The Crushing Weight of Scripture
8. A lightweight white paper book from Punk City and a human boy, wrapped in artificial leather—dimensions 180 mm wide, 205 mm tall, 50 mm thick, weighing 2 kg. A great blunt weapon against entities. A Bible. With a single strike, it could exorcise low-level ghosts and the like in one go—an incredibly efficient weapon. As proof, Amon's one blow had exorcised the countless ghosts inside Jimmy all at once. Unfortunately, the baby ghost that had cooperated with Amon was exorcised in the process too, making it impossible to keep his promise. Feeling remorse for failing to perform the rite of absolution, Amon made the sign of the cross.
Amen. The elegy for the nameless baby ghost ended there. Amon gazed down at Jimmy, collapsed at his feet with eyes rolled back and foam bubbling from his mouth. No one could look at Jimmy's state and call it normal. He turned his eyes to the nun standing behind him, her mouth agape.
"Jimmy doesn't look so good. Is this okay?"
Her voice dripped with concern. Amon had no doubt the nun would see his genuine worry for Jimmy. Of course, that was just his delusion.
You've got some nerve! The nun was stunned inwardly but kept her composure on the outside. She didn't want to end up lying next to Jimmy herself. Consciously forcing her stiff cheeks to move, she reassured Amon.
"Don't worry. It's just a side effect from the possession breaking... probably."
The last word didn't reach Amon's ears. Thanks to that, he could breathe a sigh of relief. Victims of broken possessions often foamed at the mouth from the shock of their soul being yanked out, so Jimmy's condition was an entirely normal part of recovery. Of course, it felt like Amon's rather aggressive exorcism had put a harsh strain on his brain, but no one there could prove it. At least for this incident, Amon was in the clear.
Soon after, the Orphanage Director, roused from sleep by Amon's shouts, arrived on the scene. What she saw there was Amon looking somehow refreshed, Jimmy passed out with a dented skull, and the nun pressing her eyelids hard. Years of running the orphanage gave her instincts that pieced together the whole story without explanation. She knew exactly what to do first in this situation.
"Amon, go back to your room and rest. No reflection essay needed, so relax."
Thanks to the director's mediation, Amon was released without charges. Word around the orphanage was that Jimmy had escaped the isolation room and been stopped by Amon. Jimmy, the victim, had no memory anyway—completely consumed by the grudging ghost at the time—and the only witnesses, the director and the nun, were on Amon's side. In the end, the truth got a slight makeover before spreading.
"Awesome, big bro!"
The younger kids who adored Amon showered him with praise. To these children, for whom the orphanage was their whole world, possessed Jimmy had seemed like an apocalyptic demon king. For one boy to defeat that demon king single-handedly elevated Amon to hero status. Amid the kids' adulation, Hero Amon could only let out a dry laugh.
I can't exactly tell them the truth...
Amon couldn't bring himself to regale the kids with tales of bludgeoning with a Bible, so he dressed up the fight with Jimmy in a vague retelling. He'd said they clashed fiercely in the dead of night, and the ghosts inside Jimmy fled his body after getting beaten by Amon. Physical punishment like whippings was indeed a legitimate exorcism method for the demon-possessed. The problem was only if the person died before the ghosts left. In this case, they chalked it up to Jimmy's good luck.
"So cool..."
For some reason, Sonia had wormed her way into the group, eyes sparkling as she listened. Amon wanted to die of embarrassment. While the kids sang Hero Amon's praises, one person didn't take the incident lightly. Seated in her office, the director mulled over what Amon had accomplished.
Exorcism. It wasn't easy. Ghosts were born from mystic power rather than magic, making them impervious to spells or sheer physical force. That's why exorcists existed as a specialized profession. Yet Amon had pulled it off. With a single Bible.
To borrow Amon's words, the Bible was classified as a physical weapon. Unfortunately, no added divine power damage. Which meant the exorcism stemmed not from the book, but from Amon himself. Amon knew it. The director knew it. And the exorcist priest, arriving late, knew it too.
"A remarkable child."
Through the glint of his glasses, thin slits revealed blue eyes faintly capturing Amon's photo. He was the priest the director had summoned right after Jimmy's possession. Delayed by nationwide possession uproars since Thanksgiving, by the time he reached the orphanage, it was all over—a wasted trip. Feeling sorry, the director served him tea.
The mood started pleasant. How good and cute the kids were, how the orphanage was faring lately. They exchanged pleasantries and well-wishes. Then, abruptly, the priest brought up Amon.
"That boy, Amon. Was he the one who exorcised those grudging ghosts?"
The director sighed deeply.
"How long have you known?"
"In this line of work, you can tell roughly whose grudge a ghost latched onto."
"Is Amon...?"
"Oh, no need to worry. Just harmless soul fragments. Like a ghost's footprint on a person. Leave it be, and it'll fade naturally."
"Phew."
The director exhaled in relief. But the priest's probing didn't end there.
"By the way. I sensed divine power from another child too. Name was... Sonia, perhaps?"
The director froze. She lifted her gaze to meet the priest's eyes. Snake-like slits. Despite years of acquaintance, those eyes never grew familiar. She looked away and fell silent. But that sequence confirmed it for the priest. Nodding leisurely, he shared what he'd uncovered here.
"Sonia. Her divine power was leaking out. Probably overflowing because she's not using what she's accumulated. No health issues, but it's beyond hiding now. Anyone with a keen sense would notice immediately."
The director's fingertips trembled. She set down her teacup. In contrast, the priest calmly savored his tea's aroma before easing into the main point.
"How long do you plan to hide their divine power from them?"
"Until they graduate."
"You know that could be overprotective?"
"In this harsh world, there's no such thing as too much protection."
"Fair point."
The orphanage director and priest's gazes clashed in the air. The director won the staring contest. Love was the world's strongest stubbornness, so her victory was inevitable. Persuasion time was over. Now came threats.
The priest spoke calmly, stating reality.
"No secret lasts forever. Especially if it's a shining gem. No matter how dark or filthy the place, a gem is a gem. You know that, right?"
The director stayed silent. As the priest said, keeping the secret would grow harder. Sonia's divine power leaked steadily. Amon spewed enough when excited to alert the whole neighborhood. Plus, Sonia was famous now as the "gun saintess." Rumors of recoil-free shooting would raise suspicions for anyone versed in divine power. Put it together, and anyone paying attention to the orphanage would spot them as wielders. The director knew it well. Still, she wanted to hide them as long as possible. They were her sore spots, so she was desperate. Even knowing it futile, she wanted to protect them until graduation. But the priest didn't care about her feelings. His glasses flashed as he delivered notice.
"In two years, I'll come for the children."
The director's eyebrow twitched. She knew the priest's authority well. Knew he could enforce it. But the tremor passed; resolve filled her eyes.
"I'll let the children decide their own lives."
"Director. You must distinguish between what's good for them and what they like. You know the Vatican is safest for them."
"The Vatican? Safest?"
With a hint of anger, she hiked up her habit. Steel leg gleamed where flesh should be. For the first time, the priest's mouth shut. Silence fell between them. The priest broke it, forcing words.
"The Vatican... won't neglect those children."
The director shot back without yielding.
"Sure. As long as they look away from the corruption."
"Director. You know it's a necessary evil. And with those terms, there are no other options—you know that as well as I do..."
"..."
The priest's voice trailed off; the director silent. As he said, for divine power wielders, the Vatican was the safest, most straightforward choice. It didn't rake in corporate cash, but paid decently. Lacked governmental might, but had authority. On corruption alone, among the big three, the Vatican was the least rotten. Pot calling kettle, but compared to corps or government, its shadows were shallower. Under the "ignore corruption" condition, at least the Vatican guaranteed life. Other places endangered even bystanders. But the director couldn't send those kids there. Knowing how beautiful they were—like lotuses—she didn't want them in that filth. Yet with no alternatives, her chest ached. Biting her lip, she lamented the unfair world briefly. In the end, she chose nothing. She knew intellectually what was best but left the choice to them.
I'm such a coward.
Self-mocking, she clarified her stance to the priest.
"Let the children choose their future."
Their gazes clashed once more. The priest eyed her meaningfully, then sighed deeply.
He raised both hands.
"Understood. I concede."
Declaring forfeit. The director's shoulders slumped in exhaustion. The priest gave a wry smile at her sight and made a new proposal.
"You want them to choose, right? Then let me help."
He figured hiding from outside eyes would be tough as-is. His offer: aid in concealing Amon and Sonia's divine power.
"Block leaking divine power with special anklets. Curb rumors of Sonia's shooting with my connections."
"What's your angle?"
"No angle. Information's value peaks when monopolized. Just investing effort to preserve mine."
"...Fine. Accepted. But on one condition."
"Name it."
"Even with this favor, in two years, you won't interfere with their choice."
"Agreed. Then I'll build goodwill steadily till then. You won't block that, right?"
She nodded. The priest nodded slowly, stood.
Claiming speed was key, he'd act immediately—and left two anklets on the desk for them. Though he rose, the director stayed seated. No send-off: a silent protest and expression of disappointment. The priest looked down at her sulking form with wistful eyes, yet detached.
"I understand your will. But advice: you'll regret it."
"I know."
"You know it can't last forever?"
"I know."
Hearing her, the priest donned his coat and hat from the rack. Before leaving the reception room, he said to her:
"Then I'll take my leave. Glory to the Vatican."
"May the Lord's Mother's love abound."
They parted with farewells. The director didn't leave the room right away. She sat, stroking her prosthetic leg. Again and again, for a long while. In one corner of her mind, the faces of those two children lingered.