<strong>Notre Dame Cathedral (http://projectvisual.net/photos/nikon_d300/february09/23-interior-notre-dame.jpg), Paris, France, 2:31 PM. Five months ago.</strong><br/><br/>Lucas Joseph Judas Carpenter entered the magnificent cathedral, awed by the glory and beauty of the building.<br/><br/>The stain glass windows winked and glowed in the sun’s hot, loving warmth. The light was giving the splendid area of worship an atmosphere of warmth and strength, making Lucas feel like he was returning home after a long and treacherous journey from a dark and dangerous place. And, in a way, it was true. The new scars that adorned his body were proof of that.<br/><br/>The lithe, blondehaired man shook his head, chiding himself for even trying to complain about his work. It was for the Lord, he reminded himself. Anything for the Lord is worth the trouble. Even if it meant fighting temptress with magic, demons and the occasional monster that leeched on the blood of the living, he would continue it. It was a job that served the Lord and Lucas was willing to do it no matter what.<br/><br/>His light blue, almost grey, eyes looked up at the inside of the building once more to admire the details and devotion the builders and architect had put into this. He could feel the faith, love and devotion in the air, fuelling his tired body with the energy the patrons inside this house of God were showing. He smiled a bit; glad to see that there was still faith in the Lord even with these dark times.<br/><br/>He walked to one of the front pews, wishing to be closer to his Father in any way. He kneeled down and clasped his hands together and thanked Father for protecting him during his latest mission in the name of the Church.<br/><br/>People in Notre Dame stopped to look at the young man, barely in his mid-twenties, as he prayed. In a contrived (and impossible to happen to anyone else) coincidence, the light of two of the glass stained windows, opposite of each other, shone in a way that it landed on him. It was leaving him in a bathe of light and good warmth, relaxing his sore and taut body as he prayed.<br/><br/>He heard footsteps coming to him. Measured and soft, as if wanting to sneak up and not have him notice their presence. He did not stir or become afraid, instead welcoming the person with open arms. Well… an open heart at least. His hands were clasped together at the moment.<br/><br/>“I see the Lord is playing favourites again. He never has done that to anyone else before. I hope you are not becoming pampered and spoiled from this treatment,” the person said, their voice amused and light.<br/><br/>“I assure you, Father,” he said. “That I am not feeling special or treated in any way the Lord treats me. He treats all of us as equals and simply gives what he feels is just.”<br/><br/>The person next to him by his right laughed. The voice was firm but kind. The speaker had a rich, deep tone to it, like honey and sugar turned into sound itself if Lucas ever had to explain what the sound of the man’s voice was.<br/><br/>“Still talking like you’re a priest yourself I see,” the man said. “It has been a while since you’ve came here to Notre Dame, dear Lucas. I have a feeling it is to not just to pray to the Lord though.”<br/><br/>He turned around, seeing the small and elderly Father Frollo. The man was at 5’3 and hunched his shoulders a bit, looking tiny compared to his 5’7 frame. While small, the man made up for the quiet confidence and grace he showed with the way he looked at Lucas straight in the eye, and the steady but open gaze he kept one the younger man’s face. The priest was not wearing his usual outfit, the cassock and all, but instead wore the everyday clothing making him very ordinary to the eyes of the other people here.<br/><br/><em>A good thing</em>, Lucas thought to himself as he stood up and hugged the man in greeting.<em>Considering the fact he must not be seen and noticed at all.</em><br/><br/>-------------------------------------------<br/><br/>“What mission from the Vatican requires sending a strapping young man like you to me?” Father Frollo joked as they walked out of the cathedral together as he watched the busy streets before him. “I do hope you didn’t do anything to upset the others to make yourself a babysitter for an old man like myself.”<br/><br/>Lucas laughed, shaking his head. “I love spending time with you, Father Frollo. You literally raised me since I was a little boy after all. And fear not. If you came to Vatican and asked how I am doing there, I believe most people would like me well enough to send me packing away for trips like these.”<br/><br/>“May I ask why you are ‘protecting’ me then?”<br/><br/>The two walked in amiable silence after that, going to a quiet part of Paris, a rare thing, to continue their talks. Their conversations could not be overheard. Who knows who is spying on them or not?<br/><br/>“Someone is out to get you Father Frollo,” he finally explained at last. When they were alone in the streets, a place where it was mostly rundown and boarded up now. “It is that… that… that woman. Caroline Richardson. You know her, no? The nun who ran away from her convent to become a witch and made a deal with some… unsavory things to get her power?"<br/><br/>“I know her,” the priest said.<br/><br/>“It seems that she’s been murdering priests for sacrifices for her magic for a few months," he said. "Burning them. Burying them alive. Stabbing their lungs. Drowning them. It seems she is doing this in the name of the elements, as some of our sources says, and has been doing this in every major country. She… she has her eye on you now, now that she in Paris. I have been sent here to protect you.”<br/><br/>“Ah, I see,” Father Frollo replied casually.<br/><br/>“Why are you not surprised?” he asked the priest, looking surprised himself. “A witch, a temptress who kills others for her own gain, has marked your soul for death! Is that not worrying Father?”<br/><br/>“Caroline, like all people who practice the dark magic, is simply a lost soul,” the man said gently, trying to calm him down. “I’m sure the young lady can be talked down from this if you’re willing to listen to her.”<br/><br/>He couldn’t help but sneer, shaking his head. “Someone like her… she will never change Father. She chose to dance with the Devil and clearly revels in the chaos and blood in it.”<br/><br/>“Lucas,” Father Frollo said. He stopped walked, making him halt as well, and took his hand into his gnarled, calloused hands. Rough and coarse from years of hard work and devotion to the Lord. “Be kind, be open and be willing to forgive. That is the message of the Lord and Jesus Christ himself and we must be able to practice that to all. Even to people like Caroline. She is just a human. Like you and me, like everyone else. She too deserves to be treated with forgiveness and respect.”<br/><br/>Lucas felt his heart soften and he was about to say something when laughter exploded from behind them. It was a beautiful sound, he recalls. Like bells pealing in loud, piercing cries.<br/><br/>“You’re a man with a talent for words Father,” a voice, a woman’s, purred with seduction and arrogance laced into it. “Too bad that it won’t help you.<em>Incendia</em>!”<br/><br/>And then the blinding pain came.<br/><br/><strong>In a motel, London, 1:12 AM. Today</strong><br/><br/>Lucas cried out, his hand reaching out to get his broadsword, Fides, as he was wrenched away from his nightmares. He opened his frightened, scared eyes and hissed when he realized it was just a nightmare. Yet again.<br/><br/>“Another one,” he sighed, sitting up from the hard mattress to look out the window to see London thriving. “Another one this week alone.”<br/><br/>He wished not to be in this state of melancholy but he was. Ever since the brutal murder of Father Frollo, he has been having nightmares of the events. He did not remember what happened next, since the pain alone made him pass out. When he had woken up, Father Frollo’s burnt remains lay next to him. A note attached to the smoulder skill.<br/><br/>Can you forgive me for this? It read.<br/><br/>“No,” Lucas hissed, feeling anger bubble into his heart. “I will never forgive you Caroline Richardson. Never.”<br/><br/>Ever since that day, the day he couldn’t protect the one person he loved more than the Lord himself, he has been tracking down the whereabouts of Caroline. Hoping to exact his revenge in name of Father Frollo. He has danced with her many times but she has gotten away, leaving him angry and flustered every time.<br/><br/>He stood up from the bed to put some proper clothes on, remembering that he was going to meet some people today and he would have to meet them soon. The whole reason why he was London was about Caroline, since the people claimed that they had information about her and will give it to him in return of his services for a task they need help in.<br/><br/>At first, he was leery of the offer. It seemed too good to be true. But his other leads and tracks of the witch have been turning up empty, so he might as well try.<br/><br/>He throws his coat over him body, cloaking his scabbard broadsword to some degree. Clasping his cross necklace on his neck for good luck, he stopped his hurried pacing to touch the iron and silver cross. He felt nostalgia and sorrow come to him. This was the last birthday present Father Frollo gave to him.<br/><br/>Pulling himself out of those thoughts, he left the motel room to meet the people soon. He hoped he wasn’t late already.