I created the Old Gods and Outer Gods in America.

Father Dawson loosened his grip on the doorknob, one finger at a time.

His body slid down the door, leaving a long trail of blood on the wooden door.

Elijah retracted his wings, and as the feather was pulled from the priest's chest, a short, sticky sound was heard.

The priest's eyes were still open, his pupils dilated, and his mouth remained in the shape of his scream.

Elijah looked down at him for a moment.

There was no guilt, no hesitation.

Even the pleasure began to fade.

He bent down and grabbed Father Dawson by the collar with one hand, as if he were carrying a bag of garbage.

Elijah turned to face the wall.

Its wings suddenly spread open, creating a powerful gust of wind that shattered the plaster and bricks on the wall.

Debris flew everywhere, and dust filled the air.

He dragged the priest's body through the hole he had smashed open and into the nave of the church.

Moonlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled patterns of color on the ground.

In the very center of the church, a statue of the Virgin Mary stands with her arms outstretched forward, palms facing upward, in a compassionate pose.

Elijah looked up at the hands.

The size is just right.

He flapped his wings and flew up carrying Father Dawson's body, draping it across the statue's outstretched arms.

The priest's limbs hung down naturally, and blood slowly flowed down the Virgin Mary's white stone arms.

Elijah jumped onto the top of the statue and squatted there to survey the layout of the entire church.

Altar, benches, confessional, entrance gate.

The vision is very good.

He nodded in satisfaction, then sat down cross-legged, closed his eyes, and waited for dawn.

...........

early morning.

Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows on the east side of the church, the light passing through the stained-glass images of angels and landing precisely on the top of the statue.

The first person to push open the church door was the doorman. His scream lasted for about three seconds before he collapsed to the ground.

Over the next half hour, the church clergy arrived one after another. They saw the corpse in the hands of the statue of the Virgin Mary, Father Dawson's wide-open dead eyes, and the winding bloodstains on the statue.

Then they saw the child on top of the statue's head.

A boy.

With a youthful face, bare feet, and a pair of enormous white wings spread behind it.

The morning light surged from behind him, enveloping him in a golden outline, his face hidden in the halo, indistinct.

The church's archdeacon was the first to kneel down.

The knees slammed onto the stone pavement with a loud thud, then a second, then a third.

All the clergy knelt down one after another, like dominoes falling.

There was no communication, no questioning.

They knelt there, trembling.

At seven o'clock sharp, the believers came to the church for morning prayers as usual. They pushed open the door and then all stopped in place.

Inside the church, the priests, deacons, and nuns, who were usually aloof and high-ranking, were all kneeling on the ground.

A corpse hangs from the arm of the statue of the Virgin Mary, and at the top of the statue, a winged figure stands there. Sometime later, he has stood up, his arms outstretched, his wings fully spread, his posture completely overlapping with the image of the angel on the stained glass behind him.

The old woman in the first row knelt down with a thud, clasped her hands together, and began to recite a prayer as her lips trembled violently.

The chain reaction was even faster than the one involving the clergy. Kneeling sounds rose and fell, and within thirty seconds, not a single person remained standing in the church.

Elijah looked down upon all of this from the light.

His gaze swept across the crowd, pausing briefly at the seventh row.

A woman knelt there, with brown hair and thin shoulders, her hands clasped in front of her chest, looking up at him devoutly.

She is his mother.

Her eyes were filled with awe and fervor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was praying to him, but she didn't recognize him. The sunlight obscured his face, and also the fleeting emotion in his eyes.

Elijah looked away.

He spoke, his voice not loud, but it could be heard clearly in every corner of the silent church.

"Father Dawson is possessed by a demon."

He pointed to the corpse lying on the statue's arm.

"His body is filled with sin, and the devil has corrupted his soul, driving him to commit unforgivable acts. I have been sent to expel the devil from his body."

No one questioned it.

They would believe the priest's words unconditionally.

But standing before them now was a being far superior to a priest! A real, living, winged angel!

Elijah was very pleased with this response.

He paused for a moment, his gaze slowly sweeping over the clergy kneeling in the front row.

"But Dawson isn't the only one."

His voice was as calm as if he were reading a menu.

"All the clergy present are guilty; they are all the devil's minions, accomplices in the devil's infiltration of this church."

The clergy in the front row stiffened abruptly, as if struck by lightning.

The archdeacon looked up, his face drained of color. A young deacon began shaking his head incoherently, and several nuns exchanged glances, their eyes filled with fear.

But the believers were only surprised for a brief two or three seconds.

Then, their gaze changed.

Shock turned into acceptance, and acceptance turned into anger.

They looked at the clergy kneeling in the front row with the same eyes they would give a group of convicted criminals.

If the angels say they are guilty, then they are guilty.

This logic is simple, direct, and requires no evidence.

Elijah watched this scene and a smile crept onto his face.

How wonderful! He doesn't need to explain anything or prove anything.

He only needs to open his mouth and say one sentence, and these people will automatically fill in all the reasons and anger for him.

Faith is indeed a very convenient thing to use.

"I didn't!" a voice suddenly rang out.

All eyes turned to the source of the voice. It was a middle-aged priest, kneeling in the second row, his face flushed red, his forehead covered in sweat, but his voice booming: "I am not possessed by a demon! My conscience is clear, I serve the Lord..."

Elijah tilted his head and looked at him.

"so......"

His tone was as if he were reasoning with a not-so-bright child: "You think your ability to distinguish demons is better than mine, an angel's?"

The church fell silent for a moment.

Then all the believers' eyes were fixed on the priest.

That gaze contained no sympathy, no thought, only hostility born from offended piety.

The middle-aged priest's voice caught in his throat. He felt those gazes, colder than knives. His lips trembled; he wanted to say something, but dared not speak again.

Elijah floated down from the top of the statue and landed gently in front of him.

Up close, this angel really is just a child, with a childlike innocence still lingering in her eyes and brows.

But there was nothing childlike in those eyes.

"It's okay."

Elijah reached out and patted him on the shoulder, his tone gentle to the point of being almost considerate: "I'm giving you a chance. My wings can purify all filth, and as long as you're truly not possessed by a demon, you'll be fine."

The middle-aged priest was stunned.

Then his eyes lit up. Yes, the purification of angels!

Now that extraordinary phenomena have appeared, and since angels are real, then the power of purification must also be real.

He has done nothing wrong; he is innocent, and the angels' purification will prove it...

A white, pointed object pierced through his chest.

The sound of wings piercing through the body was muffled, like a fist punching into a bag of wet mud.

The middle-aged priest looked down and saw that the white feathers on his chest were being soaked in blood. Intense pain burst forth from the puncture site, and he threw his head back and let out a shrill scream.

Elijah stood before him, tilting his head and revealing an innocent, sincere, and radiant smile.

He turned to the trembling believers and clergy behind him, spread his hands, and spoke in a clear voice...

"You see, I told you he was possessed by a demon. Only a demon would fear my holiness."