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Willforts Todd the Signor Condottiere

– Get out, demon spawn! – The priest pressed himself against the wall of the small church near the graveyard, holding the silver-cast symbol of Emrys before him like a shield.

– It is not good to insult the messenger of the goddess on her holy day. – Willforts shook his pumpkin head reproachfully. Behind him, the risen dead laughed. – Santa Muerte is no more a demon than Emrys or Arya. And the real demons are besieging your country from the east.

– You! You made the dead rise! You are a demon!
– Well, what are you shouting, demon, demon. – Pumpkinhead sighed. – Demons from the lower worlds, and I’m – from there.

Willforts pointed a long, gnarled finger up into the sky, which was covered with low gray clouds.

– Get out! Get out! Oh, Emrys, save us!

– Made the dead rise. – Continued pumpkinhead. The dead behind him lost interest in what was happening and stomped to the exit from the cemetery. – And the spirits of the fallen that help your armies in battle – not the risen dead? Should I also call you demons in this case?

The priest closed his eyes and wept softly, continuing to hold the holy symbol on his outstretched hand.
– Calm down. I’m kidding. – The envoy of Santa Muerte laid a bony hand on the priest’s shoulder. – Neither you nor I are demons. We are on the same side!

The priest recoiled, tried to say something, but instead fell, clutching his heart. Willforts sighed. He slashed the claw of his right hand at the wrist of his left. The power of Santa Muerte filled every drop of his blood with magic. Willforts reached out with a bloody hand and unceremoniously grabbed the soul leaving the priest in the void. Pushing her back into her body wasn’t easy. The shrieking astral entity resisted with all its might, but the messenger of the goddess was persistent. After a few minutes of trying, the soul gave in and obeyed Willforts. The revived priest whimpered softly, opening his eyes. Then, seeing the pumpkinhead, he grabbed the dropped sacred symbol and again put it in front of him. The goddess messenger sighed and waved his hand.

– The flag in your hands, father, cut off your head a long time ago. Relax. Eat pumpkin pie. And one more thing. – Pumpkinhead leaned close to the priest’s ear. – Demons are not afraid of this symbol. They are afraid of pumpkins!
– Willforts straightened up, turned around and strode out of the cemetery, leaving the terrified dead priest alone with his shrine.

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Willforts Todd the Signor Condottiere