Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 142 The Craziest Day in Paris (Thanks to the Alliance Leader, Dark Ash Chaos!)

Lionel, Zola, Flaubert, and others sat in the middle on the side. At the strong request of the government, the church reserved two rows of seats for the writers.

Lionel's gaze swept calmly across the bizarre scene, finally settling on the figure bound to a specially made wooden chair before the altar—Edouard-Benoît de Villeneuve.

He wore a rough white prison uniform, his hair was disheveled, his face appeared unusually pale in the candlelight, his eyes stared blankly into the void, and his lips moved silently, whether in prayer or curse was unknown.

Professor Minert and Freud were seated in a side corridor with a clear view of the observation seats.

The old professor had a stern expression, while the young students were intently observing every subtle reaction of Villeneuve and the people around them.

As the bronze bells, chimes, and cymbals rang out in succession, Bishop Guillaume Merme de Beauan of the Archdiocese of Paris, dressed in his most solemn golden vestment, walked with heavy, slow steps to the center of the altar.

He was the host of this "grand ceremony".

Soon, Bishop Gibel's loud and rhythmic Latin prayers echoed under the huge dome, sacred and solemn, and many devout believers present even began to weep.

Father Jean-Joseph Fulcard, as a papal envoy and exorcist, appeared in a black ceremonial robe embroidered with crosses and exorcism runes, holding a huge silver cross.

He first walked slowly around Villeneuve, muttering to himself, his expression shifting between pity and sternness.

Each time the cross approached, each time a loud rebuke was uttered: "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I command you, unclean spirit, to manifest and depart from this creation of God!" it elicited a suppressed gasp and commotion from the crowd.

Villeneuve seems to have entered a certain state.

His body began to tremble violently, the tremors growing stronger and stronger, like leaves falling in a storm.

The ropes binding him dug deep into his flesh. Inhuman, beast-like groans and incomprehensible roars came from his throat, sometimes sharp and piercing, sometimes low and muffled like thunder. Sweat quickly soaked through his prison clothes.

Suddenly, he jerked his head back, his eyes rolling upwards horribly, almost revealing only the whites, and roared broken sentences in the direction of Father Fulcard in a distorted, hoarse voice that was completely unlike his own:
"...Abyss...Flame...Pain..."

"...The contract...I've signed it! Power! Give me power!"

"...Laugh! You foolish lambs! You're all on the menu of hell! Hahaha—!"

This "devil's declaration" plunged the entire audience into immense fear and frenzy.

Some screamed, some trembled as they made the sign of the cross, and some were so excited that their faces turned red, as if they had witnessed a battle between gods and demons.

"He's possessed by a demon! He really is!"

Exclamations of surprise rose and fell among the crowd.

The reporters' pencils trembled rapidly, almost tearing the pages.

Bishop Gibel's face revealed a barely perceptible hint of satisfaction—this conman was truly a genius actor.

The ceremony then reached its climax.

Father Fulcard's face was contorted and flushed with "divine" passion. He raised a jewel-encrusted, ancient-looking bottle of holy water high in his hand and, with all his might, shouted in a solemn and sacred voice:
"Cleanse with holy water! In the name of the Lord, cast out your defilement from the abyss! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!"

The glistening water, under the spotlight of countless eyes, carried a "sacred" glow as it splashed one after another onto Villeneuve's upturned face, which was covered in sweat and contorted by his roars!
Once, twice, three times...

"laugh--!!!"

A bloodcurdling scream, utterly inhuman and piercingly shrill, like a torn piece of cloth, instantly drowned out all the prayers, cries, and whispers!

There was no golden light, no dissipation of black smoke, and no holy light from which the devil departed.

Instead, thick, almost tangible white smoke billowed from Villeneuve's face! Accompanied by a chilling hissing sound, like raw meat being thrown into boiling oil!

"Ah—!!! My eyes! My face! They're on fire! Help—!!!" Villeneuve's screams were heart-wrenching; only the purest physical pain and immense psychological despair and fear could produce such a sound.

He bounced and struggled wildly in the chair like a fish thrown ashore, violently shaking his head from side to side, trying to get rid of the bone-corroding, scorching liquid.

Thick white smoke quickly spread out, carrying a pungent, sour smell!

The front-row audience members who were nearby covered their mouths and noses in horror and backed away.

As the smoke dissipated slightly, Villeneuve's face was revealed—a sight that made everyone gasp, their blood seemingly freezing instantly!
The left side of my face is okay, but on the right side, from my forehead to my chin, a large area of ​​skin is turning black, ulcerating, blistering, and peeling at a visible speed!
As if it had just been scorched by flames!

His right eye was the first to be affected, with its eyelids red, swollen, and eroded, and the surface of its eyeball a cloudy grayish-white, clearly destroyed by the holy water!
The charred flesh and the flowing unidentified liquid mixed together to create a terrifying, hellish scene!
"The devil! The devil has revealed himself! The holy water is burning his true form!"

Some fanatical believers screamed in extreme terror.

"No! It's not the devil! It's strong acid! That's not holy water!"

A reporter with chemistry knowledge shouted in alarm, his voice distorted.

“Murder! This is murder!” Paris police chief Gigo shouted, his face ashen.

Sheriff Claude, who was beside him, tried to lead his officers to the altar to control the situation, but the panic and chaos of the crowd acted like a wall, blocking them back.

For the first time, Bishop Gibel's voice lost its composure: "Doctor! Call a doctor quickly!"

He looked at Father Fulcard with fear; the latter's face was ashen, his hand holding the empty holy water bottle trembled like a withered leaf in the wind, and his eyes were filled with bewilderment.

Father Fulcard had absolutely no idea what had happened!
The situation inside Notre Dame Cathedral has completely spiraled out of control!

Screams, cries, shoving, chairs overturning, and guards' shouts... all merged into a chaotic wave that swept through the entire central hall.

Amidst the extreme chaos and the pungent stench of sourness and blood, Professor Minert suddenly stood up. Ignoring the surrounding commotion, he led his student Freud through the crowd to Edward Benoît, who was still convulsing in agony and emitting inhuman screams.

He spoke incredibly fast, constantly making judgments and taking action:
"Acute traumatic delirium! Accompanied by severe pain and pathological agitation!"

"Loss of consciousness, complete loss of control over behavior! A typical case of organic brain damage triggering a mental breakdown!"

"Give him morphine immediately! Quickly! Otherwise he will die from painful shock!"

He practically yelled the order, and Floyd frantically pulled out medications and needles from his medical kit.

Just as Professor Minat issued his diagnosis, on the other side of the chaotic crowd, Sofia Durova-Sherbatova stood up with remarkable grace.

All the anxiety, anger, and pallor on her face vanished, replaced by an icy, serene calm.

She glanced at the writhing, screaming, and unrecognizable human figure on the altar, then gave a cold look at Professor Minort, who was trying to save him, a cruel mockery on her lips.

5 francs wouldn't sway a principled professor at the University of Vienna, but only 5000 francs would be enough to tempt a greedy priest in Notre Dame to take the risk.

She didn't say a word, nor did she look a second time. She simply adjusted her ice-blue skirt slightly, then raised her head, straightened her back, and walked with a composed gait towards the massive exit of Notre Dame Cathedral, like a queen.

Lionel was stunned by this drastic change, while Flaubert, Zola, and others were even more panicked.

This is the craziest day in Paris in ten years!
At that moment, several cameras emitted a bright white light and crackled with burning sounds, recording this moment forever.

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(End of this chapter)