Snowfall in Punk City
Snow was falling on Punk City and the human boys. According to the weather forecast, it would come frequently this winter. Sonia bounced around excitedly at the announcer's words that they could look forward to a white Christmas. She loved the snow. It was proof of her pure heart.
Amon, who had shoveled snow for his civil ID, the military, and even at home, had a soul too old to enjoy it. But the word "Christmas" was a magical one that made even an aged soul flutter. He pretended otherwise, but he was just as excited about Christmas as Sonia.
Christmas already, huh. Christmas in this world was no different from his previous life. Christmas trees decorated the streets, adults gave gifts to children, and all sorts of events were held. The only difference was that the one born on Christmas wasn't God's son, but the Goddess's daughter. Everything else was the same.
As the thought crossed his mind, Amon headed to his desk drawer. He was preparing money envelopes for the upcoming Christmas.
This for offerings, this for Sonia's gift, this for the Orphanage Director... Amon sorted the cash into envelopes. His income was just odd jobs and government handouts disguised as pocket money. But Amon was so ascetic that his expenses were practically zero. Thanks to that, the amount he'd saved over the year was decent.
Amon nodded in satisfaction as he labeled the envelopes. Hand cream for the Orphanage Director, lotion for Sonia, a lighter for old man Johnson whom he owed so much... It was surely the moment when a year's savings would vanish, but Amon felt utter bliss. The very fact that he had the luxury to give to others felt like a blessing.
After finally sorting the gratitude offering to the Goddess, Amon locked the drawer. He then left his room to head to the swordsmanship dojo with Sonia that afternoon.
As he stepped out into the bustling orphanage, something was amiss.
"Hm?"
Wondering what was going on, Amon turned toward the gathered crowd. The nuns wore grave expressions as they controlled the children. The younger nuns herded the kids back inside, while the elder ones formed a circle, surrounding something. A translucent barrier unfurled along the nuns' circle.
From this alone, Amon grasped the situation.
One of the kids got possessed, huh.
Orphanage kids getting possessed by ghosts wasn't as rare as one might think. Located right next to the brothel district, the orphanage was a magnet for the resentful spirits of lost infants. Incidents happened about once a year—common enough. The silver lining was that newborn spirits weren't too powerful, so the nuns could handle them.
Amon tilted his head curiously, wanting to see the face of this incident's star. Through gaps in the nuns' barrier, he glimpsed inside. It didn't take long to spot the culprit.
"Aigoo... I knew these punks would cause trouble eventually."
It was Jimmy and his friends. The nun beside him, overhearing Amon's wry mutter, gave a strained smile. In her eyes too, this possession was mostly self-inflicted.
The items they'd cherished and clutched were spirit anchors sent to the orphanage for possession. Mixed in with Black Friday gifts, most had been confiscated by the nuns and stored away. They could seal or block spirits but needed an exorcist for proper expulsion, so they planned a mass cleansing later.
But Jimmy and his crew had pried open the seals and stolen them from storage. From the nuns' perspective—who'd slaved sorting them—it was pure poetic justice. They wanted to mock the fools, but as loving caretakers, they settled for strained smiles. Amon joined in with his own.
Meanwhile, the guilty parties—cursed inwardly by nuns and Amon alike—babbled deliriously inside the barrier.
"Hehe... my precious..."
Jimmy cradled and stroked a black vase tenderly. His friends showed similar symptoms.
The Orphanage Director diagnosed their state.
"Still in the enchantment phase. Not full possession yet, so let's try waking them. If that fails, isolate them."
With 30 years running the place, she'd seen every possession imaginable—this was routine. Calmly, she sprinkled salt and holy water. Some kids snapped out of it, thankfully.
But not Jimmy. While others took one item, he'd stuffed both armpits full escaping storage. Multiple spirits meant salt and holy water were useless; he was deeply enchanted.
The Orphanage Director gazed at him pityingly.
"Jimmy..."
Enchantment was just groundwork for possession. Fail to break it in time, and it was over. She made the cold call.
"No choice. Isolate him."
Once possession kicked in, things got messy. Infant spirits weren't hugely threatening spiritually, but Jimmy was a pubescent boy—physically a handful for the nuns. Better to toss him in isolation while semi-conscious.
At her order, the nuns dragged Jimmy to the room and shut him in. It was a barren, inward-unlockable cell. As the door clicked shut, the Director locked it with a padlock, etching Jimmy's final glimpse from the crack.
"The exorcist comes the day after tomorrow, so keep the kids from tampering. And here's protocol for emergencies."
The nuns memorized her detailed instructions. Then—thud! Jimmy pounded the door fiercely.
The nuns sighed in relief—just a bit later, and it'd have been trouble. Jimmy's voice shifted again, a guttural rasp scraping his throat.
The nuns recoiled in horror, backing from the door. Unlike them, the Orphanage Director didn't flinch. Instead, she crossed herself toward Jimmy's room and prayed. May salvation find that child.
That evening, Amon rustled, then kicked off the blankets and bolted upright.
"Ah... drank too much cola."
Rubbing his tousled hair, he slid from bed. Pitch black, but his body remembered the room's layout from a lifetime there—he found his slippers easily. Dragging them, he shuffled toward the bathroom under the corridor's dim light.
The path passed the isolation room. Yawning, Amon nodded to the guarding nuns. No reply. The duty nun was dozing sitting up. He felt no annoyance; her exhaustion was too relatable to call negligence. Entertaining guests, snapping kids from enchantment, pulling night watch—it was brutal.
The room wasn't flimsy enough to need constant vigil anyway. Per the Director, even a bomb inside wouldn't faze it. The armored door's thickness screamed tank plating.
Where'd she even get this? Amon's curiosity about the Director grew. Still, vault-like as it was, a dozing nun posed no escape risk for Jimmy. He nodded to her anyway and continued on.
Relieving himself refreshingly, Amon headed back, passing the room again. Nun still asleep. Another fruitless nod, and he pressed on.
Then, a voice from inside.
"Amon. That you?"
It was Jimmy—pure Jimmy voice, no possession distortion.
Amon halted, turning to the door. Somehow knowing, Jimmy called from beyond.
"Possession's gone. I'm starving—open up?"
"..."
"Missed dinner. Could eat a whole cow."
Amon's eyes narrowed. He silently flipped the bird at the door. Jimmy went quiet. Confirmation.
"First time I've seen a living soul collude with possessing spirits."
Amon spoke to the door, loud enough for Jimmy. Typical possessions pitted host against spirit for control. Spirits weakened hosts first. Rare cases saw symbiosis—like shounen manga alliances, bonding over shared bodies, or benign spirits cohabiting. Or both being bastards who meshed well.
Amon pegged Jimmy for the last. Proof: sensing him through thick steel—spirit sight. Lucky for them, neither was bright enough to hide it. No one'd fall for idiots outing their power.
Amon ignored the fools, heading to bed. But curiosity struck.
"How'd you idiots get chummy? With that many spirits crammed in, seems tough."
No answer. Amon knew how to loosen tongues.
"First come, first served: one ritual offering."
Unclear if "jesa" translated in America, but spirits got the gist. Resentment-soothers reacted fast. A young-voiced one spoke.
"Aha. So Jimmy proposed first?"
Amon nodded deeply. Yeah, that tracked for Jimmy.
Jimmy, time to revise my opinion of you.
Jimmy wasn't just a bastard. He was a natural-born great shithead.
Whoops. Pure thoughts. Pure thoughts. Swallowing a near-curse, Amon crossed himself.
Inner peace. Peace like a river... Humming a hymn inwardly, he tamped rage. Peace restored, he promised the truth-telling spirit a ritual and turned to leave.
But someone grabbed his attention. An ancient spirit borrowed Jimmy's mouth, calling from behind.
Cave-deep timbre blended with Jimmy's voice. Amon ignored, stepping away. Unfazed, the elder spirit pressed on.
Not curious at all. He'd cleared the light path ending, passed through the afterlife, met the Goddess. And a failed-ascender haunting purgatory knew squat about it. No reason to listen.
But he was curious what drivel this fool would spew. How a moron would perform. He stopped, turning back.
Mistaking curiosity for interest, the elder spirit spouted false truths. People supposedly went to the afterlife post-death. Most didn't—lacking stature. They built it in purgatory for the next world.
Normally, mortal cultivation took eons, but the spirit was at ascension's threshold. Open the door, and it'd show that moment. Plus, whisper post-death truths and wisdom.
As it tempted, Amon's shoulders shook. The spirit mistook it for sage enlightenment tremors. Truth: barely stifling laughter.
A clown's funniest when he doesn't know he's a clown. Some quote surfaced.
As if to slay him with laughs, the spirit eagerly previewed "truth."
"?"
Amon quit laughing. What nonsense now? He listened.
Mistaking attention for buy-in, it continued.
"...How should I believe that?"
Snap. Something broke in Amon's mind. His head bowed, shadow veiling his face. Silently, he unlocked the padlock. The dozing nun startled at the clank—too late. The armored door swung open.
Jimmy leered through the gap. The nun shrieked, shielding Amon. Jimmy(?) pitied the bowed Amon.
Jimmy trailed off, eyes on Amon's hand: a scripture, trembling with crammed fury.
[?]
Emotions too muddled to read. It delayed till Amon closed in. Jimmy's gaze followed the raised tome—corner aimed at him. Lower: veins bulging on forearms. Lower: wrathful Amon grinding teeth, glaring murderously.
Toward the babbling fool, thunderous enough to wake the orphanage—Amon bellowed.
"YOU BLASPHEMOUS WRETCH!!!!!!"
The scripture cleaved the spirit's world in two.