Yet, beneath the adrenaline, a deep, gnawing sense of surrender began to creep in. Ansel hoped and prayed that someone, anyone, would come to his aid.
But as he glanced around, his hope faltered. The people in the vicinity were frozen in fear, their faces pale and eyes wide with terror. They did not move to help. Instead, they hid behind closed doors, peering out cautiously but never stepping forward.
It was understandable. After all, the woman was no longer herself. The evil spirit that had taken hold of her was a force beyond human reckoning.
Even the police officers, who are usually the bastions of order and protection. They stood silently at a distance, their weapons lowered, unwilling to confront the supernatural horror before them.
It gwaned his mind, why? Why was he the only one being chased by? Why was it too quiet? There wasn't any sound of the rush of the city? From the car and the people. The only voice he heard, it was her voice.
Hence, it puzzled him as he was aware of the verity. As he was the only one who was in her eyes.
Despite his gnawing mind, Ansel knew. Anyone who dared approach the possessed woman risked losing their life. This was no ordinary possession.
The spirit had not merely invaded her body. It had seized control of her heart and mind, twisting her into a vessel of malevolence.
With a human form as its conduit, the spirit moved freely in the mortal realm. It could touch, strike, or destroy with terrifying ease.
The power the spirit wielded through the woman was formidable. Her movements blurred with unnatural speed. Her strength amplified beyond human limits.
Ansel's attempts to evade her became increasingly futile. Each time he thought he had gained a moment's respite, she was upon him again, faster and more relentless than before.
Overwhelmed and cornered, Ansel's mind raced. Escape was no longer an option.
Then, in a moment of desperate clarity, Ansel made a decision. He would attempt an exorcism. He stopped running around, planting his feet firmly on the ground, ready to face the darkness head-on.
The woman lunged. And the blade she wielded plunged deep into Ansel's belly. The pain should have been unbearable. But strangely, it was muted, drowned beneath the overwhelming presence of the spirit.
Blood welled from the wound, staining his clothes and dripping to the ground.
Unless he just felt weak and helpless, his will to fight remained unbroken.
He reached out, trying to grasp the woman's hand, to stop her from driving the blade deeper. But the spirit's hold was too strong. His body trembled with exhaustion.
His mind struggled to comprehend the nature of the entity that had taken over this woman. This was no ordinary evil spirit. It was something far more sinister. Something that thirsted not just for destruction, but for human souls themselves.
The spirit's hunger was not merely for flesh and blood but for the essence of life, the soul. Questions swirled in Ansel's mind, dark and troubling. "What had transpired in the Immortal realm to unleash such a force? Why was there a sense of an impending massacre, a cataclysmic event that threatened to spill over into the mortal world?"
As these thoughts consumed him, the woman's other hand tightened around his neck. Ansel gasped, struggling for breath as he felt himself lifted off the ground.
The blade was still embedded in his side. His vision blurred, and panic surged through him. Fighting back was his only chance to survive.
He knew he had to keep the possessed woman away from innocent bystanders. If she lost control, the others would be hurt.
Summoning every ounce of remaining strength, he raised his bloodied hand and pressed it against her forehead. To his surprise, the woman did not resist. For a fleeting moment, the spirit's grip seemed to falter, and Ansel felt a sliver of hope.
He drew the symbol of the cross carefully over the woman's forehead, his hand trembling slightly despite the urgency of the moment. The vibe around them seemed to thicken, charged with an unseen tension.
As his fingers pressed firmly against her head, a sudden wave of heat radiated from her skin, burning like a fever beneath his touch. Ansel's breath hitched, but he forced himself to hold steady, unwilling to break the fragile connection.
Ansel had never performed an exorcism before, not once. The very idea had always seemed distant, something reserved for priests and seasoned ritualists.
He had memorized the spell for exorcism, a string of ancient Latin words he barely understood but had repeated countless times in his mind. Now, with his neck tightening as if gripped by invisible hands, suffocating him slowly, he summoned every ounce of courage he had left.
His voice was barely more than a whisper, strained and cracked, as he began to chant the incantation. The Latin syllables stumbled out unevenly, but he pressed on. Because he knew each word was a fragile lifeline casting into the darkness.
Exorcizamus te
omnis immunde spiritus
omnis satanica pottestas
omnis incursio
infernalis adversarii
omnis legio
omnis congregatio et secta diabolica
in nomini et virtute domini nostri Jesu Christi
The spell managed to weaken the power of the evil spirit that possessed the woman. However, it was far from a complete victory.
The dark force writhed within her, its grip loosening but not broken. Ansel knew all too well that weakening the spirit was only the first step; destroying it entirely was another matter altogether.
Suddenly, the invisible hand that had been strangling him stretched out with renewed fury. It was his chance, a fleeting moment to break free from the suffocating grasp.
Summoning every ounce of strength left in his battered body, Ansel wrenched himself loose and collapsed onto the cold ground.
The rush of air filling his lungs was like a baptism, a brief reprieve from the choking darkness that had threatened to claim him.
But his relief was short-lived.
The evil spirit, enraged by his defiance, lashed out again with a ferocity that sent a shiver down his spine. This time, Ansel refused to be a passive victim. He would not stand still or cower in fear. He would fight.
He grabbed a small stick from his pocket and extended it. He smeared the stick with his blood.
With a fierce cry, Ansel drove the bloodied stick into the woman's belly with all his might. He no longer cared about saving her, because survival was his only concern. If the woman could not endure the pain, then she would have to face the consequences.