Chapter 12: Deliver Me

The morning light greeted us with an indifference only the sun could muster. It bathed the cobblestones in gold, lighting up every filthy puddle and cracked wall we passed. It hadn’t taken much time to kill that so-called boss, and that truth clung to me like smoke. The ease of it and how natural it had felt were beginning to itch at the edges of my conscience. I sighed, quietly hoping this wasn’t the start of a very grim pattern.

“Where are we going?” Nira asked, her voice light but tinged with something heavy underneath. Her silver hair caught the light like a beacon, making every passerby slow down and stare at her with varying degrees of confusion and concern. To them, she looked like a child talking to herself and muttering into empty air. No one else could see me, after all.

I moved ahead of her, glancing at the cracked bricks and weathered doors around us. “Let’s talk while we walk. This part of town isn’t exactly tourist-friendly.”

We were deep in the city’s underbelly, where walls were patched with rusted tin, and the scent of old piss and coal lingered like the last guest at a bad party. But even here, with suspicious eyes peeking through curtains and vendors pretending not to notice, I felt a strange sense of calm walking beside her.

As our feet echoed through the uneven streets, she turned to me. “Why do you have two names? Renzo? Ren? That’s so stupid…”

“Renzo is my first name,” I replied, shrugging off the insult. “Ren is a nickname. A way to build trust. If you call me Ren, it means we’re friends.”

She thought about it for a second. “Can I have a nickname too? Maybe… Ira?”

I gave her a side glance. “Do you want me to call you Ira?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Uuhm… no. I don’t want to. It’s too short. Just call me Nira…”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Speaking of names… did you know I have four? Not counting the nickname.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s too many names for one person. What are they?”

With my most dramatic deadpan, I recited, “Renzo. Takashi. Cruz. Williams.”

Nira laughed, a real one that made some of the surrounding gloom peel back for a second. “That’s way too many names!”

We stopped in front of a half-ruined church nestled between a row of sun-bleached tenements. Loose stones littered the steps, but the courtyard was swept clean, as though someone still believed in order despite the decay.

Nira tilted her head. “Where is this?”

“Your new home,” I said. “And I’m sorry…”

I felt the guilt stir inside me. This wasn’t abandonment. At least, that’s what I told myself. But I knew I was about to cross a line, one I wouldn’t like looking back on. However, the truth was, this place and the woman within it could care for Nira in ways I never could. And so, without asking permission, I slipped into Nira and possessed her gently.

Her heartbeat thudded in my ears softly. Slowly, I eased into her being.

Suddenly, I was blinking through her eyes again. Nira’s small hands clenched into fists as I walked her up the steps. I raised one and knocked with all the strength her tiny body could muster. The echo rang against the wooden doors.

They opened a moment later, revealing a tall woman in a simple but pristine habit. Her robes were white with silver trim, edges reinforced and lined in fine embroidery. Her golden hair was tucked behind her ears, a single strand escaping down her cheek. Her face was too beautiful, the kind you’d expect on a stained glass window, not a real person. 

For a brief second, I thought this might actually go smoothly.

“D-Do you have food?” I asked, trying to sound pitiful and hungry.

However, I soon discovered I was not quite in my element.

The serene expression on her face shattered instantly. Sister Lydia’s hand flew to her chest, clutching the silver cross that hung over her heart.

“Ye of unholy taint,” she bellowed, “flee the flesh and innocent soul of this little girl or perish under the Silver Promise’s light!”

The cross ignited, bathing the doorway in blinding radiance. I flinched, instinctively shielding my face with Nira’s hands. A heartbeat later, I was ejected from her body like a cork from a shaken bottle. I landed flat on my ghostly rear, dazed and seeing spots.

Nira crumpled where she stood, knees buckling. Lydia caught her before she hit the ground, arms folding around her like a protective shield.

Then she turned to me.

Her eyes were quite judgmental in ways I’d rather they were not, like I was a parasite she’d found under the floorboard.

I raised my hands slowly. “Uuhmmm… I can explain…”

Silver motes gathered in her palm, swirling like tiny judgmental suns.

“Oh pitiful soul,” she declared, her voice like a holy storm, “let me deliver you from evil…”

I stood up, slowly, legs wobbling under the weight of what I was about to face. Two things crossed my mind in that moment: two very human, very conflicting instincts. The first was raw fear. My ghostly nerves lit up as if they remembered what danger felt like, and the urge to run, to vanish through a wall or slip into the shadows, screamed through me. Lydia’s magic wasn’t some smoke-and-mirror stage trick; it was real, radiant, and dangerous. The motes of silver light in her hand pulsed like a living thing, spinning tighter, faster, and hotter.

“This really is a world of sword and magic, huh…” I whispered to myself, watching the luminous fragments swirl with growing intensity. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but marvel. I’d never get tired of seeing magic in action, even when it was pointed at me.

Lydia raised her glowing hand. Her voice shifted, no longer furious, but reverent as if delivering a prayer. “O wandering soul, bound in sin and sorrow, let the light pierce the veil and guide thee to rest. May the Silver Promise cleanse what lingers in darkness.”

The motes in her palm hardened, coalescing into the form of a spear made of pure silver light. It floated above her outstretched hand, humming with divine judgment.

So what was the second thing that crossed my mind?

It was relief.

Yeah, there was fear. But underneath that sharp, electric panic was a calm I hadn’t expected. As I stood there, eyes fixed on the forming weapon, I realized something painful and quiet: I didn’t want to keep existing like this. I was tired. I was already dead. And as much as I pretended I had a purpose, or that possessing bodies and killing mob bosses was justified, I knew what I was… I knew that I was wrong, twisted, and unnatural. I’m a spirit clinging to flesh like a stain.

Maybe this was the end I needed.

So I spread my arms, stepped forward slightly, and closed my eyes. “Deliver me,” I said.

Lydia’s voice rang like a bell through stone. “Holy Lance.”

And then, the world vanished.

I felt myself disintegrate, every memory, every regret, every sin torn apart by light.

No pain. No sound. Just white.