"Everyone, please be seated," the abbot said. "We'll get started shortly."
What was left of the believers gathered in the main hall, piling themselves on the benches underneath the stage. Many of the walls were packed together by loose earth, and the windows were boarded up, hardly blocking the raw sunlight. Arthur thought of how few they were now. So many gone in such a pointless battle.
Much of their food was gone. Over half of their resources. These people must not have had a proper night's sleep in days. Still worried for their own lives. This was the first sermon since. He felt as if he words today needed to be special. That would be the only way they could accept what they were about to see.
It was all up to him. Regardless of what Redeemer was at their head, he was still the leader of this church. They still looked up to him for guidance, even though many here were not originally members of the church. He still promised them safety and shelter from the cold dark. And he had failed them. But he would make up for all that now.
"We are not dead yet," he said. The words were grave yet hopeful, perking the ears of those who came not prepared to listen. Doubting in their faith. "I can see the graveness in all your faces. This church has suffered heavy losses. We buried many of our loved ones. Friends. Family. Human beings. My heart is heavy for them. But I am not dead yet. We are still here, and it is not a requirement of your soul not to suffer. In fact, it is the only thing that will save us now. Our grief. But it must be turned to progress."
Monan stumbled into the room late as usual, sitting on the chair behind him with his chalice in the seat's cup holder. Arthur paused his speech for a moment to take notice, but didn't turn his head, staying focused on the crowd in front of him, who were holding so tightly to his words.
"What is required… is that we continue to fight. We stay alive and live on for our brothers and rebuild what we have lost. As easy as it sounds, it is we who must dig ourselves out of this whole. We have been gifted the eyes but not the ability to see. That is something we must learn for ourselves. To see a future even within the darkest of presences. That is why faith exists."
Monan wasn't in his usual robes but a tank top and jeans. He continued looking bored and immediately took to his chalice. But he didn't drink. He just held it waiting for the movie to get to the good part.
Arthur closed his eyes. "Today. We will drink from the Lord's blood. Take from his body. In remembrance of him." He held up his small cup. "And we remember how significant his sacrifice was for us." Monan put the cup to his lips. Arthur eyed him out of his peripheral.
"Now let us recite the lord's prayer." Arthur bowed his head as the men, women, and children of the church bowed in response, and they all spoke in unity.
"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…" The abbot raised his head. "Amen."
There was a young girl in the front row. Having finally said the prayer perfectly for the first time, as her parents had taught her like a poem. But for some reason, when she did, she felt heat. The heat of hell. And Abbot Arthur Kilrove's head rolled in front of her. The entire choir was struck still.
The abbot fell over dead, his blood spraying across the altar. Monan's sword was fully extended past them, burning with the passion of the devil. "Arthur. Arthur. Arthur…" he said. "You give that same speech every time you're about to betray me. But I guess you wouldn't know that."
The screams howled as the flames roared, creating a cacophony of chaos in the belly of the church. T'balt and Ellie heard the screams from outside. Something had gone wrong. They heard the abbot's sermon until they didn't.
Reacting on his speed loot, T'balt launched himself through the window of the main hall. Only to see a massacre in front of him.
Monan lifted a man in front of him, suspending him in the air, neck twisted unnaturally. He wrung free of his blood, and he wasn't the only one. There were piles of bodies all over, people still scrambling for help, for some form of salvation. But none would come. With the flick of his finger, they were dead, crushed beneath the weight of Monan's will.
"You bastard!"
"T'balt!" he called out in laughter. "Late to the party, are we. Looks like I decided on the devil ending after all."
"I'll kill you!"
"Oh… Is that right?" He dropped the man in his possession, the lifeless body thudding against the others. But it was Ellie who would shoot the first attack. From the windowsill, her holy bow was on her, and the arrows were being flung at Monan's head with deadly intent. Looking back at her, the Ellie he knew last night was no longer there, being replaced by some agent of death.
But the arrows were blocked by a ravenous screech.
Then it… appeared.
A being of absolute rage and darkness. A being that could only be called a fury. The head of a woman, blackened by death and suffering. But it floated in front of them like a poltergeist, no arms but floating hands covered in the blood of the believers.
It was protecting Monan.
T'balt couldn't understand. That was clearly one of those demons brought upon by Zero Day. Why was it protecting him? That must've been the reason he was able to kill everyone so quickly.
"Let me introduce you to the bitch, aka the fury." He laughed to himself. But something was happening to his body, like there were cracks forming in his skin and oozing black smoke. He looked entranced by some euphoria. "Ahhh… its never a good idea to equip four pieces of loot, but I don't think we'll be here much longer."
Then, in an instant, the fury was right on top of T'balt, swiping at him with deadly, bloody claws. He used his speed to fling himself around the room. It was quick, and its floaty nature made it hard to see coming. No matter how fast he was, if he couldn't see the attack, he couldn't dodge it.
The fury screamed, and what could only be described as phantom snakes flew from its mouth and buried into the ground where T'balt was. Monan was then at his back and took a hard punch to his spine, dropping him immediately.
"T'balt!" Ellie called. She drew her bow again, firing three shots at the fury. It slipped past them with such ease that she might as well have not fired at all. It charged her. But she couldn't expect. What could she have done? This was a thing far beyond her comprehension. Then suddenly all her rage was extinguished.
The demon had pierced her full through with its clawed, disembodied arms. She stood no chance. It lifted her in the air, impaled on its giant sword like claws. She held the blood knives, attempting to prevent them from going any deeper. But she knew it was over, T'balt could see it in her eyes. Blood curdled from her, and she coughed it up on the ground. "I'm sorry." Those were her last words.
Then the light faded from her. Her hands dropped. The loot emerged from the back of her neck, clanking on the floor and scurrying away. "No," T'balt uttered, hands reached out like he could somehow save her if only he reached harder like a boy reaching for the moon. But the reality hit, and he realized his arms were not long enough.
Then the fury ripped through her completely, and pieces of her body flew to separate sides of the room. Her scarlet-painted blood pooled on its demonic hands, and it screeched in victory.
"Well, there goes another one," Monan said.
"You bastard!" The anger, the rage, the fury swelled in T'balt. His vision then filled with white flame, and he charged Monan with reckless abandonment.
He swung, but Monan's reflex loot prevented any of his attacks from landing. But T'balt still swung without thinking. He didn't care what happened. He wanted to kill this man and every fiber of his being. "Die. Die. Die." He was incensed, but it only seemed to bring Monan more joy.
"Yes! Maybe this will lead to a good ending after!" He laughed that deep, deadly laughter. He blocked one of his attacks and flung him across the room. T'balt landed on the wall, not waiting for the impact to jump back into fighting. He forced a knee into Monan's chest, pushing his speed to the max. Monan blocked with his hand, but the impact still sent him flying. T'balt didn't let up. Fist after fist after fist after fist. He wouldn't rest until Monan was dead. And he could feel it getting closer. He was no longer dodging but struggling to block every one of T'balt's speedy attacks. "I can do it. I can do it."
But then T'balt found himself on the floor, a sharp flaming and yet at the same time numbness in his legs. "What?" He tried to jump at Monan again, but his body didn't move. He kept trying and trying and trying. Swiping his arms as he laid supine on the ground.
Then he forced himself to look down. Both his legs were gone, replaced by bloody stumps where they should've been. "When did that happen?"
The fury was above him, tasting the blood on its claws. But that wouldn't stop him now. He felt the pain, the agony. But he would still crawl to Monan. To kill him. He had to. It was all he could think about, if he could call that feral instinct thinking at all.
But Monan kicked him to his back and stuffed his foot into T'balt's sternum. "You wanna kill me so bad, huh… Well then, that's how I'll kill some time. Why don't you give it a try? Try to kill me. Let's start the hunt. You versus me. First one to kill the other. The game ends when you win once." He sounded maniacal, like this was the greatest joke he had ever heard. But his face was still covered in blood. Ellie's blood, the believer's Arthur, Chosa… all of them. And he laughed at them.
"I promise. I will make you pay for this. I don't care how many lives it takes. I will kill you."
"Good…" Monan said. The flame sword extended far above him. "The first game starts now." Then he drove the sword deep through T'Balt's heart.
"You died."
He was back in his living room. The time was midnight. But the pain was still fresh in his chest. His physical body felt no pain, but the anguish in him had boiled over to a freakish, uncontrolled emotion that no man on earth would have the means to express. And so alone in his home, T'balt Ferrier let out a feral, disturbed scream.