Subject: [OTL]: Exorcism [Nightcrawler] Date: Mon, 20 Nov 2000 05:23:41 -0800 From: K Nice Disclaimer: The X-Men characters, and all other recognizable characters are copyright to Marvel Entertainment Group. This work of FanFiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright or defame Marvel Comics or the X-Men and related characters in any way. Copyright: No copying, distributing or editing of this material is permitted without the express permission of the creator, K-Nice, under United States copyright law. I abstain from violence . . . but my bodyguard doesn't. ª K-Nice 2000 Exorcism The cathedral hums with the undercurrent of a hundred prayers. Dawn's first rays are creeping in through the stained glass windows of the clerestory, bathing the space in shades of green, blue, yellow and red. This place of worship is two centuries old. Its form of worship dates back to the Holy Roman Empire. The immenseness of it all is in the still air that is barely moved by so many simultaneous devotions. He stands in the narthex, not so much hestating as pausing, waiting. He takes one final, though unnecessary, stock of his robes, making certain that he is fully covered. It shouldn't matter to him, of course. They all know what he looks like. He can't stay in his cell all the time. He studies with them in the library from time to time and then there were the holy days and other occasions. They know he is blue and furry. They have seen his tail and turned from his glowing yellow eyes. He knows they struggle not to fear him, that they pray for divine help to overcome their hatred of him. He says the same prayers and makes the same struggle. Walking solemnly up the aisle, he tries to forget his sinful dreams. Not only does he look like a demon but he is in love with a witch. If he thinks of her that way, he may escape the nightly torture, his penance for abandoning her. Celibacy is not his only conflict. Denying himself the swashbuckling heroics of his former life, he exchanges the revelry of swordplay for the reverence of saving souls. His body tingles with needs and desires he must now subdue in his search for piety. He promises himself another meditation on The Letter to the Romans and St. Paul's inspiring words about the war of the flesh. It is the last war he intends to fight. Several steps forward, toward salvation and his three-fingered hands begin to tremble. He was born a demon, from that moment on he has sought redemption for sins he was too young to commit. When he found out who his mother is and what crimes against God initiated his birth, he realized he has even more to atone for than his own imperfection. He imagines there was some reason for it, even if it was just that he become the greatest circus acrobat in Eastern Europe. For a time, he thought he was meant to serve God as a soldier for peaceful coexistance. He has given that his best effort, tirelessly struggling on behalf of His most downtrodden children. He has looked into other ways of freeing himself from the damnation of his physical form. There was a plastic surgeon willing to take on the amputation and the electrolysis, but the prosthetics to replace his missing phalenges would require a miracle. So, he meditates, supplicates and pleads with his Lord and Savior. Yet, Kurt Wagner still searches for meaning behind the fur and fangs. Is he an apocalyptic warning, a divine sign that mankind must cease its wayward course or literally go to the Devil? Part of him fears there is no purpose, just the random chance of evolution as Charles Xavier once tried to convince him. He shakes his head, sending ripples through his robe. Such doubts have no place in the mind of a servant of God. He will do penance for this too. Taking several more steps to the alter, he kneels gracefully. He parts blue lips and opens his sharp-toothed mouth to accept the Body and the Blood, a Holy Communion of unleavened bread and red wine. The priest touches his forehead and chest with holy water. It does not burn. Perhaps his prayers will be answered. ===== good morning