Alleria knew that it would be pointless to struggle, and yet when the exorcist came near, she squirmed and bucked, pulling against the leather straps that held her limbs in place. The younger tan-skinned priest pushed down her head, pressing her ear and cheek against the cold stone tabletop. Johannes drew three marks on the side of her neck with a blunt pen.

"The demon possesses the vessel in three channels of occult energy that pass through the physical body," the exorcist explained in a dry, calm, scholarly tone. Alleria wondered if the explanation was for the Oracle's sake, or for the priests — or was it for her? "The energetic bonds run through the bloodstream. To successfully cut them, one must disturb the whole body's balance. The procedure's goal is to trigger the eventual emergence of the demon's grotesque form, but only when the body is sufficiently weakened and the bond between the vessel and the demon is almost entirely severed."

Johannes put away the pen and pulled out his small knife, the same one he had used on himself to perform the ritual that killed Cassel. "Does the knife have to be of a particular metal?" asked the old balding priest — so this lecture was for his sake.

"No, it simply must be a sharp knife and the cuts are to be done with precision. We want to avoid the Carotid artery over here. The demonic energy will not allow us to kill the host so easily. If I were to slit its throat, the demon-grotesque would instantly emerge as a defence mechanism, healing the body and we would be helpless against it. For that same reason, we must take particular care to apply pressure on the Jugular vein during the second and third cut to prevent the blood from flowing too quickly."

"What will we do once the demon-grotesque appears?"

Alleria stopped her struggling as she felt the cold metal of the blade against her skin.

"We do nothing. The whole point of the ritual is that by the time the demon appears, the bond between demon and vessel will be sufficiently weakened and it will be too late for the host to survive."

The blade broke her skin, there was a dull, piercing pain before it burned. Then she felt nothing more than her warm liquid blood course down her neck and pool at her chin and around the ear that was pressed to the stone.

There was complete silence, Alleria didn't dare to move.

Someone winced — one of the priests. The exorcist chuckled. "Not a fan of blood?"

"I can't say I like this done to young girls," said the young priest at Alleria's head. Why did that voice sound so familiar?

"Remember," the exorcist said, pressing down the knife to deliver the second cut, "it is no longer a girl."

Alleria began feeling dizzy, the room previously presented with the aid of adrenaline in such stark relief was slowly falling out of focus. Everything took on an airy dream-like quality. She could feel the effort of her heart as it pumped her diminishing blood to her brain, her lungs burned while she struggled to keep conscious.

"She's fading," Johannes gasped. He made a mistake. He acknowledged that Alleria was a person, and not a thing. The thought circulated in her mind, somehow in the warped logic that happened near death, this detail seemed like something that would help her survive. Johannes was convinced in his truth, but even that had limits.

"Is that a problem?" asked the older priest. His voice was coming from a distance. It echoed, echoed, echoed.

"It could bring about the demon too soon," the exorcist said. "Do you hear me, girl? Stay awake, we're almost finished."

She could feel her blood pooling, wet and sticky and hot. She couldn't control the growing darkness at the edge of her vision. Johannes pressed the blade to her skin to deliver the third cut.

Someone said words in a strange language, it sounded like the hiss of a cat and at the same time like music, and also like feet tapping in dance over a wooden floor. Everything became sharp yet contorted. Without moving her head, Alleria glanced up, she could see the face of the younger priest. He had a tanned complexion, but right before her eyes, like ink spreading in water, his skin suddenly became much darker until it was the colour of freshly turns soil. No one but her seemed to notice

His eyes — eyes she recognised — shone with tears. What was he doing here? Was she hallucinating? No one else seemed to recognise how this priest suddenly turned into an Alaazian.

Zalee Salah stroked Alleria's cheek, and just as Johannes pressed the knife to cut, he leaned on the exorcist's arm making the blade slash downwards.

And sliced Alleria's throat.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

She heard the exorcist's scream even through the fog. She spluttered and gargled, her throat and mouth wet, swimming in blood.

*

"You made three mistakes, Kai Johanness," said Zalee, his voice was loud, not as dim as the fading world. In the blackness that was everything, Alleria could hear clearly.

—"The first was believing you know anything about us."

—"The second was trusting me."

—"And last was this girl."

All over Alleria's body, underneath her skin, something stirred. It prickled, clawing at her from the inside out. She was being torn apart by countless needles, cutting every inch of her flesh.

"What's happening?" the words that rang through the air were spoken by what sounded like a thousand voices in unison, it left her ears stinging in its wake. Alleria's vision slowly returned.

She wasn't dead.

A voice that was one but also many uttered a ceaseless string of meaningless sounds, as if searching for significance within chaos, then the random sounds slowly formed into occasional solitary words, until finally a sentence was spoken: "Has the time come for me to walk anew upon the Formed Plane?"

Alleria folded her fingers, they were black, shinning talons. She easily cut through the leather straps holding her in place — but was that even necessary? She flowed in a flurry of dark feathers from the stone table. She filled the room. Feathers, feathers everywhere, hitting the walls and ceiling, ricocheting off the floor. Flapping, flopping, softly swishing and crisply clipping until finally she lightly settled into Form.

She was.

She did not quite stand, rather she perched very nearly on the floor, but never touching it.

"Or have those blinded by ignorance meddled with riddles beyond their comprehension?" chanted the reverberating voices. Alleria wondered for a moment at their source, and then she realised:

It was her. Alleria had spoken. Although she didn't choose these words, they were nevertheless coming out of her.

She faced the Oracle now, the woman cast herself off her chair, falling to her knees, and cowered under Alleria's gaze. "But you are —" she cried, "you can't be. This can't be!"

"There is less meaning in Form than there is in thought," the voice within Alleria said. "What you feel now, I believe your kind call shame."

The Oracle's body trembled with silent sobs, "Lavasana preserve me, the Power protect me. I have prayed to you every moment of my life. I have yearned for your guidance. I have sought your wisdom. How am I an oracle, if I hear and see nothing? Forever nothing."

"Don't be deceived, your holiness." Johannes said from behind Alleria, but she could also hear the shock in his voice. "Demons will take up any form that they deem weakens your spirit and make you doubt. It's all an illusion."

Alleria didn't turn to face the exorcist: she scattered into a mess of feathers and then reformed before him. He was ready for her though, pulling out a small glowing vial and hurtling it at the floor beneath her. It shattered with a shrill screech that filled her head and then resonated back and forth painfully, clashing with her inner music. She doubled over as Johannes rushed round her, bodily standing in defence between her and the Oracle.

"Belief and perception are illusion. Language is illusion," Alleria said.

The exorcist spread out his arms, his brow wrinkling under some kind of strain. The blood on the stone table — Alleria's blood — was suddenly animated and glowing red. It rose up into the air in jagged spikes before breaking apart into glistening pieces, like sharp shards of glass. Emitting a discordance of ear-splitting, brain-numbing sounds, the blood-shards flew at Alleria. She scattered into a mess of feathers and reformed, scattered and reformed. But the blood-shards attacked her feathers again and again. And thus, they were caught in a dance. The pure music of what she was, contradicted at every turn by the tainted, shrill squeal of her spilt blood.

Something leapt at the exorcist from his right, breaking the spell. The blood, liquid once more, fell to the floor. It was some time before Alleria could gather herself again and remain in one point. The room glowed beautifully, warm and yellow, the music settled and calmed. Zalee was on top of Johannes, hands at his throat as he pinned him down.

"Cease and release," Alleria commanded. "There is no reason to shorten an existence that is already narrow and momentary."

Zalee gave her a steady look and without a word pulled off the exorcist, standing up with a dignified air. "You're right, Ulundine, I wouldn't want to dirty my hands with such garbage."

"There are hidden meanings yet to come," Alleria said.

The exorcist scrambled to his feet, his eyes flickered towards the blood now smeared on the floor, he made a movement towards his knife.

"Johannes," said the Oracle quietly, firmly grasping his arm. She straightened now, looking directly at Alleria. "This changes much. This changes everything."

"It changes nothing!" Johannes cried, "That thing is not our God —"

"I am the Individual you call Ulundine," Alleria said. "But that name does not hold me, does not contain or define me. Your belief commands that name, Ulundine commands your belief. I am formless, I am power, I am truth and illusion."

The Oracle breathed hasty breaths as tears filled her eyes. She pressed her hands to her heart, bowing her head in reverence. The older priest had pinned himself against the wall when the chaos broke and now fell to his knees shivering.

"It's only a demon!" Johannes argued vehemently.

"That is another name, another word within the construct, within the form, within the binding that is language."

"We were wrong Johannes, we were wrong to call them demons," the Oracle cried.

The feathers spread and gathered inward, closing over her, melting into her skin. She grew smaller and shorter, the room became dimmer, the music fell further and further away.

"No!" wailed the Oracle. "Dear Lord, don't leave me! Don't leave me!"

Alleria, fully human once more, touched the ground but her legs couldn't hold her. Her knees buckled, she fell. Zalee caught her before she hit the floor.

The Oracle rose onto shaking legs, looking at Alleria hungrily. "Johannes, she mustn't be allowed to leave here. This girl is a direct link to God. We must keep her here, we need answers."

His lips pursed tightly and his face pale, Johannes picked up his knife.

Zalee jumped to his feet and swiftly leapt through the door that had been left open. Whatever the exorcist had intended to do, whatever spell he thought to perform that would stop them, Alleria never found out. The desolate corridor flashed them by, the night air met them outside.

Alleria remembered the stars looking down at her, before blood-loss mixed with fatigue overpowered her consciousness.

"Alleria!" she heard Zaleecall. "Stay with me.... Alleria!"