surface, but Dracula suddenly stopped, locking eyes with Cornelius. Their gazes met.

  Cornelius felt something drill into his mind.

  "So, you are the vessel of the Lord."

  Dracula smirked slightly.

  And then, he vanished into the darkness.

  Matthew sent the wolf after them, but he had other matters to deal with.

  The undead were swarming the cemetery.

  The students were barely holding their ground.

  The priest rushed toward them, but before he could take even a step, Sister Anastasia blocked his path. She stood motionless, her habit rising and falling in an eerie, unnatural rhythm as if surrounded by an invisible force. Her eyes burned with a dark glow, and her lips trembled in a wide, inhuman smile.

  Matthew gritted his teeth. She was stalling him.

  "Get out of my way, demon," he growled, raising his chainsaw.

  Anastasia tilted her head, her spine emitting a disturbing, crackling sound.

  "But, Father…" she whispered sweetly, almost tenderly. "You so desperately want to save me."

  "Not you," Matthew replied coldly.

  He knew the nature of higher demons. Exorcising them wasn’t a matter of minutes. At best… weeks. And he didn’t have weeks. He didn’t even have minutes. Behind him, the students were fighting for their lives. He had to make a decision.

  There was no time for hesitation. He lunged forward. The demon never even saw it coming.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The chainsaw’s blade cut through the air. It struck Anastasia’s back. Her body convulsed, and a long, inhuman scream tore from her lips.

  At that moment, the demon left her body—deliberately, just before death—only so Matthew could see her face, full of pain and hatred.

  But Sister Anastasia smiled.

  "Thank you…" she whispered weakly, then collapsed to her knees.

  She looked at Matthew as if she wanted to say something more, but her strength was fading. He knew what she felt. He knew she had forgiven him. And that hurt more than if she had cursed him. Because if she had hated him, it would have been easier to accept.

  But she… she was too good to blame him.

  Matthew sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. But there was no time for sorrow. The students were still in danger.

  He sprinted toward the fight.

  The situation was dire. The horde of undead had surrounded the students and Simon. They were too close to losing.

  Two minutes.

  That was all Matthew needed to finish the exorcism.

  "Hold on for two more minutes!" Matthew shouted.

  Cornelius shot him a hateful glare, Isaac looked on the verge of breaking down, and Lucy just sighed, as if none of this surprised her.

  "Two minutes?!" Isaac yelled, shoving away one of the undead. "That’s not gonna be easy—I can’t even last that long in a game!"

  Simon, who had no spiritual weapon, just stood behind them and muttered, "Relax, you’ll manage. You’re capable."

  "Oh yeah, that makes me feel so much better," Cornelius growled, pulling the trigger. "Why did they even assign us a guardian who can’t protect his own charges?"

  "Don’t say that, I’m protecting you from depression and loneliness," Simon shot back, barely catching his breath.

  Matthew knelt and began reciting the exorcism. The first minute was a nightmare—the corpses kept coming. Cornelius shot at them, but they kept getting up. It was a vicious cycle. Lucy slashed them down one by one with her daggers, but they still moved. Isaac… was panting heavily. He must have taken down a hundred already, but they just kept coming. But finally…

  "Almost there!" Matthew shouted, finishing the last phrase.

  As he spoke the final word, the zombies collapsed to the ground, convulsing for a few seconds before everything went still. No one spoke, not even Isaac.

  Simon was the first to break the silence.

  "What about Anastasia?"

  Matthew looked at him.

  "She was possessed by a higher demon. There was no time for an exorcism."

  Cornelius clenched his fists.

  "So you just killed her?"

  "I had no choice."

  "There are no such things as demons!" Cornelius shouted. "She was just an ordinary woman!"

  "She wasn’t innocent," Lucy’s voice was quiet but firm. "I could feel her desire to kill."

  Cornelius had no answer to that.

  Matthew sighed, rubbing his face with his hand.

  "We don’t have time for this. I need to call for backup. This exorcism was only temporary—they’ll rise again in a few hours. The training is officially over. You’re going back to the parish house."

  Simon looked at the students and nodded.

  "Let’s go."

  Cornelius didn’t move right away.

  "I have one more question."

  Matthew gave him a tired look.

  "Who was that guy? The one with black hair?"

  The priest was silent for a moment.

  "None of your business."

  "But he—"

  "I don’t have time to babysit you. Fuck off."

  Cornelius gritted his teeth, feeling his frustration build, but he didn’t push further. He knew Matthew wouldn’t answer anyway. He turned on his heel and headed for the cemetery gate. Lucy and Isaac followed, while Simon, though appearing calm, was carefully watching their behavior. No one spoke. In silence, they passed through the gate.

  The moment Cornelius stepped beyond the sacred ground, he felt some of the tension leave his body. But he didn’t feel any better.

  Matthew remained in the cemetery, watching his students disappear into the trees. He kept his gaze on their backs until they were gone. Only then did he feel the air around him grow heavy.

  From the darkness, like a phantom, his crimson wolf emerged. It moved with a predator’s grace, but there was tension in its stance—something was wrong. Matthew didn’t need to ask. It hadn’t worked.

  The wolf shook its head, its blood-red fur glistening under the moonlight. Black fabric hung in shreds from its mouth—the remnants of a failed chase. Dracula and Crock had escaped.

  Matthew clenched his fists, his face twisting with rage.

  "Goddamn it."

  The wolf tilted its head, awaiting further orders, but the priest just ran a hand down his face. Everything had gone to shit. Dracula had returned to the land of the living, Crock had fled, and Anastasia was dead. All he could do now was wait for backup.

  The sky on the horizon was beginning to brighten. The darkness slowly gave way to the first rays of sunlight, and the cool morning air slipped through the drafty windows of the parish house.

  The group of students and Simon returned, exhausted, barely able to stand. Each of them had dark circles under their eyes, looking like they couldn’t believe what had happened.

  Simon, who had always been their calm pillar of support, ran a hand down his face and sighed before collapsing onto the nearest chair.

  "If any of you are hoping for psychological help, don’t look at me," he waved a hand in the air as if swatting away a fly. "I need it just as much as you do. Same with sleep."

  Isaac, who had a dumb remark on the tip of his tongue, just muttered under his breath and waved dismissively.

  "Go to sleep, man."

  "Excellent idea." Simon stood, stretched until something cracked in his neck, and started toward his room.

  "Don’t wake me unless the world’s ending," he tossed over his shoulder before disappearing through the door.

  Isaac, Lucy, and Cornelius climbed to the attic, where their sleeping bags waited. They could finally rest.

  Isaac threw himself onto his sleeping bag with a loud sigh, spreading his arms out.

  "Alright, before I pass out…" He turned his head toward Cornelius. "What the hell was that red wolf?"

  Cornelius, collapsing onto his own sleeping bag, looked at him with undisguised exhaustion.

  "A spiritual guide."

  "Huh?"

  Lucy, who had been silent until now, also turned to Cornelius with curiosity.

  "You mean Matthew summoned something similar to a spiritual weapon?"

  Cornelius rubbed his face as if gathering the energy to explain.

  "Something like that." He stretched and rested his head on his hand. "My master had one too. His guide was always with him, on his skin, like a tattoo—only alive."

  "A tattoo?" Lucy repeated, raising an eyebrow.

  "A spiritual guide isn’t just an animal," Cornelius spoke slowly, as if still processing his own words. "It’s something more."

  Lucy and Isaac exchanged glances.

  "What do you mean?" Lucy asked.

  Cornelius rolled onto his back, staring at the dark ceiling.

  "A spiritual weapon is a reflection of the soul, but a guide is something beyond that," his voice grew softer. "It’s a symbol of the path you’ve chosen… or so my master said."

  Lucy tilted her head, and Isaac furrowed his brows.

  "So, since Matthew has a wolf…"

  "It means his life is a constant battle for survival." Cornelius closed his eyes. "You could feel it—his guide was a lone wolf. If you summon a guide like that, it means you’ve accepted your path and there’s no turning back."

  A silence fell between them.

  Isaac rolled onto his other side and let out a heavy sigh.

  "That sounds even more fucked up than I expected."

  "Welcome to the world of the awakened," Cornelius muttered, turning onto his side.

  Lucy smirked slightly.

  "I wonder if we could summon one too…"

  "First, we’d have to accept our path." Cornelius cracked one eye open, looking at her groggily. "And considering how our lives look, I’m not sure I’d want that."

  Isaac chuckled quietly but quickly stopped.

  Exhaustion was catching up with them.

  "Now shut up," Cornelius rolled onto his other side, his back to them. "I want to sleep."

  Lucy didn’t argue. She lay down, turning her back to the others, and fell asleep almost instantly. Isaac, stuck in the middle, couldn’t turn away from them, so he just collapsed onto his stomach.

  Cornelius, despite his exhaustion, couldn’t sleep. He lay still, staring at the ceiling. The voices from the fight still rang in his ears. The roar of a chainsaw. Everything that had happened made him question his beliefs. Demons shouldn’t exist, right?

  And then there were that man’s words, burned into his mind: "So, you’re the vessel of the Lord."

  His heartbeat quickened—but not from fear. It was… frustration.

  Had everything he believed in been a lie?