[Fic - Reason]
Title: Reason
Rating: PG-13 for blood and disturbing themes?
Summary: Sometimes things are done for the right reasons. Sometimes they're done for the wrong reasons. And sometimes they're done for no good reason at all.
He was doing this for all the right reasons, wasn't he? He wanted to help raise up the weak, punish those who were evil, and make things fair for as many people as he could.
So... why did he feel so terrible about this?
Maybe it was the fact that no matter what he did, he still couldn't completely block out the terror that his targets - not victims, he had been taught not to think of them as such - felt whenever he came to do his work.
And it was only the worst cases they sent him on. Criminals that had escaped human justice, those that had committed atrocities against God's will, and those that were actively trying to work against God... those were the types he was sent to deal with.
The Shomonkai's facilities were first to be destroyed, and then those that were truly against God were rounded up. The sword was put in his hand, and he was essentially shoved into them.
He had never killed a fellow human being before - you're no longer human, you're something more, you're something better, you're something worse - and his hand was shaking as he held the blade. A seraph had glared at him, and ordered him to do his duty.
He had seen people die before, he had spoken to ghosts, but he was adding to someone else's load now and this was going against just about everything that he felt was right and oh fuck oh fuck what was he doing? The first 'believer' had accepted her fate with nothing more than a glare as she was beheaded, but those that were waiting for their executions began to jeer at him.
Stupid boy, foolish boy, playing at being the Messiah to a cruel and unfair God. This is your idea of 'justice'? You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. You will see what you have done.
Blood on his hands, and they weren't even afraid, just proud and hateful to the end. It might have been five or ten or ten thousand that he was forced to track down, to round up, to execute. He was no longer sure what was currently happening and what was a dream.
His hands were covered in blood and washed and covered again, to the point where he could barely remember when they had never been touched by blood he had spilled.
What was the date? How old was he? Human things like that were quickly slipping out of his comprehension.
And through it all, there was a persistent feeling, a knowledge that what he was doing was horribly, terribly wrong.
And he couldn't stop.
Rating: PG-13 for blood and disturbing themes?
Summary: Sometimes things are done for the right reasons. Sometimes they're done for the wrong reasons. And sometimes they're done for no good reason at all.
He was doing this for all the right reasons, wasn't he? He wanted to help raise up the weak, punish those who were evil, and make things fair for as many people as he could.
So... why did he feel so terrible about this?
Maybe it was the fact that no matter what he did, he still couldn't completely block out the terror that his targets - not victims, he had been taught not to think of them as such - felt whenever he came to do his work.
And it was only the worst cases they sent him on. Criminals that had escaped human justice, those that had committed atrocities against God's will, and those that were actively trying to work against God... those were the types he was sent to deal with.
The Shomonkai's facilities were first to be destroyed, and then those that were truly against God were rounded up. The sword was put in his hand, and he was essentially shoved into them.
He had never killed a fellow human being before - you're no longer human, you're something more, you're something better, you're something worse - and his hand was shaking as he held the blade. A seraph had glared at him, and ordered him to do his duty.
He had seen people die before, he had spoken to ghosts, but he was adding to someone else's load now and this was going against just about everything that he felt was right and oh fuck oh fuck what was he doing? The first 'believer' had accepted her fate with nothing more than a glare as she was beheaded, but those that were waiting for their executions began to jeer at him.
Stupid boy, foolish boy, playing at being the Messiah to a cruel and unfair God. This is your idea of 'justice'? You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. You will see what you have done.
Blood on his hands, and they weren't even afraid, just proud and hateful to the end. It might have been five or ten or ten thousand that he was forced to track down, to round up, to execute. He was no longer sure what was currently happening and what was a dream.
His hands were covered in blood and washed and covered again, to the point where he could barely remember when they had never been touched by blood he had spilled.
What was the date? How old was he? Human things like that were quickly slipping out of his comprehension.
And through it all, there was a persistent feeling, a knowledge that what he was doing was horribly, terribly wrong.
And he couldn't stop.