Heat waves swept dust off the interstate and battered the Impala's gleaming black body. Its engine rumbled low, and the American rock on the radio made the windows tremble faintly, raspy vocals mingling with the bass to fill every inch of the cabin.
Dean rested one hand on the window ledge and steered casually with the other, chewing mint gum, the burst of coolness in his mouth keeping him alert. He glanced at Sam in the passenger seat, who was frowning as his fingers flew over his laptop, the screen lighting the confusion in his eyes. "What crappy case is it this time?" Dean's voice carried its usual swagger. "Don't tell me some tree spirit kidnapped an old lady's cat to be its bandit bride. I don't have time to find people's pets."
Sam's fingers stopped on the trackpad. He looked up at Dean, his brow furrowing further. "Hazelton, Ohio. Three suicides in the past three months. Before they died, all the victims mentioned 'seeing an angel,' and every death happened around the town's Sacred Heart Church." He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing involuntarily, a barely perceptible trace of anticipation flashing through his eyes. "And... my dreams haven't been right lately. I keep seeing flashes of white light and the shadows of wings. They're blurry, but they feel real."
"Angels?" Dean scoffed, spat his gum into a tissue, and tossed it onto the center console. "Come on, Sammy. There are no angels in this world. Just demons, restless vengeful spirits, and idiots with mush for brains. All that 'divine guidance' crap is just supernatural smoke and mirrors-hasn't everything we've been through growing up taught you that?" His certainty left no room for argument.
In the back seat, Bai Haorui was resting with his eyes closed, practicing a Daoist breathing technique. His tongue rested against his palate, his qi sank into his dantian, and faint threads of breath circulated through his limbs and bones. This method focused the mind, nourished internal breath, and strengthened the body. At the word "angels," his lashes trembled. He slowly opened his eyes, his dark gaze clear and utterly unruffled. "Let's take a look," he said, stretching with a faint crackle of bones. "Better than wandering the highways. I hear Ohio's barbecue is pretty famous. We can treat ourselves while we're there."
As though he had found an ally, Sam's eyes brightened. He turned to Bai Haorui. "You think this is more than an ordinary vengeful spirit, too?"
Bai Haorui rolled his eyes and fished a Five Emperor Coin from his pocket, twirling it nimbly between his fingers. "I trust the coins in my hand and the Daoist arts our ancestors handed down. Not some birdmen with wings." He paused, his gaze settling on Sam's face. "Sacred Heart Church... churches and all that don't exactly put me at ease."
At that, Dean pulled out the map for a glance and floored the accelerator. The Impala's engine growled, its speed surging as the roadside trees raced backward. "All right, let's go. Angel or vengeful spirit, we'll turn that damn church upside down first." His voice had a vicious edge, but a barely perceptible worry lay hidden in his eyes-he wasn't afraid of a difficult case. He was afraid Sam held hopes he shouldn't have for those intangible "divine powers."
Sacred Heart Church stood on the outskirts of Hazelton. Its redbrick walls were weathered and covered in dark green ivy, like wrinkles on an old person's face. When Dean pushed the door open, the hinges gave a piercing creak, startling several pigeons from beneath the eaves.
Sunlight filtered through stained glass, casting patches of red, blue, and purple across the floor like a spilled palette. The air smelled of scorched candle wax, mingled with faint perfume and a barely discernible trace of decay that weighed on anyone who breathed it.
The moment Sam stepped inside, a violent wave of dizziness struck him, as though someone had smashed a hammer into the back of his head. The light before him abruptly turned blinding, a wash of white. Fragmented whispers reached his ears like countless crawling insects, their voices terrifyingly gentle. "Be free... come... there is no pain here..."
The shadows of white wings swayed above the altar, enormous and indistinct, as though shrouded in mist. Sam's breath caught, and his heart began pounding uncontrollably. He reached out to catch that white light, but his fingertips met only cold air. He staggered backward, slamming his back into a pew with a dull thud. His laptop fell to the floor with a crack, a fracture splitting its screen.
"Sam!" Dean caught him at once, his brow deeply knotted. He reached out to check Sam's forehead. It was ice-cold. "You okay? Another vision?"
Sam clutched his forehead, cold sweat soaking the hair over his brow. He panted, his knuckles white from the pressure, his gaze fixed on the altar. "It's here... there's something wrong with the thing on the altar. That white light came from it."
Just then, a man in a black robe emerged from behind the altar, his cuffs frayed and his face weary. He was Griffin, the priest of Sacred Heart Church. Seeing three unfamiliar men barge in, he frowned warily, crossing his hands over his chest as he blocked the altar. "Who are you? Reporters? I've already told the police: the church is sacred ground. There cannot be anything evil here. Those suicides were people who couldn't come to terms with their lives. They had nothing to do with the church."
Bai Haorui ignored Griffin. His gaze settled on a wooden casket at the center of the altar. It was about half a foot long and dark, inlaid with a silver cross and several small diamonds. Dense Latin inscriptions covered its edges, their lettering somewhat blurred, as though worn by age. He took a string of Five Emperor Coins from his pocket and strode over, holding the coins between his fingers as he slowly brought them toward the casket.
When the coins were still half a foot from the casket, the previously still coins suddenly began shaking violently, giving off a faint hum. A pale blue-black film rapidly spread over the copper, as though dust had settled on it.
Bai Haorui's gaze instantly chilled. He looked up at Griffin, a cold smile curling his lips. "Sacred ground? Father, are you sure this thing is a holy relic and not a murder weapon?"
Griffin's expression changed. His eyes shifted evasively, avoiding Bai Haorui's gaze, and his voice tightened. "It's a reliquary. It holds a finger bone of Saint Sebastian... it was already here when I took over the church three years ago." He instinctively stepped forward to block Bai Haorui, guarding the casket again as though protecting some unspeakable secret.
Sam recovered his senses. As he stared at the reliquary, a familiar burning sting spread through his fingertips, as though flames were licking them. It felt exactly like his visions. "That's it," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "The white light in my vision came from that casket."
Dean took out the metal detector he carried and swept it over the casket. The device immediately gave a shrill beep, the readings on its screen jumping wildly in glaring red. "Definitely something wrong," he muttered with a curse, certainty filling his eyes. "That's one hell of an energy fluctuation!"
Griffin swayed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end merely closed it again.
Hazelton's police station was small, with peeling paint and air that smelled of coffee and printer's ink. Sheriff Miller sat behind his desk, rubbing his throbbing temples, thick autopsy reports and case files piled before him. He looked at Dean and Sam and sighed heavily. "Three victims. Two had shown suicidal tendencies beforehand. Matthew volunteered at the church. His grandmother died three months ago, and he'd been blaming himself for not taking better care of her, but he wasn't suicidal. Mrs. Ellen led the choir. Her husband was cheating, her son had dropped out, and things at home were a mess. Then there was Martha, a widow. Her daughter Casey is gay, and people in town kept gossiping about her. She'd been bottling up her anger. Those last two had shown some tendencies."
Sam picked up Matthew's suicide note. The paper was crumpled, the writing crooked, as though his hand had been trembling. "The angel said Grandma was waiting for me in Heaven. There's no pain there, no guilt. I'm going to find her." Sam ran his fingers over the paper, his heart aching. These were all pitiful people crushed by life. They had clung to that damned illusion as a lifeline, never knowing it was a trap leading to Hell.
Dean leafed through Mrs. Ellen's autopsy report, his frown deepening. He looked up at Sheriff Miller. "All three victims visited the church before they died? They all spent more than ten minutes at the altar?"
Sheriff Miller nodded and took a sip of the coffee on his desk, its bitterness spreading through his mouth. "That's right. Matthew and Ellen were regulars. They went almost every day. The day before Martha died, she spent over half an hour in the confessional."
Bai Haorui leaned against the doorframe, toying with his peachwood sword and its Three-Five Evil-Slaying runes. His gaze rested on the files, his voice calm. "Ten minutes is enough for the warped energy inside that casket to get into someone's head. It amplifies the despair deep inside you. Whatever you crave most, that's what it shows you." He paused, his fingertips gently stroking the sword's hilt. "Put simply, it hands desperate people a knife and makes them willingly end their own lives."
Just then, the station's telephone rang, breaking the silence in the office. Sheriff Miller hurried to answer, his face darkening little by little as he listened. "What?" His voice rose several pitches in incredulous shock. "Someone saw Casey heading to the church with a rope?! Send people over there now!"
He hung up and looked up at Dean and Sam.
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, the same expression flashing through their eyes. They spoke in unison. "We have to save her!"
Dean snatched his jacket off the desk and rushed out, Sam and Bai Haorui close behind, their footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.
The air inside Sacred Heart Church's confessional was suffocatingly heavy. Casey hung in midair, a thick hemp rope around her neck. Her face was blue-purple, her eyes tightly shut, her arms dangling limply, her toes only inches above the floor. Before her stood a figure with white wings on its back. Its face looked exactly like Liz, her lover, who had killed herself with poison on a pew in this church a week earlier, leaving only the words "I can't take it anymore."
Liz's phantom spoke softly, her voice as tender as a lover's whisper. "Casey, come with me. We'll go find Mom together. We'll never have to listen to their gossip or suffer those injustices again."
A tear slipped from the corner of Casey's eye. Her lips moved, as though saying yes.
Bang!
With a tremendous crash, Dean kicked open the wooden confessional door, sending splinters flying. He all but lunged forward, seized the hemp rope, and yanked hard. The rope snapped, and Casey hit the floor heavily with a dull thud. She began coughing violently, tears and mucus smearing her face as she called Liz's name over and over.
Sam crouched beside her and gently patted her back, a trace of urgency in his voice. "It's okay. You're safe. That wasn't Liz. It was an illusion. It wasn't real."
Choking on sobs, Casey haltingly told them the truth. "Liz... Liz killed herself here a week ago... I came to pray every day. I wanted to see her again... just now, I really saw her. She had wings. She said she'd take me with her... living hurts too much. It hurts too much..."
Father Griffin hurried over. At the sight of Casey on the floor, his face turned paper-white, as though all his strength had been drained away. He staggered back several steps, hit the wall, and slid down it to the floor. He covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking violently, his voice choked. "It's my fault... it's all my fault..."
Bai Haorui entered the confessional, his gaze settling on the shadow on the wall. It was Liz's phantom, slowly turning transparent. He took a yellow Breaking Illusion Talisman from his pocket, intricate runes drawn on its paper in cinnabar. Holding it between his fingers, he flicked it lightly, sending it precisely onto the wall.
Red light flashed, and the talisman gave off a faint glow. Liz's phantom let out a piercing scream as though burned, then instantly vanished without leaving a trace.
Bai Haorui looked at Casey, his voice calm but carrying a measure of strength. "That wasn't an angel, and it wasn't Liz. It was the shadow of an obsession. If Liz truly loved you, she would never want you to follow her." He paused, his gaze settling on Casey's face. "Live. Live well. That's the best way to honor her."
Casey froze. She stared at the talisman on the wall, her tears flowing harder, but this time they were not tears of despair. They held a hint of release. Hugging her knees, she sobbed aloud, as though trying to cry out all the hurt and suffering of these past days.
Candlelight flickered before the altar, making every face alternately bright and dark. Father Griffin knelt on the floor, his black robe covered in dust. He raised his tear-streaked face and finally revealed the secret he had hidden for three years, his voice almost unintelligible with sobs.
Three years earlier, when he took over Sacred Heart Church, it had been dilapidated, its paint peeling, its congregation sparse. He couldn't even collect enough donations to cover daily expenses. He had nearly given up on the church when he accidentally discovered that anyone who prayed before the reliquary for more than ten minutes would experience an illusion of "seeing an angel."
"At first, people only said they'd felt God's guidance and that all their troubles had disappeared." Griffin's voice held a trace of remorse. "Then more and more worshippers came, and donations kept pouring in. I renovated the church. Everyone in town said I was a good priest, that I'd brought Sacred Heart Church back to life."
His hands clawed at the floor, dust packing beneath his nails. "I knew something was wrong. I really did. After praying, a homeless man took a knife and tried to slit his wrists. I stopped him. But I craved the praise, the church's prosperity, the admiration in people's eyes when they looked at me. I told myself this was God's test, that he was tempering me... I watched Matthew, Ellen, and Martha walk into the church. I watched them walk toward their deaths..."
"A test?" Furious, Dean kicked a nearby pew, which gave a grating screech. "You were helping evil do its work! Three lives! Griffin, you watched them die for your pathetic vanity!" His voice was hoarse, his eyes filled with anger, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.
Bai Haorui crouched before the reliquary, running his fingertips over its Latin inscriptions. The letters seemed alive, flickering eerily in the candlelight. He could sense a thick tangle of obsession inside the casket: the worshippers' despair, Griffin's greed, and the saint's finger bone's unwillingness to accept its fate. "The saint's finger bone was originally a holy relic that purified obsessions," he said coldly. "But you hid it in this church full of darkness and let those negative emotions wrap around it, day after day, year after year."
He raised his head and looked at Griffin without a trace of sympathy. "A holy relic became an evil entity. Something meant to save lives became a murder weapon. Power itself is neither good nor evil. Your cowardice and greed turned it into poison."
Sam watched Griffin, his feelings tangled. He could understand the priest's obsession. Who didn't want the place they protected to prosper? Who didn't want others' approval? But understanding did not mean forgiveness. Three lives could not be made up for with a simple "I was wrong." He said softly, "There's still time to make amends."
Griffin raised his head, a glimmer flashing in his eyes, like a drowning man grasping a lifeline. He looked at Sam, his voice holding a trace of pleading. "What should I do? I want to make amends. I want to atone."
Bai Haorui stood, his gaze sweeping through the church before finally settling on Griffin. "Get holy water that's been sealed in the church for more than three years. The purest kind. Find something silver, too, preferably engraved with exorcism runes." He paused, his fingertips gently stroking the peachwood sword. "The reliquary's core is at the finger bone's joint. Only by purifying it with holy water, breaking the evil with a peachwood sword, and severing the obsession with a silver dagger-three working as one-can we destroy this thing completely."
As though he had received an imperial decree, Griffin hurried to his feet and stumbled toward the rear of the church, his steps as frantic as if he were fleeing for his life.
Before long, Griffin returned with a bottle of holy water and a silver dagger. The holy water was in a glass bottle covered in dust. The silver dagger's blade was densely engraved with exorcism runes and gleamed coldly. It was an heirloom of the church, more than a hundred years old.
Bai Haorui took the holy water, unscrewed the cap, and immersed the peachwood sword in it. The moment the sword touched the water, a faint blue glow spread over its blade. Its runes seemed to come alive, giving off a faint hum. He drew a deep breath, pressed his tongue against his palate, and began reciting a Daoist purification incantation. His voice was deep and forceful, carrying an inexplicable power. "Mysterious source of Heaven and Earth, root of all qi. Through countless eons of cultivation, let my divine power be manifest. Within and beyond the Three Realms, the Dao alone reigns supreme. Break the evil, cleanse the obsession. Swiftly, in accordance with the decree!"
The instant the incantation ended, the sword's blue light intensified. Bai Haorui bit his fingertip and let a drop of blood fall onto the blade. The blood merged with the blue light, releasing a dazzling glow. He raised the peachwood sword, aimed at the reliquary's joint, and drove it down hard.
Crack!
With a sharp snap, a fissure opened in the reliquary's wooden casing. Black mist poured through it, releasing piercing screams like countless wronged souls wailing.
"Dean!" Bai Haorui barked.
Dean was already ready. Gripping the silver dagger, he charged forward and drove it hard into the crack. When the blade touched the black mist, it hissed like a branding iron pressed against flesh.
A blinding white light erupted from the crack, instantly illuminating the entire church. The stained glass shattered, fragments scattering across the floor with clear, ringing sounds. When the white light faded, the reliquary's casing crumbled to ash and fell to the ground. The saint's finger bone inside had also become fine powder, drifting away on the wind.
The oppressive feeling in the air vanished completely. Sunlight streamed through the broken glass and fell across Casey's face. She sat on a bench outside the church, her gaze no longer vacant but restored to the clarity of a seventeen-year-old girl. Looking at the three men inside, she gave a weak but relieved smile. She stood and headed toward town, her steps slow but firm-she would live, carrying Liz's love and hope with her, and live well.
Griffin knelt on the floor, praying devoutly before the cross. A trace of peace rested on his face, as though an enormous burden had been lifted. His faith had been rebuilt. He no longer blindly trusted holy relics, but believed in human conscience and the power to protect life.
The setting sun stained the sky orange-red, like burning flames. The Impala drove out of Hazelton, its tires raising dust from the road. The cabin was deathly quiet, with only old rock music playing softly on the radio.
Sam broke the silence first. Watching the trees race past outside, he spoke quietly. "Dean, do you think... there really aren't any angels?"
Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. He didn't look at Sam, keeping his gaze fixed on the winding highway ahead. His voice held its usual toughness, but also a barely perceptible trace of exhaustion. "Sammy, no angels are coming to save us. They never have. Hunters have to walk this road on their own."
Sam turned to look at Dean's profile, the sunset tracing his strong features. He knew Dean's certainty came from their father's teachings and all the darkness he had witnessed over the years. Yet that small hope in his heart had not died completely. Perhaps there really was some divine power silently watching over them, watching over this battered world.
He said nothing more, merely turning toward the window as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, leaving one final glow.
In the back seat, Bai Haorui leaned against the backrest, playing with his string of Five Emperor Coins. The coins had regained their original color, no longer blue-black, their markings clearly visible. Watching the brothers' silence, he gave a faint smile and said softly, "Whether angels exist doesn't matter. What matters is that you have each other." He paused, turning the coins between his fingertips, a trace of clear understanding in his voice. "'Human resolve can overcome Heaven.' Instead of waiting for angels to save you, be your own light."
Dean's lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but in the end he only turned up the radio. Old rock classics filled the cabin again, covering the silence between them. No one noticed his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel in an uneven rhythm-he claimed not to believe, yet a thought flashed through his mind: If angels really existed, how good would that be? At least Sam, Bai Haorui, and I wouldn't have to keep fighting so hard.
Sam leaned against the window, watching the sunset disappear completely beneath the horizon as night began to fall. Confusion remained in his heart, but a little more resolve had entered his eyes. He knew that whether angels existed or not, he would keep walking through the darkness with Dean and Bai Haorui. They were brothers, each other's salvation, the only light in this vast night.
Bai Haorui closed his eyes and resumed his breathing practice. His tongue pressed against his palate, his qi sank into his dantian, and his internal breath circulated through his limbs and bones. He mentally calculated the timing and his current control over his mind.