The Crimson Communion ran out of toilet paper.
Which is how they ended up at a cursed-congested 24/7 supermarket called "GodMart." Juno insisted it was neutral ground. Spillglass said the onions tasted like grief. Thorne didn't speak the entire walk there, already detecting cursed auras in the produce section.
Junpei pushed the cart. "We should've just ordered online."
"We tried," Flint muttered. "The last delivery guy got exorcised mid-route."
Inside, the place reeked of divine incense and bad decisions. Neon aisle signs flickered. Aisle 3 screamed when they walked past. The cashier levitated. No one addressed it.
They split up. Bad idea.
Juno and Junpei handled fresh produce. Juno immediately got into a staring contest with a cursed cabbage.
Junpei whispered, "It's looking at me weird."
"It's testing your resolve."
"I'm not fighting a salad."
"It's not a salad yet."
She threw it in the cart anyway. It twitched.
Spillglass and Flint handled snacks.
Flint fought a cursed vending machine. Spillglass discovered cursed chocolate that makes you relive a childhood trauma every bite.
He bought six.
Thorne wandered off into the "Spiritual Goods" aisle, where cursed rosaries hung beside cursed condoms and shrine charms. He was inspecting a cursed bottle of "Holy Water™" (spoiler: it was just vodka) when he felt it.
A presence.
Familiar.
Broken.
Holy.
He turned.
And there he was.
Leaning against the shelf like he'd never left:Father Asher.
Wearing a cracked white cassock, a cigarette in his mouth, and eyes sunken from sleepless meditation. His aura was calm. His presence, unforgiving.
"Father?" Thorne breathed.
Father Asher didn't look at him. He stared at a bottle of cursed soy sauce and said, "They've made a mockery of my pantry."
"You're alive."
"Worse," Asher said. "I've been to enlightenment and back. It was poorly lit and full of roaches."
Juno skidded around the corner. "Oh my GOD, is that Father Asher?!"
"God has nothing to do with me," he said, lighting another cigarette off a cursed candle.
Flint screamed from another aisle: "SOMEONE HELP I ACCIDENTALLY AWAKENED A RICE SACK CURSE—"
Father Asher didn't blink. "Typical."
Ten minutes later, Father Asher was walking through GodMart like Moses with a hangover, commanding cursed food back into its packaging by sheer spiritual pressure. At some point he baptized a bottle of dish soap. No one stopped him.
He walked beside Thorne as they rejoined the squad.
"You've lost something," he said calmly.
"My Epitaph."
"Good. That grief was stale. Forge something unholy."
Junpei blinked. "What kinda priest are you?"
"The fun kind."
They paid in spirit coupons and trauma coupons. Juno tried to flirt with the levitating cashier. Flint carried the cursed onions like trophies.
Father Asher walked last.
Behind him, the cursed aisle lights flickered harder. The incense soured.
And far, far away — deep in a temple where even curses fear to linger —a Monk opened his eyes.
Wrapped in blood-stained robes, seated before a twisted altar of hands and tongues, he whispered:
"There is heresy in the air."
He rose slowly.His staff cracked the floor.The sacred chants behind him started.
"Time to cleanse the false communion."