"By the Gods.... Amon, what is that? Why did you bring me here?" Drips of sweat started to bead together on his forehead.

"Because I could use a hand. Any idea what we are dealing with here?" Amon asked as he unbuttoned his coat and got a cigarette out, lighting it and taking in a few deep tugs.

"I...no. I have no idea. Never have I sensed a disturbance of this... magnitude."

"Good, these are uncommon. And most of your kind won't be able to subdue it. It has to be either something like me that comes across it or... well, our friends from above."

Messer shivered. The thought of others like Amon always frightened him. The thought of the Divine intervention as well. "Then, is it something like you?"

"Not quite. I mean, it is my kin, or my genus as you would say. But in terms of might, it is not my equal."

"That is something, at least."

"The thing is, it is strong enough that I cannot fight it conventionally."

"Conventionally?"

"Meaning, I cannot fight it while I pretend to be one of you. And that is why I need you."

"Pretending to be one of us? Wait, what do you mean. What do you expect me to do."

"I trained you Messer, your kind have little aptitude for the arcane and higher arts. But you excel among your peers. I need you to work the craft and make sure nobody except for you sees what is going on in this house."

"Not even Barca?"

"Especially not Barca"

"Okay, I can make a brimstone storm large enough to conceal all of this. I will only last half an hour at most, though."

"I will need ten minutes. Start." Amon said. Then he dropped his coat after taking out the small book, and stepped towards the house. His fingers started making erratic dances in strange patterns. The small book started to float and traced behind Amon's left shoulder.

Messer started his own workings, and soon black smoke with fiery embers inside of it started to swirl around the house in a large circle. It looked like a firestorm now, but if Barca had done his work, it would look like a thick fog to the mundane eyes. The storm blurred his own vision, but Messer could make out how Amon's fingers were starting to make impossible movements. Impossible unless his fingers were broken. Or unless his fingers followed a different anatomy.

Amon walked towards the house but stopped in front of it, a few meters from the door. Messer was wondering why when suddenly the upper floor window closest to Amon exploded and a monstrous being came leaping out. It looked like it was made from a strange mixture of flesh, mud and scorched skin. It had a long, wormlike form that ended in a humanlike torso with six arms and three appendages with gaping mouths. A cluster of eyes sat on the chest, like diamonds on a crown.

The thing sent shivers down Messer's back. Not because of its monstrous form, and it was monstrous, but because as soon as it had shown itself, it started workings. Six arms. Six hands. Sixty fingers. All dancing in exotic patterns, most of which Messer would never be able to replicate. It worked so fast and so meticulously that the divine weave started responding almost instantly. Strange compounds of powers merging in sharp, strong and fast attacks.

The pandemonium of colors lurched towards Amon, but fruitlessly exploded against an invisible shield. It looked effortless, but Messer could see Amon had to give it his all to just defend from the barrage of attacks. Unable to even try to put a counter working in.

Messer was debating if he should help out when he saw something he never wanted to see again. He had seen it only once. When he met Amon for the first time, many years ago.

Amon's left arm started to smoke. A better description would be, that it started to turn into smoke. Deep, pitch black, smoke that came off it in thick wafts. And what was left behind could barely be called an arm. It was longer, thinner. The skin a deep black with scars and relief, like the skin of an alligator. Taught like leather, spun around strangely formed muscles. Past the elbow, the arm split into two forearms, with two hands on each end. Fifteen fingers on each hand.

It was Amon's true form, Messer knew this. He had seen it before. All of it. And it had almost driven him mad. He could see smoke form on Amon's right hand as well. But the left arm alone was enough already to protect from the barrage and counter-attack. Small spears of color were shooting at the thing, the demon. Piercing its wormlike body, black goo dripping out. Turning green and purple as it hit the earth. Then catching fire.

It did not take long before Amon unveiled both of his true arms. The counter-attack was brutal and Messer had never seen, or hoped to see, such a concentration of energies in one spot. It almost seemed enough to tear the divine weave. But Amon was so skilled that the energies were pulled from different threads each time, weaved in such efficient ways that the tiniest of amounts resulted in the largest of effects. Only five minutes. That was all that Amon needed to utterly destroy the demon. Leaving it an immobile hunk of demonic flesh. A prisoner in its own flesh. Amon walked over to it, and with his strange arms, started to cut into its flesh. Then with one hand, he pulled out a strange bulb of flesh. It gave a feint, deep red glow. Amon crushed it in one of his hands. It burst with a foul sound, and green and purple goo clung to Amon's hand and dripped to the ground. Catching fire, burning away.

Then Amon reached up to the sides with his arms. Fingers dancing. And Messer watched as some of the smoke of his brimstone storm was pulled to Amon. Swirled around his arms. This, Messer understood suddenly, would reform Amon's human arms. Amon turned his head and looked back at Messer. And Messer recoiled. For, Amon's right eye was torn. Skin and eye, all torn, only thin strands of skin still holding on. And underneath, a blood-red stretch of flesh with many bulbous eyes. Messer could only see it for a brief moment, before smoke covered it and started to stitch new skin over it.

Messer's concentration broke, and the brimstone storm started to grow weaker and then petered out. Not long after, Barca walked up to him.
"What happened?" The priest demanded. But Messer just collapsed. From exertion partly, but mostly from what he had seen. He could already feel it pull at his sanity. Flashbacks to Amon's true from coming back.
Barca growled and looked over at Amon. All he could see was Amon waving his arms, as the brimstone smoke dissipated around him. Not a scratch on him, and both his arms as mundane as could be.

"Don't fret, Barca, I took care of it."

"What, so fast?"

"I am an expert, after all."

"I thought you said it would be too much for you alone."

"No, too much, just too much for me in this form. That is why I needed Messer."

"To do what exactly?" Barca asked suspiciously.

"You should ask that question to your boss, Barca. If you need to know, he will answer. If not, then there is no reason in me telling you. This is a truth only few can handle. Ask Messer." Barca looked at Messer, but he could only nod. His eyes looked as if he had aged five years in five minutes. Which was not far from the truth.

"Leave it, Barca. Your issue has been resolved. Tell Elaine that I expect my payment in the morning. Five will do this time. Messer, come by next week. I will properly repay you for your services. For now, focus on resting." And with that, Amon left. Walking off. Leaving Barca and Messer alone.

Barca ground his teeth as he watched Amon walk off. He hated it, but there was nothing he could do about it. These were decisions that were all made far above his head. He gave a nod to Messer, it was all the thanks he would get from the church, they both knew it. And then Barca too, left. His mind heavy. He would have to tell his boss now, that they would need to find not one, but five sacrifices by morning. As efficient Amon was, he was far too costly. And Barca swore, once more, that he would put a stop to it.