Ambrose Ibsen [Ibsen - The Conqueror Worm

Ill make this very brief.

The world of the Black Exorcist is a dark one. It is a dystopian world packed with savage violence, unrestrained lust and incredible depravity.

A world that is not meant for the faint of heart.

To alter a famous line of Dantes:

Abandon all hope (of happy endings and warm feelings), ye who enter here!

Youve been warned.

If you decide to charge on ahead anyway, I hope like hell youll enjoy it!

Cheers.

Ambrose Ibsen

March 4th, 2017

I t was late in the afternoon when a bearded man clothed in rags approached the priest. Nodding at the leather satchel he carried like so many others had done, the beggar extended an open palm in the hopes of receiving food. Please, Father, I'm so hungry. Three days have passed since my last meal. In the name of God, I beg of yousome food, please.

Father Ossian McGregor stopped, reaching into his bag. You're in luck, said the priest. I've just received a bit of food from a man in your city and should have enough to share. God has blessed us both this day. Rifling through his personal effects, he unwrapped two small pieces of bread for the man. This city of Florence is in an awful way. I've just been for a tour of all the churches south of the Arno, and most of them have been terribly defaced if not given over completely to ruin. His days on the road had made him a lean man. He cut a tall, jagged figure like a scarecrow made of corded muscle. The recent gauntness of his cheeks lent his eyes a new sharpness, making them look like two shamrocks on the verge of igniting.

They were on a shaded city street, standing in the cover of a cracked arch. Clouds of dust were sent ambling about by the breeze. This far out in the city there were hardly any living souls to be seen. To the right, within an old building that'd once been a cafe, was the room where the beggar made his home. The window was covered by a faded blue tarp and there were evidences of an old fire clearly visible outside it.

Yes, replied the man in rags, eyes fixed firmly on the leather satchel. He scratched at his wiry beard and drew closer to the priest. It is as you say. I long for the day when this city returns to its former glory.

Drawing out the bread, Ossian smiled, the corners of his green eyes crinkling. I hope that this will prove a satisfying meal. It was baked fresh in a wood-burning oven-- Suddenly, the breath was out of his lungs. Reeling, the priest clutched at his gut and sucked air.

The beggar had struck him, planted a set of bony knuckles in his stomach, and was now grasping at the straps of the leather satchel. He pulled at the bag for all he was worth, very nearly wresting it from the priest.

When he'd managed to regain his footing, Ossian's smile promptly faded. Giving the satchel a yank, he took a step away from the handsy beggar. His other hand moved reflexively to the weapon at his side; a sword housed in a black scabbard. Fist locked around the hilt, the priest grit his teeth. What is the meaning of this?

Falling back, white in the face, the beggar's gaze was drawn to the sword. Eyes widening in terror, he begged for forgiveness. I'm sorry, father. I'm very sorry. I... I don't know what came over me. Backing away from the priest, he bumped into the wall of a nearby building, the bricks in it loose.

Slowly, the sword was eased from its sheath. Catching a bit of daylight on its broad blade, the sword's tip found its way to the vagrant's throat, where it sat mere inches from his skin. On your knees, barked Ossian. Now.

Hands raised in the air, the beggar dropped to his knees, lips quivering. S-sir, I... I apologize. It's just that I... I thought that...

You thought what? That I should like to be separated from my things? Or that a man of the cloth would not be willing to defend himself? Whatever the case, said the priest, you seem to have miscalculated.

Shaking, the beggar closed his eyes. P-please, sir. Have mercy. H-have mercy!

Combing a hand through his blonde hair and knocking from it a bit of dust, the priest seemed to consider. But then, with a grin, he replied, You want to confess? For me to absolve you of your sins, child?

The beggar nodded profusely. Y-yes, anything!

Ossian lowered the blade. Well, get to it, then.

Lips dry and eyes watering, the man started. Forgive me f-father, for I have s-sinned.

And how long has it been since your last confession? asked Ossian.

The beggar hesitated. It's been... some time. I... I don't remember.

And what of your sins, child? What have you done? continued the priest.

Gulping, the beggar said, I... I have tried to steal from you, sir. And... I have stolen from others.

Oh, the sin of theft is not one to be taken lightly, offered the priest, admiring his blade. He turned it slightly in his hand, letting the steel reflect a bright light into the beggar's eyes. And you've stolen from other travelers, is that right?

Travelers... my fellow citizens... all kinds, sir, sobbed the man. P-please forgive me, father. I know I have sinned. Any time the priest moved, the beggar would flinch as if he expected the sword to find its way into his heart.

Ossian shook his head, his clean-cut face contorting in evident disgust. And why did you do it, child of God? Why have you so resorted to theft pray tell?

Tears streamed down the man's dirty cheeks. His greying beard trembled as he spoke. I did it because I am hungry, sir. I am so very hungry. He lowered his head and drew in a shuddering sigh. P-please forgive me.

Hunger, yes, replied Ossian, unamused. Hunger is serious business, but you can see it is no excuse for barbarity. He took to pacing. I will recommend the recitation of ten Our Father's as penance. And also, he said, reaching out and taking a handful of the man's beard, I shall leave you with a permanent reminder of your sinfulness. Leveling the sword against the right side of the man's head and inciting him to weep like a child, Ossian deftly cleaved off his right ear, catching it in his palm and giving it a little squeeze. This he stuffed into the beggar's mouth. You claim to be hungry, yes? So, eat, commanded the priest.

Sobbing so awfully that he could barely remain on his knees and shying away from the priest's blade, the beggar began to chew on his detached ear.

There we are, uttered Ossian, sheathing his weapon and making the sign of the cross upon the man's forehead. Not so hungry now, are we? He stepped past the man, who was still a shaking, crying mess, and started down the street, only to pause a moment later and turn back to him. Oh, and I suppose this means I absolve you of your sins, child. Go in peace, he said with a smirk.