BLOOD TRICKLED slowly from a small gash between two stitches above his left eyebrow, forming a thin, warm stream that ran down to the corner of his eye. The crimson liquid stained the Oriental rug, painting abstract shapes beneath the flickering candlelight. His eyes were open, yet saw nothing. Raphaniè convulsed violently, the muscles in his neck and legs tightening like steel cables on the verge of snapping.
Saul knelt beside him, his heart pounding, and gently placed a hand on the priest's shoulder.
— Do you need a doctor? — he asked, his voice tense, his face marked by the urgency of a man terrified of watching a friend die before his eyes.
Raphaniè struggled to breathe. His chest heaved, sweat streamed down his forehead, and for several seconds he could not utter a single word. When he finally regained his senses, he raised his still-clouded gaze and murmured:
— What happened?
— You were writhing on the floor, as if you were fighting something invisible.
The priest ran a hand across his face, feeling the dried blood and the throbbing pain above his eyebrow. He tried to smile, but the effort only deepened the exhaustion etched across his features.
— I think it was stress. — His voice sounded distant, yet carried a shadow of resignation.
— You need to rest, Father.
Raphaniè slowly straightened himself, his eyes now steady, and replied with a gravity that sent a chill through Saul.
— The devil is preparing for the birth of your son. How can I rest?
Saul moved closer and sat beside him. He spoke with the calm rationality of a man trying to preserve logic in the midst of the supernatural.
— But how will you save the world if you can't save yourself?
Raphaniè rested his elbows on his knees and pressed both hands against his temples. His fingers trembled. The firelight from the fireplace reflected in his eyes, giving him an almost prophetic appearance.
— The woman's name is Babalon, also known as Babylon, the Great Whore of the Apocalypse. The man will be possessed by a demon.
Saul drew a deep breath. The atmosphere in the room seemed to change density, as though something unseen were watching them.
— The key is in the silver book.
— Yes... and the bees... — the priest suddenly broke off, as though a terrible memory had pierced his mind.
— What bees? — Saul asked, intrigued.
Raphaniè looked away, visibly shaken.
— I want to examine some prophecies about the Antichrist. There are symbols hidden among them... and perhaps answers.
Saul nodded, trying to break the oppressive mood.
— I'm finished with my work here. We can leave, but first I suggest you take care of that wound. I'll help you to the washroom.
The priest managed a weary smile.
— All right. I promise I won't cause any more trouble.
— We're in this battle together, Italo.
— And you're my guest for dinner at the hotel.
— I accept the invitation, Italo Mannieri, — Saul joked, trying to lighten the tension, though deep inside he felt an inexplicable chill.
Within minutes, as he helped the priest recover, Saul already knew he had two major pieces of news to tell his partner. The first was the supernatural murder of Baruch Hawkings, a crime that defied every logical explanation. The second—far more unsettling—was the unexpected reappearance of his father, a man who carried more secrets than any demon Saul had ever dared to confront.
Destiny... — he thought — was beginning to close its circles...