I created the Old Gods and Outer Gods in America.

Father Dawson slowly turned his head.

The feather was still hanging on the tip of his nose, so light it felt weightless, but he felt as if he were nailed to the floor.

Beneath the high window, a child hangs suspended in the moonlight.

Elijah's body floated nearly two meters above the ground, his legs hanging naturally, his bare toes slightly curled.

Behind him, a wing was fully unfolding.

The wings are white, not the white of paint, but a white that exudes ultimate purity, the kind of white that makes you feel dirty just by looking at it.

Each feather seemed to have been individually carved, layered upon layered, with pale golden edges under the moonlight. When the wings were fully spread, they almost touched the walls of the room.

Elijah hung suspended in the air, looking down at Father Dawson.

Quiet.

Father Dawson's knee hit the floor.

They weren't scared into submission; they knelt down.

Twenty years of muscle memory drove his body to complete this movement: kneeling on the ground, fingers clasped together, head tilted back to look up.

His lips began to move rapidly as he recited the Hail Mary, one sentence after another, his pace quickening like an engine idling.

"Hail Mary, O Lord, who is full of grace, the Lord is with you..."

His voice was broken, and his throat was slightly hoarse.

"Angel......"

Father Dawson's voice trembled.

Elijah did not move; he hovered there, wings half-spread, looking down at the man kneeling on the ground.

Moonlight pierced through the gaps in his wings behind him, casting interlaced shadows on the ground, resembling scenes from medieval frescoes on church domes.

Angels descend, and mortals prostrate themselves.

A very light breeze swept by, creating a gust of air from the flapping of wings.

Elijah landed.

Father Dawson knelt on the ground, his head tilted back, tears streaming down his face.

Elijah laughed.

Father Dawson, kneeling on the ground, did not see the smile. He lowered his head even further, and his prayers turned into muffled sobs.

Until Elijah spoke.

"Stop reciting, Father. You know it's useless. You've fallen, you're possessed by the devil. Do you really think reciting these things will help?"

The prayers stopped.

Father Dawson jerked his head up.

Elijah stood before him, and the moonlight shone on half of the child’s face, while the other half was hidden in the shadow of his wings.

The smile was still on his lips, but in this light that was half bright and half dark, the meaning of that smile seemed to have changed.

"What?"

Elijah did not answer his question.

"I have a friend who came here with his parents. They said he was possessed by a demon."

Elijah’s voice was very soft, as if he were talking about something trivial.

Father Dawson's Adam's apple bobbed.

Elijah said, "You performed an exorcism on him, and then he went home. His parents thought he was just unwell because exorcism is very tiring, right? It's normal for children to get sick."

Father Dawson opened his mouth, then closed it again, but no sound came out. At that moment, fear was overflowing from his pupils. He seemed to know what Elijah was going to say!

Elijah tilted his head: "But he told me what you did to him."

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped.

Father Dawson's hands were still clasped in front of his chest, but his knuckles began to tremble, his teeth chattered, and the tears in his eyes were no longer from emotion.

"Later, you took him away again."

Elijah continued, his tone remaining flat, as if he were talking about something completely insignificant:

"You said the demon wasn't completely driven away and is going to a bigger place."

"he..."

He didn't come back.

Father Dawson began to shrink back, his knees scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. He tried to stand up, but his legs had no strength.

Elijah was still watching him.

"I originally planned to make my move while you were resting."

"But it seems that's no longer necessary."

A wing slowly emerged from behind Elijah, passing over his shoulder and stretching forward. The tip of the wing, as flexible as a finger, gently touched Father Dawson's face.

The feathers are soft and warm.

If this scene were captured in a still frame, it would fit seamlessly onto the dome of any church.

Devout believers kneel on the ground, looking up to receive the comfort of angels, whose holy wings bring God's grace.

But Father Dawson's pupils contracted sharply, and fear instantly spread throughout his body, causing him to tremble uncontrollably.

"You...you can't kill me."

His voice finally escaped, hoarse, broken, and filled with panic: "I'm not possessed by a demon, I...you're an angel, you should be able to see, I'm not..."

Elijah turned his head to the other side.

That smile is still there.

"No."

He spoke, his voice not loud, but every word was clear.

"I'm an angel, and if I say you're possessed by a demon... they'll believe me!"

Father Dawson's pupils dilated completely.

These words were like a key, precisely inserted into the lock of his memory. Half an hour earlier, he had said the exact same thing.

Fear exploded from the base of his spine.

Father Dawson sprang to his feet and lunged at the door. His hand found the doorknob, and he pressed down hard...

A white, sharp blade pierced through his chest from behind.

That was neither a sword nor a spear.

They are wings.

The flight feathers at the tip of the wings folded into a sharp point, piercing Father Dawson's back and exiting through his chest.

Red began to seep from the white feathers, flowing down the feather shafts.

Father Dawson looked down at the clump of blood-stained feathers on his chest, his mouth agape, and let out a scream.

His hand was still gripping the doorknob, but he no longer had the strength to press down.

The wings behind it twitched.

It's not about pulling it out.

It pushed in another inch.

Then step back and push it in again.

"Does this feel familiar to you? Hahahaha!!!!"

Elijah had intended to mock the disgusting priest, but unfortunately, the priest's screams were so loud that they drowned out his sarcasm.

The screams turned into sharp shrieks, piercing through the doors and corridors, echoing throughout the empty church.

Unfortunately, the screams did not soften Elijah's heart; in fact, they excited him and his wings even more!

Amid the priest's agonizing screams, Elijah's body underwent another transformation.

A holy wing grew from Elijah’s back, symmetrical to the other single wing.

At this moment, Elijah completely transformed into the angel with holy wings that people stereotyped him to be.

Of course, this is on the premise of selectively ignoring the blood-stained half of the wing and the priest who is "holding" the wing and unwilling to let go.