#ghostbcsecretsanta18

The Sister of Sin had caught the eye of Papa Emeritus III in passing, another face in the crowd with nothing particular about her. It might have been exactly how ordinary she was that contributed to sparking that initial interest; the Third had enough glitz and glam as it was, what with the tour project taking up most of his time. He was an exuberant creature of the night, and loved the spotlight and the adoring masses that came with it, but even he could appreciate the quiet that came with life in the Clergy.

Like his father and his father before him, the Third Papa Emeritus had been born with Gifts from the Old One in the form of abilities that enhanced their position within their Dark Church. He was hesitant to use the terminology that existed for them, for with that territory came the distorted lore of the mortals. Their Bloodline had no hatred for it, and him and his brothers had even played with it within the Band Project, but there was only so much he could stand when he said ‘vampire’ and the accusations of lacking reflections and sunlight came flying.

The sharpness of his smile was obvious, but not enough to cause alarm and became especially easy to overlook when paired with his distracting charisma. The pallor of his skin was often masked by the skull paint and  foundation, though it had been a long time since he had had need for the latter. His eyes’ natural sensitivity to light continued to present a bit of a problem - his older brother, the Second, had been smug and insufferable for months once he had found out, and had taken an uncharacteristic delight in pointing out how useful sunglasses were when the shows were taking place in the afternoon light. The Third suspected the joy of the Second had just been pettiness.

The Thirst was ever present. Though vampires could sustain themselves through normal means of nourishment, the cravings remained, vanishing only during the drinking itself. The youngest Emeritus didn’t see it as much of a problem, far more capable of controlling himself than his father and than the Second. The feeling was akin to that of an old injury, which one would be reminded of now and then, a minor annoyance to daily tasks or a twinge of pain before it rained, but ultimately easy to ignore, and he supposed he had the First to thank for it. It had been the First that had stepped in and had shown him how to feed, the Rituals organised for their Church presenting excellent opportunities in this sense.

The Third Emeritus had been hesitant during his first feeding. He had an inkling that it had been the same for all of them, though the Second vehemently denied it - only for the First to shake his head behind him as the middle child continued his tirade. The Prime Movers who had bore them had not survived due to the toll their gifts took on them, and so the task of caring for them fell to the Clergy, which ensured they had grown up fed and with no need of learning how to procure their sustenance by themselves. It was for this reason that their first feeding was given such importance, as they each selected a Sibling of Sin from those that had volunteered, they were proving themselves capable of sustaining themselves.

The Third was reminded of that night whenever he fed, the taste filling his mouth and consuming his mind. The iron that flowed through the veins of the night’s chosen fell heavy on his tongue, as heavy as the iron which was forged by dying stars and caused their collapse. Such a sweet collapse it was, he mused, as his own thoughts folded in on themselves, everything fading until all that was left was a single, burning point of white light, a pleasure so intense it was incomprehensible to mortal imagination. The aftertaste lingered on his tongue long after the moment had passed, much like how the light of the collapsing astral body lingered to be observed so long after its passing.

Only the first time had been difficult and he had nearly failed to let go. The Sibling of Sin had been cradled in his arms, oblivious to what might have been a terrible fate, their head nestled against his shoulder in bliss as his gifts worked themselves through their rapidly thinning bloodstream, and turned all feelings of pain into a pleasure that echoed the Third’s own. The First had been there to shake him out of it and gently remove him from the Sibling, waiting for the Third’s senses to return to him before teaching him how to care for the volunteer.

The lessons remained firmly stuck in his mind and were reflected in his gentle treatment following these shared experiences. Unlike his older brothers, the Third preferred keeping his temporary partner close and looking after them himself, rather than allowing the members of the Clergy to take over as they were used to doing. It was perhaps due to this that he had had a few more volunteers than the others, not enough to cause too much of a problem but enough that the Third could pride himself on his talents. It was perhaps that this also led the Sister to approach him once the initial interest had been established.

One unclaimed by anyone from the Bloodline before him, she had been reluctant to make their arrangement public. Her outfits hid the marks of their trysts well enough, the wounds caused by the edges of his grins becoming soft in the wake of his attentions, subtle shades against her skin, fading under the fabric that rested lightly on her throat and wrists, softly scratching them and providing her with gentle reminders throughout her days and nights when he was away and unable to worry the marks himself. His presence was rare, but not so much so that the blemishes ever faded entirely, with the Third somehow always returning just in time to refresh his signatures, to write them anew on the sensitive surface of her, using the scars of their last encounter as a template for their present and future.

Though careful about their encounters, and restricting their interactions to a minimum on the premises of their Church, their gazes still lingered on each other in the hallways as they passed by each other, fleeting but intense stares that spoke of unspoken promises. The Third was not one to tie himself to just one person, and those looks of his were known well enough that whatever efforts they had made to maintain a sense of secrecy were slowly crumbling between the whispers of their Clergy. The two of them had decided to continue with the facade even as the Clergy became gradually aware of their relationship, the intimacy of their meetings kept between them and them alone in a world where the delimitation between the public and the private spheres became often muddled.

This was how they found themselves in the rose garden one night following a ceremony. He had presided over the sermon, the dark material of his stage suit clinging to his form, contrasting with his skull paint and complementing his unruly dark locks, another layer adding to the monochrome scheme. Though he had his Papal robes to wear for the occasion, the Third was nothing if not a trendsetter, and broke from the pattern that his brothers and father had followed; first through his choice of clothes, second through his sermon itself - and if he could judge by the slight twitch in Imperator’s eye, his speech had deviated enough from the norm that it bordered on risque, which he liked - and third through his exit itself, long before the Ritual could be arranged and his relatives would partake and feed.

Instead, he meandered down the cracked alleys of old stone that had been set long ago down the back of their property, leading away from the buildings and into the woods, the unnatural darkness that permeated the wilderness of the area putting off anyone who did not already know the location of what they were seeking. The snow cracked lightly under his shoes, though not as it had when it had fallen fresh upon the ground; that honor fell to his companion, whose footsteps he now followed. The chill had not bothered him, the ease the Third had gained having grown up in the cold region acting as an addition to the warmth his gifts provided him with.

This proved useful as he set his sight upon her shivering form, the biting frost bothering her even through the thick fur coat she had thrown on top of her outfit, a sight familiar to him ever since he had gifted her the piece. The Papa couldn’t help but be amused by the frailty of the image, a stark contrast to the strength and poise she displayed within the Church. The Third idly wondered if it was him that was bringing out this side of her as he plucked a rose from the wide assortment of their garden, the flowers now frozen in full bloom as if caught in a moment in time, a static image disconnected from both their past and their future.

As he handed her the flower and wrapped her in his arms, warming her and standing between her and the chill of the wind, he looked into her eyes, his gaze having a nearly hypnotizing quality to it as another mark of his Gifts. Murmuring a greeting, the Third gently tilted her head to the side, bending to her level and nuzzling into the crook of her neck, his eyelashes brushing her skin akin to butterflies. He could hear her heartbeat, loud as thunder against his ear as he pressed ever closer, his cheek coming to rest against the barely-there scars of her throat.

Though this was not a new song, but one they had danced to many times before, he couldn’t help but smile upon hearing her breath shudder in anticipation, one of the few aspects of her life she had no control over. As a prey before a predator, though she came willingly every time, her instincts still worked against her, attempting in vain to warn her from that which spelled disaster, her self-preservation urging her away from he who dwelled in the shadows far from the safety of the fire, ever watching, ever waiting. As his mouth found purchase on the column of her throat, the fire spread and consumed them both, burning in their veins as if turning the iron into molten gold.

He could distantly feel the tears falling from her lashes, formed as her senses went into overdrive and losing their warmth as they travelled down her cheeks, sinking into the collar of his suit. It was one of the few points of contact he still maintained with the outside world, his universe reduced to their minds, melding together as one, just like pieces of porcelain being set together anew, the golden lines cooling and holding tight even as their forms eventually separated and the world expanded once more. The Third picked her up securely and carried her to the gazebo, half hidden behind the roses and free of the snow that surrounded them. There he set her upon his lap, holding her as she came back to her senses, whispers of praise and encouragement spilling from his lips as he stroked her hair.

Very few people know about Copia’s past. The man is notoriously private and does not trust easily. The few people that he has opened up to are aware of the importance of this action and do everything in their power to stay in Copia’s good graces. Those who do break his trust are dealt with… harshly.

Alessandro Copia was born in the early 14th century in a small village outside of Rome. He was the third of five children. His family was poor, but his childhood was happy. He spent his days playing with his brothers and sisters or helping his father with his work, and his nights reading by candlelight. His family was very devout, especially Copia who attended services multiple times a week. He always had a morbid fascination with death and often worried about what would happen to his soul once he left this world. When Copia turned 15, he entered the Catholic clergy to begin his studies towards priesthood. 

By the age of 30, Copia had proven himself to be one of the most devout followers in the Church. He had risen through the ranks of the church and had become a well-respected priest. He was invited to Rome often in order to study and translate ancient scriptures, and churches were always filled when he held mass. There was even whispers of him being appointed as a bishop in the coming years, something that pleased Copia greatly. His life seemed to be perfectly laid before him, until he met her.

The church was supposed empty at such a late hour when he heard music coming from the sanctuary. Curious, Copia left his study to investigate the noise. As he approached, he could make out the loveliest voice singing a hymn. Though she did not sing loudly, the vastness of the sanctuary amplified her voice, causing it to echo throughout the church. Copia opened the door silently, searching the dimly lit room for the source of the ethereal sound. He spotted a woman among the pews, her dark chocolate curls obscuring her face. He listened silently as she sang to her Lord, enchanted by her voice. As she completed her song, she looked up towards the heavens before catching Copia’s gaze. She smiled shyly and made her way to introduce herself.

Copia and the woman grew closer over the next few years. She was a devoted follower and Copia greatly enjoyed discussing scripture with her. He especially loved when she sang for him, and their God, as it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Copia found himself falling for her, and she for him, which both thrilled and terrified him. He was a man of God after all and had devoted his life completely to Him and took his vows seriously. But he often wondered what it would be like to leave the church for this woman who he loved. Such thoughts left him conflicted and he prayed often for guidance. He poured over the scripture searching for an answer. Was his love strong enough for him to forsake his vows leave the Church? And if God was love, could he not also show his devotion by loving this woman?

Copia made his decision regarding his love during a months-long trip to Rome. Though he still felt loyalty to the Church, he found that he could not bear the long nights without her. He made his plan to leave the Church an marry her as soon as he arrived back home. The days seemed to drag before he could leave Rome and Copia grew more and more anxious with each passing day. He felt as if he would burst with excitement when he finally made it back to his village, heading straight to his love’s home. But all was not well when he arrived. He had heard whispers of a great sickness sweeping across Europe and it seemed like it had finally reached Italy. Her family was gathered at the front of her home praying. A doctor was speaking softly to her father as her mother wept beside him. Against the doctor’s wishes, Copia rushed to his love’s bedside where she lay, ravaged and dying. He cried, prayed, and begged to his God to save her. He would stay with the Church if it meant she could live. He would trade his life for hers.

Alessandro, amore mio, sono in pace.

She died two days after his return. Copia was broken and his faith in God was shattered. He had devoted his life to Him, but He still would not save her. The next few weeks passed in a haze until he too found himself falling ill. The disease took hold of him quickly. Fever wracked his body as hallucinations of his love haunted him. He prayed for release, but to whom he prayed to he did not know. The thought of death terrified him. Surely, he would be punished for turning his back on God.

Copia could feel death taking hold of him. His time was almost up on this world. He prayed harder in his final hours, begging any entity that would listen to not let him die. The world outside was dark and cold and quiet. What was left of his family had left his side to avoid the sickness, leaving alone and terrified with his thoughts. Darkness crept in the edge of his vision. He closed his eyes and took his last breath.

Copia.

Bright orange flames burst into his mind’s eye, bathing him in light. Copia watched, mesmerized, as the flames as they danced over his body. He watched a shadowed figure step through the flames and approach him. The figure embraced Copia and he was filled with hope for the first time in weeks.

Are you prepared to swear before the Devil?

It was the quiet that tipped the Cardinal off.

The owl the Third had kept hadn’t stopped pestering him for nearly a year now following the demotion of its owner. The blasted bird had found the Third some years before, landing on his arm and refusing to move. It had been one of the owls that frequented the domain of the Clergy, and after some pleading from the younger heir, he had been allowed to keep the bird. Having trained it himself, it followed his commands better than even the most disciplined servant. Copia supposed it had been something for the Third to amuse himself with; if he recalled correctly, and his memory had never failed him, the occasions on which he’d spot the Third showing off his owl to starry eyed Sisters had not been few. It was a beautiful thing to behold, with a plumage of warm hues and a grace only a bird of prey could hope to attain. Still, the way it would swoop down towards him, beak and talons at the ready, was not something he could passively admire.

It had started off just as he had gotten fitted for his new wardrobe as part of the Band Project. As the senior-most member of the Clergy and next in line, he had somewhat expected the promotion following the failures of the Third like his brothers before him. He bore no ill feelings towards any of them, and no sympathies either. After all, when the wellbeing of their most unholy Church was at stake, he couldn’t afford to compromise his tasks based on personal feelings. This paid off in recognition he only seemed to receive begrudgingly from Papa. The fact of having been his right-hand man for many years now brought the knowledge of the faults of Nihil, such as his lack of pragmatism when it came to certain matters. Case in point, his new appointment. Of course, traditions were important and had to be preserved, but when the Bloodline failed him time and time again it only made sense to look farther and dream a little bigger.

As soon as his fitting had ended and he had left the building in order to resume the paperwork of the day which was inescapable, despite his promotion, it had only taken him four steps before the owl had swooped down towards him, fully intent on plucking his eyes out if it got its way. He had managed to avert its path in time, and watched warily as it perched on one of the various ledges that covered the intricate architecture of the building, the bird staring back at him in turn. The behaviour of the strange owl puzzled Copia. The creature had previously treated him with indifference, much like its owner, and he could not recall ever being on the receiving end of its talons and beak. Still, he knew the supernatural was possible as well as anyone in the Clergy, and surmised that the owl had sensed the fate of its master, much in the same way as it had decided to pick him out of the mass to follow.

Thankfully, with his promotion came his duty of going on tour within the Band Project, so the owl was only a seldom annoyance that he had to put up with whenever he happened to be home for important occasions. The creature remained loud and continued to swoop down at him, much to the amusement of the others. Copia’s agility not only came in handy for the Band Project itself, but also for side stepping the attacks of the bird, maintaining a modicum of dignity despite the ridiculousness of the entire situation. It had been some time since he had been the subject of public amusement within their ranks, and he had no plans of allowing it to continue in this manner. Naturally, he knew better than to expect that the comments thrown his way or whispered behind his back would ever cease, but he had made an art of manipulating the targets of their jibes. It only took a well practised quirk of the lips towards a couple of Sisters of Sin watching him amusedly as he sidestepped the owl and entered the building to remove their laughs and replace them with appreciative gossip about his shows.

The Cardinal supposed it had something to do with how long he had been playing this game for. Copia had been a member of the Clergy nearly all of his life, joining the ranks when he legally could. Before then, he had been just another face in a corrupted crowd, a crowd crawling with maggots who preached all that caused rifts between people and only worsened an already precarious position. He had never been one for institutionalized religion, ironically enough, until an alternative was shown to him. It might have been a combination of their hypocrisy, their systematic corruption, their judgement and shaming of individuals, or even their attitude towards death that ultimately caused him to seek out something better for himself. And so he had. The Old One had graced him with His presence, and led him to a considerably better life, one he was now bringing others into himself. Copia could almost call his joining of the Clergy a move he made in order to survive in a world riddled by pestilence.

Not that pestilence was not useful to some degree. It reminded people of their mortality. After all, death was not something to be forgotten or feared, as most would believe. It had been a long time since the Black Plague had taken its toll on Europe and effectively reminded people how easily they could perish. Copia’s choice of rats within the Band Project had not been arbitrary, since the perception of them had not changed much over the ages and remained ingrained in their role of spreading disease. What better way to parallel contemporary times and their equivalent in this role? Still, death remained a constant. Inevitable and uncaring, in a soothing sort of way. Now he, too, acted as a reminder of it to those who witnessed his performances. Through hardships, he remained a survivor, and had no intention of quickening his demise when he had much yet to accomplish.

Even as a young priest, he had been heavily involved in his duties, establishing a work ethic he would continue to follow throughout his career. The power struggle within the Clergy was gruelling, and those not cut out for it often sunk in a matter of months. Copia had managed to rise through the ranks, progressing in years what others managed in decades through a combination of charisma, stamina, and a healthy dose of subterfuge. He had been fortunate enough to catch the eye of Sister Imperator from a young age, and his ascension had been followed by her, at first with an almost passive interest and then with a close attention that proved invaluable. That is not to say that Imperator was the sole reason he was brought to the attention of Papa Nihil, though her role could not be denied. Nihil himself had noted his work on a few occasions, having attended a few sermons held by the low-ranking members of the Clergy, and among them was Copia himself. At the time, he had been young and inexperienced, but his power of persuasion shone through, untrained as it was.

In the following years, this was corrected as he perfected a balance of logic and entertainment in order to convince the masses, much like the Roman orators of old. It only served to propel him higher, and upon attaining the rank of Cardinal became an indispensable asset. His workload increased, as was natural with such an important position, and he found himself at the right hand of Nihil. The Papa’s initial wariness of him did not offend him, as he himself was wary of his new inferiors and their capacity of performing their tasks. It did not take him long to persuade Nihil himself, despite not putting much effort into it. After all, he had no reason to butter him up when his competence did the work for him. It had been stressful adjusting to the new position and the duties that came with it, but not something to complain about, as with the additional stress came additional perks of recognition and importance. He had climbed both the ranks and the social hierarchy, and was now a part of an entirely different league within the Clergy than he had been in the beginning.

Copia’s natural confidence now bordered on hubris, a fact he was very well aware of but knew that it could be used as a weapon rather than a weakness. It had been a very different kind of hubris than that of Nihil’s heirs, something he suspected contributed to Imperator taking a liking to him. The three heirs had a security in their position that was granted to them by birth alone, leading them to be considerably more careless in their interactions with others, regardless of whether or not they were inferiors to them. The brothers were charming as well, to be sure, but theirs was a more cutting charm, that did not mask their thoughts of disdain and boredom. For this reason, Copia had often been selected to represent their Clergy on diplomatic functions in their stead, by contrast having a confidence that was both innate when it came to his skills rather than his secured standing and that bespoke of his progress within the Clergy itself, the latter also reflected in his charisma and ease when it came to dancing to a changing tune and changing the tune for the dance of others at the same time.

It may have been for this reason that the three heirs had never had much interest in him, as well as his status of a newcomer. Upon becoming Cardinal they - and most people - had assumed his promotions came to an end, as there had been three heirs in line to the Papacy and he was not part of the Bloodline. He could not fault them for it, when he himself had been somewhat resigned with the thought, though his ambition remained and fuelled his performance. Copia himself never bore any ill-feelings in particular when it came to the three, past the regular annoyance of their attitudes when it impeded his work and that of the Clergy at large. With the Band Project being undertaken by them, he was simultaneously appreciative of their work for the Clergy and thankful that it got them out of the way for most of the year.

Copia, naturally, had varying opinions on them as individuals. While the First he had gotten along with in terms of work ethic and diplomacy, the Second was a different story. His looser work ethic and general disdain for his perceived inferiors made for a more strained rapport between the two. The Third was somewhat of an improvement in that regard, as he took the job more seriously than his predecessor and his on-stage behaviour was closer to Copia’s own. While they had never been particularly close, only exchanging a few words at functions and when their tasks and paperwork overlapped, Copia somewhat preferred him to the Second, and could appreciate his Grammy win, little good it did for him aside. The Cardinal couldn’t say he was particularly sorry for the Third’s demotion, as it benefited him greatly, but he could recognise the late one’s achievements when it came to the Band Project, as he could for each of them.

However, it did not make up for how much work he had to put in in order to bring the Project to the heights Nihil and Imperator, and perhaps the Old One Himself, expected it to reach. For though their musical prowess was notable, their conversions and toppling of governments were abysmally low compared to the desired statistics. While he had foreseen it, was suitably prepared, and was likely the only one within the Clergy capable of overtaking the task, his anxiety still crept in now and then to accompany the knowledge of his potential demise for lack of results in the categories they were already deficient in. If his survival within the Clergy had prepared him for anything, it was this. Death still loomed over him, but no more so than it ever did, a hand resting on his shoulder, ready to grasp at any moment. Perhaps it was due to this that he chose to symbolise it himself, to become the predator to the mortal prey, the cat to the rats. It was fitting, considering his competitors constantly had to be removed in order for him to make his appearance, much like how the living had to make way for the dead.

Any initial doubts he might have had over the Project were erased by the time the position was officially offered to him, as there had already been murmurs within their ranks of the plausibility of his promotion and he had not been blind to the looks Imperator had continued to throw his way. Nihil’s reluctance was more of a minor annoyance by that point, as he had gotten used to the Papa’s antics over the years he had served as his right hand man and knew they would not persist. Copia’s concerns over paperwork and diplomatic functions were traded in for ones over lyrics and interaction with the general public. Though he himself was not involved in the creative process, with the honour being reserved for a Special Ghoul, he was still very much a member of the upper echelon of the Clergy and enjoyed being able to get previews prior to the official rehearsals of the approved pieces, and ensured he could adjust his act in order to better achieve the desired results.

The stress was also shifted towards the challenge of a different perspective and approach to the conversion aspect, the sowing of the seeds of doubt, and the free representation of sin, all of which he had already performed in his capacity as Cardinal from a very different angle. Now, simultaneously free of the confines of his position and chained by the limitations of a frontman of a band, he had to rethink his strategy. His previous sermons acted as a well of experience for him to draw from, reworked into speeches for the crowd during the breaks between songs, carrying the torch his predecessor had lit in this sense. The skills of improvisation and quick thinking he had made use of during diplomatic functions and conversations during their power plays within the Clergy reappeared in the handling of the different types of crowds and of the various mishaps that were unavoidable during live productions. As the tour progressed, he surmised it had been no wonder his predecessors had failed in the conversions. Undeniably charismatic as they were, they were not as malleable as such a task required of them to be. Copia could hardly imagine the Second twisting a lighting accident into a comically histrionic reentry on the stage, or a wardrobe setback into a self-deprecating joke.

His transformation into Death was also visible on stage as the transition was finalised and the frontman of the Band Project changed. His allure, carefully honed and adapted to the spotlight, shone and caught the eye of all in attendance. Copia ensured that through his movements, mannerisms, and monologues he dabbled in all the cardinal sins, though it was inevitable that some were better represented than others. Well placed comments or selected songs added a little of each until all of the proverbial bases were covered, and the seeds of dissent, subconsciously, as some may have been, were planted. The words of Imperator rang in Copia’s mind as he contemplated his on-stage behaviour, and how far he could stray from his usual formal confines. When she had approached him for the post, the words ‘sexual charisma’ were used, and he made sure to deliver on that account enough that no complaints could be made against him in this sense. The fans themselves hardly complained.

The shows themselves may have been the main focus of the Band Project, but with them came the life on tour and all the challenges it posed. While each show was a rush of adrenaline, a window of showmanship and hubris, the times between the shows were another matter entirely. They were mostly taken up by the rest his body required, both vocally and in terms of exhaustion as he caught fleeting hours of sleep on their bus, the rumbling engine and the subtle shaking of the vehicle on the highway becoming his lullaby. The name of their tour, a Pale Tour Named Death, continued to haunt him through the posters displayed in the venues; it was a deliberate move, at once a play on words and a reminder of his duties of dividing and conquering in the name of their most unholy Church. Yet another challenge came in the form of his new companions for the duration of the project, the Nameless Ghouls that had been assigned to him.

While the Ghouls were a common enough sight around the Clergy, he himself had never had much reason to interact with them before, his tasks often centred around the public relations with the mortal side rather than around the branch in charge of the beings. He had noticed that the ones surrounding Imperator had always been professional in attitude and maintained their human appearances, in contrast to some of their brethren who chose their wilder natural form in the safety of the Clergy’s grounds. It mattered little to him either way, as long as their assignments were fulfilled. Copia had encountered the Ghouls that had joined the Band Project before his own tenure a couple of times and had analysed their publicity stunts often enough that he could understand the basis of their recruitment as they complemented their respective frontmen. Thus, when the time came for the introduction to what would be his own team within the Project he was unsure what to expect but intrigued to see what Imperator believed to have suited him.

Their first meeting was memorable, not only due to the importance of ensuring their pleasant coexistence over the duration of the project and the tour itself, but also due to the circumstances of the encounter. They had been called in to receive their masks and new outfits, a change of wardrobe having been necessary in order to match that of their leader and represent a united front for the public. As the Nameless Ghouls filed in, he noted that one of them had also been part of the Third’s team, and could offer a sense of stability for the otherwise inexperienced Ghouls, provided he did not prove to be prone to dissent. Their natural forms were odd to behold for someone who saw them for the first time, and he could recall clearly how he, too, had once stared at their elongated limbs, slender and strangely bird-like, the sharp curves of their talons causing wariness even before one met their gaze, and two deceivingly empty sockets easy to mistake for voids if not for the occasional glint of an inner glow. Even in their human forms they seemed to retain some of their characteristics, and he was reminded of their nature whenever their heads would tilt in a manner reminiscent of a bird’s, much like how the heads of the Ghouls tilted to observe him once they set their sights upon him.

Their human forms in place, he was introduced to each Ghoul and kept in mind their affinities and instruments as he had no other terms to refer to them by. Retrospectively, the size of their ensemble made perfect sense as the show expanded and filled larger venues and played in whole new leagues, but at the time, faced with seven Ghouls he would be in charge of despite their clear competence, he had doubted the wisdom of the decision. Still, as ever, he had risen to the occasion and had taken the challenge in stride, ensuring he would develop a rapport with each Ghoul as their formation would become more tightly knit over the following months. Their dynamic had existed from the start, a promising foundation full of vigor they had continued to build upon as they discovered each other and themselves in this new situation. Their crowds contributed to the experience through their reactions and their feedback, their shows and gigs adding a new layer to the interactions they had in private as they shared close living quarters. While the Ghouls remained Nameless, and he would not differentiate among them publicly as his predecessor had for it would only serve to undermine the unitary front they had worked to achieve, privately it was another matter entirely and he and the other Ghouls easily took to the moniker the fans had given them, the teasing ‘Dewdrop’ finding its way into their lives much to the chagrin of the former Water Ghoul.

Copia’s and Dewdrop’s outrageous personas matched rather than clashed, and ensured that while on stage they could handle the screaming masses, the rapport between them far less competitive than the one between the Fire Ghoul and the Aether Ghoul. Aether himself was fun to tease and had a cheek only thinly veiled by his calm demeanour, though perhaps tempered by his caring tendencies. True calm was better associated with Rain, the Water Ghoul rarely joining in the antics of his colleagues, though never minding them, standing in opposition to the Ghoul who was newly named Swiss Army Knife and whose own shenanigans rivalled Aether’s and Dewdrop’s, which Copia sometimes believed were only kept in check by his position on the stage. In the same situation one might have counted their Ghoulettes, with Cirrus occasionally escaping and giving their frontman and lead guitarist a run for their money when it came to stirring the crowds. Cumulus could not be considered any less mischievous, however, if the knowing look in her eyes he sometimes got glimpses of was anything to go by as she joined in with her enchanting vocals. The Mountain Ghoul was perhaps the most withdrawn of their lot, though not by choice, as his was the most distracting task of all and offered few chances of interaction.

Papa Nihil himself had joined their tour, remaining skeptical of allowing the Project to continue without a member of the Bloodline present. This hardly mattered, in the end, for Copia knew that any duress he might have been under would have occurred regardless of the physical presence of his superiors in an age of surveillance and live updates. Throughout the year, however, he had noted changes within the attitude of His Most Unholy Excellency. Press aside, as even he could not afford to negatively impact the Clergy through criticism, Copia himself became the receiver of a moniker in the form of ‘Twinkletoes,’ which he resignedly half-hoped would not resurface upon his return to the Clergy. Still, the amusement of Nihil was laced with a subtle approval of his performances, a vast difference from the prior indifference he had been on the receiving end of, in spite of his position of trust. If Nihil was impressed, he surmised Imperator was ecstatic; not only with her selection proving successful, but also with it doing so after Nihil had thrice failed before her. Not that it would ever be addressed - such matters were reserved for fleeting smiles behind champagne glasses.

As the tour came to a close the members of the Project prepared for their return to Lincopia, Otrogothia, where one of their largest annual masses would be held. The winter festivities were celebrated by their entire Church. It was one of the few instances in which the Ghouls were as active and present as the rest of their assembly, and often flustered the Siblings of Sin and distracted their Congregation from the duties it continued to perform. The Mass itself doubled as a stage that would display the hierarchical changes that had taken place over the course of the year, with the organisers of the service being selected as the upper echelons of power. Due to this, the Mass had been traditionally led by the Papa, with few exceptions ever occurring and often with the eventual result of a rise to Papacy for the individuals in question. The three heirs of Nihil themselves had not led the Mass until their appointment and ascension to Papacy, though they had remained present near the stage even prior or following their tenures. Their demise was therefore to be noted at this year’s Mass, as for the first time they would be absent. Perhaps not as noted, however, as the one who would be presiding over the Mass.

A few months before the end of the Tour, he had been approached by Nihil. His tone had been as monotone as ever, though his eyes were lacking the mirth that customarily masked the cunning within. The proposal had been simple enough, and had Imperator’s intervention as a pretext, the concerns for the precarious health of Nihil a mere formality that all three promptly brushed aside as they knew his feeble act would not prevent him from holding the sermon if he deemed it necessary. The fact remained that Copia had been tasked to stand in for Nihil as a successor, perhaps a new challenge within the crucial trial period he was undergoing. The decision had been taken with months to spare, so while the sweet tang of triumph rested on his tongue for a brief moment he knew better than to let it linger rather than to swallow it before it could cause him to falter and have the two change their minds. He was aware of the unlikelihood of that happening, having faith in his own skills, yet refused to risk everything on a whim.

And then came the announcement of the two Grammy nominations. It was a boost to Copia’s odds of succeeding Nihil, to be sure, but more so as it came in the wake of Papa’s decision to allow him to preside over the Mass rather than as another factor that contributed to that call. Winning or not, the nominations served to prove his competence as succeeding the Third in the Project, whose own Grammy win did little to ensure his continued survival. Copia had to overperform, and he suspected that his next release would have to achieve even better results than this one in order to avoid repercussions. While his nominations came faster than the Third’s had, doubled, and were achieved in larger categories with significant competition, they were still not a guarantee of success, only a mark of potential that he had to back up through his services to the Clergy and to the Old One.

All things considered, his prospects were decent, with a good pace and some significant results. Copia’s survival instinct did not lessen; on the contrary, it roared louder than before, ever demanding of him and of his performances, upping the ante day by day and little by little. His ambitions were set on the papacy, after all, and he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the prize. Now that the three that had been the obstacles to his ascension had been removed, the only one who could ruin his chances was himself, and that he could not allow. The cards had been dealt, and his hand had been full of aces, with some yet up his sleeve. To lack focus was to miss cues, and to miss cues was to lose all bets. It was to become little more than an imbecile, undeserving of the paint as it slipped through his fingers. To be demoted on the hierarchy he had worked so hard for so many years to climb, uncaring of or delighting in whom he trampled on the way up. To perhaps even lose his life despite having overcome so much. To allow the hand on his shoulder to grasp and tug. And he couldn’t have that, could he?

On the morning of the Mass, as he had approached the building that would host the sermon, the chill of the winter had settled around him and had lingered on his shoulder, only causing him to lift his chin and walk a little straighter, his steps a little surer as he had pulled his fate into his own hands. The somber architecture seemed to accompany this shift, the muted colours of the stained glass providing a reflection on his features akin to that of the monarchs of old on their path to the throne. The cold permeated the premises, with the heat of the bodies of those present as they flocked to the chapel and of the black candles softly flickering in the draft losing the battle again the worn stones of the structure. The fragrance of incense was light in the air, encompassing without choking as it was breathed in by their assembly before him. The various other members of the Clergy that had been selected to assist him were at his disposal for their various tasks though they remained wary of his Ghouls, as they stood quietly within the shadows of the pillars surrounding him acting both as observers and as guardians.

From his vantage point he could see Nihil and Imperator seated on the balcony above, murmuring to each other in hushed tones over his own address. He could see plainly the judgement they were passing on his work, as plainly as that of his colleagues and now-inferiors, the gazes of the latter sharp and jealous as they coveted his position, though, he noted smugly, lacking the subtlety he had once possessed in their place. By contrast, Nihil’s own steely gaze seemed trained on him in benevolence for once, a hint of the usual cheeriness present much to the satisfaction of Imperator, whose management, though at times questioned by the Papa, had proved to him to be as impeccable as ever. A lifetime of power play, years of sermons, and a tour as an entertainer all put him at ease in spite of it all, and he carried out his own duties in a manner which allowed no room for complaints even through comparison to his predecessors.

As the Mass came to a close, Nihil’s approval for him was cemented through a public, nonverbal statement which no one in the Clergy could misinterpret. As the procession for the exit was formed, it was done so behind the Papa, with him being the first to lead their congregation beyond the heavy oak doors, proceeding after the shuffling of the assembly quietened. The spot immediately behind him had been reserved for his heirs throughout the years, the three walking side by side as equals in spite of their eventual respective tenures. It was only then that the other members were allowed to join in the wake of Nihil, first Imperator, then him since his promotion to Cardinal, and all the rest of the senior-most members, followed by the rest of their Clergy as the hierarchy was solidified for the beginning of the coming year. He had his guesses as to how this year’s procession would play out. Copia waited for Nihil to approach the doors before stepping down from the platform, signalling the official end of the Mass; he moved forth, the Ghouls flanking him, acting as a unit that helped part the crowd through presence alone. As he approached the front of the procession, his suspicions were confirmed as Imperator herself stepped aside to allow him to walk behind Nihil.

The whispers died out as the doors opened and Nihil began moving at an even pace, his frame towering over their Clergy even in his old age. With the feeling of the crisp air on his face, Copia took a moment and inhaled, glancing upwards at the steady fall of snow as he allowed the significance of the moment to settle in. His sight closed in on the owl by chance. It was perched on a ledge, its head tilted and observing the procession, watching for a few moments without so much as a feather moving, as if passing its own judgement. Then, with a great opening of its wings, it took off, the wind carrying it overhead as it flew in a circle, its eyes still trained upon him. He braced himself inwards for what he saw as an inevitable attack, but displayed no warriness outside of a stiffness to his shoulders, which only the Ghouls seemed to notice, their talons readied to protect if necessary. The other members of the Clergy did not seem to notice their movements, distracted as they were once they noticed the bird as the procession continued forward. He could hear the Third mentioned as they eagerly awaited the result of their encounter, the animosity of the bird towards him well-known by now.

It swooped down, as it had dozens of times before. It slowed down, as it had never done before. The sound of its wings flapping in a controlled descent caused him to peek up at it from where he had kept his eyes trained on the ground in a minimal effort to protect them, trusting his Ghouls perhaps for the first time since their acquaintance with complete confidence, though he could tell they themselves were confused, and all waited to see what the owl would do. As it came to a graceful land upon the padded shoulder of his outfit, he could only blink, momentarily stunned though continuing to walk mechanically behind Papa, who appeared oblivious to the whole affair if not for his head turned to the side, his ear carefully trained on them. The owl ignored him almost immediately after landing, instead surveying the rest of the assembly as if guarding him against threats, a familiar pose that it took to with the Third, its old master carrying it about in such a fashion, though utterly unfamiliar for Copia himself. And, as the sounds he hadn’t even noticed had become muted resumed their prior volume and the voices spoke of the creature’s strange behaviour and origins, he was reminded of its selection of the Third, and of its nearly supernatural anger upon his demise. And so, walking behind Nihil, a twitch of the lips turned into a smile, which then tugged at the corners of his mouth until it became a grin, nearly manic upon his face, though far more dangerous than unstable, as a large cat’s might be seeing its prey before it, unassuming and unaware of the predator whose teeth were bared and ready to pierce and tear.

It was the murmurs that tipped the Cardinal off.

His ascension was assured.