Luneshale Pass sion

To his addled mind, the fact that this creature can cheerfully shirk the horizontal is proof that it is a demon sent to torment him. It bucks against the Logos, its eyes as big as minor moons, it babbles a string of words backwards or forwards, it does not matter.

Vete, demonio!

The demand breaks from his mouth, taking with it a part of him. He presses himself closer to the ground, recoiling, trembling.

No puedes tocarme. No puedes, no puedes, no puedes...

He clings to the prayer, trisyllabic, and gracias a Dios for that.