Deliver Us from Evil.
Harry was tired.
The visions had been getting worse.
No matter how many times he blinked away the dark, no matter how many times he told himself it was just a dream, the Nun never left.
She was always there.
Watching.
Waiting.
And tonight—he knew she would come again.
But tonight, he would not run.
—
The moment he closed his eyes, the world shifted.
The warmth of the castle was gone.
He was standing in a place that shouldn’t exist.
A chapel.
But wrong.
The walls stretched too high, the stained-glass windows warped in unnatural shapes. The pews were covered in dust, broken and splintered. The air smelled of rot and wax, like something old and decayed trying to disguise itself as holy.
At the end of the aisle stood the altar.
And behind it—her.
The Nun.
Still. Silent.
A mockery of something sacred.
Harry’s breath came short, his fingers curled into fists at his sides.
He didn’t know why, but something inside him snapped.
He was done being hunted.
He was done being afraid.
With trembling hands, he reached into his pocket. The weight of the rosary beads pressed into his palm, cool and solid. His fingers tightened around them.
A memory flickered.
"Hallowed be Thy Name…"
A prayer.
One of the nuns had whispered it once, in the dead of night. A protection. A shield.
Harry’s lips parted.
And he spoke.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven—"
A sudden hiss shattered the silence.
The Nun twitched, as if struck.
Her head jerked, her dark eyes narrowing.
The air around them grew colder.
Harry’s grip on the rosary tightened, his knuckles turning white. His heart slammed against his ribs, but he forced himself to keep going.
"H-Hallowed be Thy Name—"
The shadows shuddered.
The candles lining the chapel flickered wildly, their flames twisting like something unseen had just breathed across them.
And then—
She moved.
Not walking.
Not stepping.
Just—closer.
One moment at the altar.
The next—right in front of him.
Harry choked on his breath.
The stench of death wrapped around him.
Cold fingers brushed his cheek, featherlight, like the touch of something ancient and unspeakable.
"Thy Kingdom come—"
Her lips parted.
And she spoke.
A voice that wasn’t a voice.
A whisper made of nails on stone, of dying breaths and hollow graves.
"Do you think He is listening?"
Harry’s blood ran cold.
The Nun smiled.
And then—
The rosary burned in his hands.
White-hot, as if the very name of God had ignited within the beads.
The Nun jerked back, her grin twisting into a snarl.
The entire chapel shook.
The windows cracked.
The candles flared.
And Harry—screamed the prayer.
"DELIVER US FROM EVIL!"
A burst of light erupted from the rosary.
The shadows screamed.
The Nun reeled back, her form flickering, twisting, as if something was dragging her away.
Harry could barely breathe.
His vision blurred.
And then—darkness.
—
He woke up gasping.
The dorm was freezing.
The fire had gone out.
His breath curled in the air.
His hands still burned.
Shaking, he looked down.
The rosary beads lay in his palm.
Cold.
Unmoving.
But the cross—was cracked.