SrCuervo
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🕑 Added 2025-08-24 06:25:23 +0000 UTCA simple priest... Or so I thought
Chapter 31 - Something That Worries Me
Jonathan didn’t look like it, but he always had questions lingering in his mind. Knowing most of the supernatural stories surrounding him, he was not free from doubts.
In every case he asked himself if things would remain the same, or if his intervention could change something.
Could he do it right?
Everything was easier when he faced dark entities like demons or ghosts. Against those beings, he stopped questioning and simply killed.
But in specific cases like this, was Tyler still the problem? The truth was he wanted to investigate a little, build a case, and then finish things.
“Recruits…” Jonathan was also thinking of recruiting some students with special abilities to be part of his group.
“Are all these kids special?” Father Doug asked on the way to the academy.
“Some of them are just people with supernatural abilities, others are hybrids who are protected by The Healing Church in order to raise good soldiers to support the war against evil.”
In this world, the Nevermore Academy was despised by organizations specialized in killing supernatural beings. Even Jonathan himself strangely felt uneasy about the idea of coming to this place.
The memories he had obtained from the previous Jonathan told him nothing of his hatred towards dark entities.
Therefore, he could only adapt to his feelings and make objective decisions that would help him continue growing stronger.
He had to invent almost everything. The way he spoke, the way he moved, everything. Still, it seemed to work with those who once knew him. And without realizing it, he was now on his way to an academy that had once only been a faction to him.
Looking at his reflection in the truck window, Jonathan thought that perhaps because of his age he might be questioned.
The tired expression was natural on his face, but there was also a coldness that defined him completely. “Didn’t you read the reports?”
Father Doug said anxiously: “My God, forgive my poor performance. I’m far too nervous about all this new work. Please understand, before I only had to deal with prisoners, and now with dark entities, things that even today seem unbelievable to me.”
“Even the medication I take calms me down, but I think this job isn’t for me.” Father Doug explained his problems in an orderly manner from beginning to end.
Jonathan remained silent throughout his narration.
“Quit? The real question you should ask yourself is: why do you fight?” Jonathan didn’t fight for others; he fought for himself.
“Just for you?” Father Doug asked, confused.
“I feel like I could die at any moment,” Father Doug answered, feeling that this fear would never leave him.
As Father Doug explained his fears, they arrived at the academy.
Jonathan checked the time, then said: “If you think of death as something that exists, then you’ll bind yourself to something that doesn’t exist. I’ll give you a piece of advice: death is not the end. In fact, nothing dies. We are matter constantly in motion, so following that theory, we don’t really die.”
“Then why fight?”
“Because in that way we give meaning to our lives. You can see it that way. But I won’t pressure you. I’ll let you adapt, and when you’re ready, then you’ll help.” Finishing his words, Jonathan stepped out of the truck, where his subordinates—agents sent by The Healing Church for support—were waiting for him.
“We are ready, Guardian.”
Jonathan gave the agents a look and said: “They’re just kids, don’t cause trouble if you don’t want to be sanctioned.”
“Understood.” Everyone understood the words of a Belmont. No one but someone from that family desired so much to kill all supernatural beings. But rules had to be followed; only then could order exist.
The convoy stopped before the blackened wrought-iron gates. Beyond them, among the morning mist and the pines twisting like ancient guardians, rose the Nevermore Academy. It was no simple school, but a castle built upon the hillside, with pointed towers that seemed to scratch the gray sky.
The walls, of dark and damp stone, bore the mark of time: deep cracks and vines climbing as if they wished to protect it.
The tall windows, crowned with gothic arches, gleamed with the dim light filtered through stained glass tinted purple and blue. Each window looked like a watchful eye, heavy with stories better left untold.
Crossing the threshold, the echo of footsteps was lost in endless hallways, flanked by portraits whose eyes followed visitors with unsettling zeal. Iron chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting dancing shadows over walls covered in symbols and shields that recalled the centuries-old tradition of the place.
It was an academic fortress, a refuge for the different, the misunderstood… and perhaps, also, an elegant prison.
“Welcome, envoy of The Healing Church, I am Headmistress Larissa Weems.”
