MESSIAH [One-Shot]
I'm having a massive upload tonight. Most of it is old material that I'm reposting just to clear it from my computer, but I also have the belated Tightrope Part 2 that people have been asking for. Honestly, I don't know why you guys like it so much. XD It's almost two years old. But I suppose if I don't upload it now, I never will.
Anyway, have this. I've spent more time taking this story down and reuploading than it took to write. Bloody thing. It's the first chapter of a seven-part series called Abandon, based on a massive MEJIBRAY / NEGA mash-up that I need to finish writing. I originally started basing characters on band members, but they've grown into their own personalities as I've been writing, so I won't list them here. If you spot someone, I won't say. ;)
Does anyone even heed violence warnings anymore? Whatever. Don't read this series if you're uncomfortable with adult themes.
MESSIAH
“Now, inside the reality of this dream,
We gotta open our eyes and wake up...”
Slowly, the woman opened her eyes.
At once, a dull pain spread through her head, making her wince. It continued to scorch her for a few seconds, but then, as quickly as it had come, it disappeared, allowing her to finally take a look at her surroundings.
She was at the head of what looked like a church. A single red carpet stretched between lines of pale wooden pews, with dim candles at either end to light them, and the large, Gothic arches of the ceiling stretched high above her head.
All of a sudden, the pain hit her again at full force, raging through her head like wildfire over parched grass. Her expression twisted into one of pain, but as she raised her hand to her head, she found it was being held back by something. Panicked, she glanced to her left to see that her wrist had been tied to some sort of wooden plank at right angles to her body. The same went for her right hand, and when she looked down, she could see that her ankles had too been fastened together and bound to a post, as though she were stretched across a giant crucifix.
Panic and alarm welled up deep inside her, and at once she leapt into vigorous struggle, but it was no use - the bonds were simply too tight.
“Hey, you're awake!”
The sudden voice made the woman's heart leap to her throat. She glanced left where, to her surprise, she saw a figure standing beside her, staring at her with large, frightened eyes. However, it wasn't long before she realised that he was not standing after all: like her, he had been bound to a cross at his wrists and ankles, his body slumping against itself in exhaustion. He was dressed in a simple suit, with a head of long, pale brown hair and neatly-filed fingernails. What intrigued the woman most, though, was his face, which had been smeared all over with a thick, dark paste, most likely with the purpose of rendering him unrecognisable.
“Who are you?” she murmured.
“My name's Seth,” the man replied in a low, frenzied voice. “I have to admit that I... I thought you were dead.” He nodded his head in her direction. “Is he awake yet? I haven't seen him move since I woke up.”
Another man slumped to the right of the woman, head tilted forward in unconsciousness. This one sported a far more casual shirt and cropped hairstyle, but like the other, his face had been painted.
The woman stared at him for a moment before turning back to Seth. “He's alive - I can see him breathing.”
The man nodded, the smallest traces of relief flooding his features before his expression faded into fear again. “You don't think we've been kidnapped by some kind of cult, do you? Some crazy religious faction...”
He was cut off by the sound of something slamming shut on the other side of the room. Both heads snapped round to see a single figure passing between the pews towards them, the long folds of his dark robes brushing the carpet with each stride. There was an almost eerie silence as he made his way across the room, finally stopping in the small space before the three crosses.
It was difficult to tell in the low light, but the woman guessed that he was around her age, perhaps just into his thirties; coarse black hair fell either side of his face, and his skin shone a pale colour, as if it hadn't seen the sun in several months.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted before he could bring forth words.
“Who are you? What's going on?”
The man paused, and then his face twisted into a smirk. Slowly, he walked forward and looked up at Seth. “My name is Tate.” His voice carried an almost sneering quality, as though he were deliberately sliding into each word. “And yours?”
Silence.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Surely that's not fair, since I answered your question.” His expression changed to one of mock offence.
“It's Seth.”
No sooner had the woman spoken, she regretted it. Her body shrunk back into the post as Tate moved to stand before her.
“And what's your name, my lovely?”
She lifted her eyes to see his boring into her like two blades; the elevation of the cross meant that she was raised an inch or so above his head, but even so, she felt dwarfed by him, a child staring upon a teacher with a double-edged cane.
“S-Silvia,” she stammered.
“Silvia...” The man nodded as he repeated her name, then motioned towards the unconscious figure to her right. “What about him - do you know what he's called?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, I don't.”
Again, the man nodded, though this time he raised his hand and reached towards the woman; afraid that he was going to strike her, she closed her eyes, but was shocked to feel the tip of a finger against her cheek, stroking her skin as if she were a small animal.
“I know you're telling the truth,” he said, his voice barely exceeding a whisper. “You don't seem like the kind of person who would lie to me."
All of a sudden, a deep coughing filled the room, and Silvia was relieved to see the figure by her side stirring to life. It took a minute or so for him to empty his lungs before he lifted his head and scoured his surroundings. His mouth hung open slightly, as if in a daze.
“Wh-where...”
His whole body froze when his eyes fell upon the one standing before him.
Tate smiled, a pleasant motion that lit up his entire face. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” the man replied uncertainly. Slowly, he looked to his left at the other two, where his eyes widened in shock.
“What the hell's going on?” Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the black-haired man. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” He tried to lash out with his legs, but of course, that was impossible, so he took to thrashing his shoulders from side to side and shouting. It wasn't long, however, before his screams were cut off.
A knife hovered before him, its tip a mere finger's width from the pupil of his eye. Tate smiled wryly as he pushed the weapon forward an inch, clearly relishing in the sight of the man who had just displayed such aggression cowering like a frightened rabbit before him.
“Your name?”
“Jack Hunter.”
Tate nodded once, then gradually withdrew the blade. Jack's eyes remained fixed upon him as he strode back to the centre of the space, the low light from the candles casting deep shadows in the folds of his robes whenever he turned.
Silvia's breath came in short, ragged gasps, her every heartbeat resonating throughout her body. Carefully, she laid her head back against the wooden plank of the cross, when all of a sudden she noticed that Seth's eyes were turned in her direction, an expression of incredulity on his face; at first, she thought he was staring at her, but soon saw that his gaze was on the one to her right.
“My friends, welcome to my home.” The sound of Tate's voice brought all three's attention back to him. “I'd liked to have made you feel more comfortable from the beginning, but, well, it seems that we've gotten off to a bad start already, so I'll reintroduce myself. My name is Tate, and there's a reason why you're here.” He paused, his eyes passing from one figure to another. “A heavy burden has been places upon your shoulders: two of you are guilty and the other innocent; the one who is innocent shall live, and the guilty ones die. However, it is up to you to decide who is who.”
Jack's whole body froze. “But... That's sick! You can't expect us to pass that kind of judgement on people we've never known.”
“Oh, really?” Tate waved his knife in the air. “But surely if they're guilty, then they deserve to die, don't they?”
“No-one deserves to die.”
A small laugh escaped the black-haired man's lips. “No, of course not. I'll just let you take a better look around before you come to any certain decision, though.”
Jack shot him a scowl before turning his eyes to the two figures beside him. He briefly scoured Silvia up and down, then leaned forwards slightly to get a view of the other; it wasn't long, however, before his eyes widened in shock.
“Hodgson...?”
Seth too, it seemed, had been hit with the realisation. “It is you! My God...”
As quickly as it had come, the disbelief faded from Jack's face, only to be replaced with a look of burning hatred.
Teeth clenched, he turned back to Tate. “This man is evil - he's the guilty one. If anyone should die, it's him!” he exclaimed.
Tate's lips twisted into another sneer as he stared down at the blade in his hand, turning it over and over like a child playing with a toy.
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you just say that no-one deserves to die?"
Jack opened his mouth to protest, but swiftly closed it again, as if deciding that silence was the better option for the time being; however, it was mere seconds before he launched into shouts again. “But I can justify myself - he's a murderer!”
“No, he's lying,” Seth stammered.
At once, Tate's eyes snapped round to him, and he cowered back into his cross.
“Lying, you say?”
The brown-haired man nodded, but was interrupted as Jack exclaimed, “Yes, you are! You're the guilty one here - not me.”
“I see...” The smile had all but disappeared from Tate's face, though the amusement still hung in his eyes, as thick as if it had been painted on. Suddenly, he spun around to face Silvia, which made her jump a little. One hand reached out to touch her jawbone. “Lies, lies, lies... What do you think, my dear? Who's telling the truth?”
“I-I don't know.” All this time, the woman had been quiet, allowing the conflict to erupt around her. Perhaps a small part of her still believed that she was trapped within a dream, and that if she remained still for long enough, she would be able to wake up in the comfort of her own home; yet the longer she spent in this place, the less likely that was becoming.
“Oh, really?” said the man. Slowly, he trailed his hand across her face, passing a slender finger over her bottom lip before withdrawing sharply and raising the knife. When he next spoke, it was to all three of them: “In that case, perhaps you need some kind of incentive to move you along, and we'll see how things unravel from there.”
Tate's eyes passed lazily from one figure to another, but then, without warning, he lashed out and drove the dagger into the soft flesh of the woman's upper arm. The tip hit the wood so hard the whole structure shook with the impact.
There was a deathly silence for a few moments as Silvia froze, unable to believe what had just happened; then came the pain, waves of raw, burning agony that spread through her whole shoulder like an electric current and made her gasp. She was vaguely aware of someone shouting next to her - Seth, from the sounds of it - though she was beyond making out words.
Tate smirked, evidently pleased with what he saw before him: blood trickled down his wrist, thick and scarlet as it crept over his pale skin. Slowly, he turned his eyes to the brown-haired man.
“How about every time someone lies, I bury the blade in a little deeper? That way, the truth is sure to come out quickly.”
His voice was low and smooth, much how Seth imagined a snake would talk if it were given the ability. When he opened his mouth, however, it was Jack who spoke out.
“It was m-my daughter,” he began. “She fell sick and began to develop a deep fever, so I took her to Doctor Hodgson to find out what the hell was wrong with her. It turned out that she was suffering from a rare form of insomnia, a kind that would eventually prove fatal if left untreated. The drugs that could help her had to be imported into the country, but it was only when my daughter's condition deteriorated significantly that I discovered Hodgson was stealing the drugs for himself.”
“No, that's not-”
At once, the knife was pulled free and slammed back into the woman's flesh, sending droplets of red spattering across the black-haired man's face. This time, there was no holding back the single, deafening shriek that tore through the air, rebounding off the church walls so that the entire building shuddered.
Seth was frozen, his body rigid with the sight in front of him - never before had Tate seen so much fear in a single person's eyes. His lips trembled as he whispered, “No, no, I would never do that.”
“Yes, you did. All this is because of you. My little girl died because of you!”
Another hit, another scream. Silvia was visibly trembling now, her every breath interlaced with helpless sobs.
“P-please stop that,” stammered Seth.
“Why?” Tate's eyes were gleaming as he turned his head in his direction. “Surely if you're innocent, then that makes this woman guilty - she deserves this.”
“She does.”
Both men snapped their heads round to the one who'd spoken; even Tate couldn't believe what he'd just heard. The tip of his tongue slid over his dry bottom lip, and he cocked his head to the side like a curious animal. “Oh?”
“I speak the truth.” Jack's expression was firm, his voice devoid of any emotion behind the black mask. “I have no idea who that woman is, but I would bet anything that she was brought here for some kind of crime she has committed. And that man...” He gritted his teeth. “I doubt I shall ever be able to forgive him for what he has done to my family.”
Seth gasped. “You mean to say you're just going to sit back and let him torture-"
“I'm not going to let you walk free of this!” Jack's voice was nothing less than a roar now. “I don't know what the hell this is, but one thing I do know is that I will not let you escape unharmed whilst I die here.”
There was a moment's silence, broken only by the sound of the woman's short, agonised breaths; then someone laughed softly.
“Well, this has certainly turned out to be interesting,” Tate chuckled. His hand coiled into a fist around the knife handle again, and with one sharp jerk, he pulled it free.
A pained whimper escaped Silvia's lips; she was too frightened to look down at her arm, but knew that it probably resembled more a piece of butchered meat than her own flesh and bones. She could see from the corner of her eye the blood that stained Tate's right hand, dripping down his jaw and clinging to the black of his collar, and continued to follow as he made his way over to Seth.
“It was a tough decision, but I've finally decided to hand judgement to Jack.”
“Wh-what are you-” began Seth, but his words were cut off as he felt the blade's moist edge push against the side of his throat, just below his jaw.
“So, what's it to be, Jack?”
Jack was speechless at last - his bottom lip quivered for a second, though when he opened his mouth to speak, it was Seth who shouted out.
“Don't you dare!” he screamed. “Don't-”
“Shut up!”
No sooner had the words been uttered the words, Tate whipped the knife round and slashed at the area at the top of the man's neck. A single shriek shook the air, but with a second slice it was silenced, as though a switch had been flicked within him.
Silvia turned her head left, half-expecting to see a corpse suspended beside her, but to her equal relief and horror, the man was still alive: Seth's head rolled back on his shoulders, his neck opened and sending tides of red pouring down his front. A deep wheezing sound, like air being passed through an empty tunnel, sounded from his throat.
“What did you do?” exclaimed Jack, horrified.
“You told him to shut up, and I silenced him for you.” Tate's eyes passed across the space to the man, who cowered under his stare. “That is what you wanted, isn't it?”
Jack was silent, unable to form words; defeated, he hung his head and simply listened to the sound of the other's pained breaths.
“So I guess that means it all falls down to a mass vote, then,” continued the black-haired man. “Jack?”
“What?”
“Is Seth innocent or guilty?”
The man's eyes widened in their sockets. “Guilty, but-”
With the wave of a hand, however, he fell quiet.
Smiling, Tate turned to Silvia: “And what about you, my dear?”
The woman shook her head vigorously, trying to hold back sobs. “You're sick.”
“Oh, I am? Tate's smile fell a little, as if the comment had struck him deeply, but soon picked up again when he spun around to face the brown-haired man. “It seems the decider falls upon you, then, since our lady friend here evidently doesn't have the courtesy to take part." He shot her a look that could only be described as disgust.
Seth was frozen, his whole body trembling in silent agony. Slowly, he dropped his gaze to Tate, who was staring up at him with expectant eyes; yet when no answer came, he shrugged and raised the knife.
“Well, in that case...”
Immediately, Jack gasped, as though he could tell what was coming. “No, wait-”
But it was too late: in one swift movement, Tate swung the knife round into the man's stomach, driving it in up to the hilt. He paused for a moment, then began to move it upwards in a sawing action, like a butcher slicing his way through a cut of meat.
Seth thrashed from side to side, writhing against the blade as much as his bonds would allow. Blood splashed to the ground like water from a bucket, but there was something else as well, something dark and solid whose foul scent rose up from the floor like steam. He threw back his head in a shriek, though of course, no sound came out - it was as if the scene were happening behind a glass screen.
Eventually, the blade was pulled away, but by that time, Seth was already dead. His body slumped against the cross, an expanding pool of his own insides gathering at his feet.
“Jesus Christ, you actually killed him!” Jack screamed hysterically. “You bastard!”
His voice rung around the room, yet Tate took no notice of his cries; grinning, he dropped the sodden knife and began to make his way over to the man. There was a slight spring to his step, almost like that of an excited child. Jack watched through wide eyes as he whipped a pistol from somewhere deep within his robes, placed the tip against the underside of his jaw and, without even hesitating, pulled the trigger.
The gunshot pierced the air, reverberating against the wall so that it sounded a thousand times over. Silvia's eyes were squeezed shut when she heard the noise of something metallic colliding with the ground and slow footsteps making their way towards her.
“You're shaking, my dear...” A warm, wet hand touched her cheek, but she managed to pull away sharply.
“Oh? Are you scared of me?” There appeared to be an edge of disappointment in Tate's voice. Slowly, he slid his fingers downwards, across her jawline to her collarbone; the woman could feel the trail of blood left behind clinging to her skin like rot.
Then all of sudden, they were gone.
Gradually, the woman forced her eyes open, and it wasn't until she saw her vision shaking before her that she realised how close to passing out she really was. The smell of Seth's blood, as well as the throbbing agony from her own arm, filled her head - if she'd opened her mouth, she probably would've vomited.
To her surprise, however, Tate was no longer in front of her: the man had begun to travel back across the small space, towards the lines of pews that made up the body of the church; and as he walked, he spoke.
“You're probably wondering why you're here, aren't you?” he said. “I know I would be if I were in your position.”
When he reached the fourth row, he stopped, bent down and picked up what looked like a bottle of clear liquid. Then he returned, lips twisted into a wry smile.
“Or perhaps you already know why you're here.”
He stopped a foot short of the centre cross where Silvia was bound. His eyes carried within them a small gleam as they met hers.
“You honestly don't think that I would bring three people here and have them completely unrelated, do you? How boring that would be.” A small laugh escaped his lips.
All of a sudden, he raised his hand and tapped the woman's chin, his tone mirroring that of a scolding teacher. “My dear, I know who you are. I know that three days ago, Jack came to you with the request of killing Seth, the one who had ultimately caused his daughter's demise. And of course, you accepted.”
Silvia's heart was in her throat; vigorously, she shook her head. “No, you're wrong...”
“Wrong? Then I suppose the news that you've been practising witchcraft is wrong too, then. I'm surprised Jack didn't recognise you to start off with.”
“I've never even m-met these people in my life.”
There was silence for a few moments, a silence interrupted only by the slight crackling of the bottle top as Tate made to unscrew it.
“Little Girl can't sleep, Daddy takes her to Doctor, Doctor steals her drugs, Little Girl dies, Daddy swears revenge on Doctor and pays Witch to subtly strike him down... It's all one beautiful cycle, don't you think?” Each hand movement was slow, grating, as if he were deliberately trying to draw the moment out for as long as possible.
“My dear, do you know what used to happen to those branded a witch in the past?” He paused, perhaps expecting a reply, though none came. “Death by immolation - they would be tied to stakes and burnt to ashes.”
At last, the top came free, and the man dropped it to the ground before raising the bottle to his mouth and taking a mouthful.
Then all of a sudden, his lips were against the woman's.
Silvia froze rigid. Tate his everywhere, his mouth baring down upon hers with such ferocity it was painful; but there was something else as well, a foul taste that filled her mouth more and more the longer the two remained locked together. Some of it even spilled onto her clothes.
At last, the man pulled away and stepped back, as if to admire the sight before him. Cold liquid stained heaving Silvia's front, glistening against the material of her shirt.
“Do you remember when I told you that two out of three of those gathered here were guilty, and the other innocent?” he said. “Well, I've been thinking, and perhaps I was right after all: up until now, I've been trying to find the good in everyone, to flush out the evil and reveal that one silver lining... But maybe for some people, silver is all there is.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps God isn't the only perfect being after all.”
As he spoke, he pulled a tiny box from his robes and flicked the top with his thumb to reveal a small, pink flame. Slowly, he raised it towards the woman.
“Yet it in the end, it is only God who judges us.”
In a flash, the flame leapt onto the material, then began to travel upwards, raging across her collar, neck and licking the bottom of her chin. Silvia screamed at the scorching pain, but her cries were drowned as the remainder of the bottle was emptied over her head; and the fire, like blazing jaws, reached up to devour it. Within seconds, the entirety of her upper body was enveloped.
Gradually, Tate made his way backwards to stand and watch. His eyes passed from one figure to another, and for a moment he caught himself trembling; it was not in fear, however, but in joy. He held up his palms, ran his gaze over each bloodstained finger individually, and in his mind, he couldn't help but think how beautiful they looked.
Then, from deep within, a voice spoke to him.
Yes, Tate - you have done well.
And the man grinned.
I know.
[Author's Note]
Reads as subtly as a reverse bear trap to the face.
Anyway, have this. I've spent more time taking this story down and reuploading than it took to write. Bloody thing. It's the first chapter of a seven-part series called Abandon, based on a massive MEJIBRAY / NEGA mash-up that I need to finish writing. I originally started basing characters on band members, but they've grown into their own personalities as I've been writing, so I won't list them here. If you spot someone, I won't say. ;)
Does anyone even heed violence warnings anymore? Whatever. Don't read this series if you're uncomfortable with adult themes.
MESSIAH
“Now, inside the reality of this dream,
We gotta open our eyes and wake up...”
Slowly, the woman opened her eyes.
At once, a dull pain spread through her head, making her wince. It continued to scorch her for a few seconds, but then, as quickly as it had come, it disappeared, allowing her to finally take a look at her surroundings.
She was at the head of what looked like a church. A single red carpet stretched between lines of pale wooden pews, with dim candles at either end to light them, and the large, Gothic arches of the ceiling stretched high above her head.
All of a sudden, the pain hit her again at full force, raging through her head like wildfire over parched grass. Her expression twisted into one of pain, but as she raised her hand to her head, she found it was being held back by something. Panicked, she glanced to her left to see that her wrist had been tied to some sort of wooden plank at right angles to her body. The same went for her right hand, and when she looked down, she could see that her ankles had too been fastened together and bound to a post, as though she were stretched across a giant crucifix.
Panic and alarm welled up deep inside her, and at once she leapt into vigorous struggle, but it was no use - the bonds were simply too tight.
“Hey, you're awake!”
The sudden voice made the woman's heart leap to her throat. She glanced left where, to her surprise, she saw a figure standing beside her, staring at her with large, frightened eyes. However, it wasn't long before she realised that he was not standing after all: like her, he had been bound to a cross at his wrists and ankles, his body slumping against itself in exhaustion. He was dressed in a simple suit, with a head of long, pale brown hair and neatly-filed fingernails. What intrigued the woman most, though, was his face, which had been smeared all over with a thick, dark paste, most likely with the purpose of rendering him unrecognisable.
“Who are you?” she murmured.
“My name's Seth,” the man replied in a low, frenzied voice. “I have to admit that I... I thought you were dead.” He nodded his head in her direction. “Is he awake yet? I haven't seen him move since I woke up.”
Another man slumped to the right of the woman, head tilted forward in unconsciousness. This one sported a far more casual shirt and cropped hairstyle, but like the other, his face had been painted.
The woman stared at him for a moment before turning back to Seth. “He's alive - I can see him breathing.”
The man nodded, the smallest traces of relief flooding his features before his expression faded into fear again. “You don't think we've been kidnapped by some kind of cult, do you? Some crazy religious faction...”
He was cut off by the sound of something slamming shut on the other side of the room. Both heads snapped round to see a single figure passing between the pews towards them, the long folds of his dark robes brushing the carpet with each stride. There was an almost eerie silence as he made his way across the room, finally stopping in the small space before the three crosses.
It was difficult to tell in the low light, but the woman guessed that he was around her age, perhaps just into his thirties; coarse black hair fell either side of his face, and his skin shone a pale colour, as if it hadn't seen the sun in several months.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted before he could bring forth words.
“Who are you? What's going on?”
The man paused, and then his face twisted into a smirk. Slowly, he walked forward and looked up at Seth. “My name is Tate.” His voice carried an almost sneering quality, as though he were deliberately sliding into each word. “And yours?”
Silence.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Surely that's not fair, since I answered your question.” His expression changed to one of mock offence.
“It's Seth.”
No sooner had the woman spoken, she regretted it. Her body shrunk back into the post as Tate moved to stand before her.
“And what's your name, my lovely?”
She lifted her eyes to see his boring into her like two blades; the elevation of the cross meant that she was raised an inch or so above his head, but even so, she felt dwarfed by him, a child staring upon a teacher with a double-edged cane.
“S-Silvia,” she stammered.
“Silvia...” The man nodded as he repeated her name, then motioned towards the unconscious figure to her right. “What about him - do you know what he's called?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, I don't.”
Again, the man nodded, though this time he raised his hand and reached towards the woman; afraid that he was going to strike her, she closed her eyes, but was shocked to feel the tip of a finger against her cheek, stroking her skin as if she were a small animal.
“I know you're telling the truth,” he said, his voice barely exceeding a whisper. “You don't seem like the kind of person who would lie to me."
All of a sudden, a deep coughing filled the room, and Silvia was relieved to see the figure by her side stirring to life. It took a minute or so for him to empty his lungs before he lifted his head and scoured his surroundings. His mouth hung open slightly, as if in a daze.
“Wh-where...”
His whole body froze when his eyes fell upon the one standing before him.
Tate smiled, a pleasant motion that lit up his entire face. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” the man replied uncertainly. Slowly, he looked to his left at the other two, where his eyes widened in shock.
“What the hell's going on?” Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the black-haired man. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” He tried to lash out with his legs, but of course, that was impossible, so he took to thrashing his shoulders from side to side and shouting. It wasn't long, however, before his screams were cut off.
A knife hovered before him, its tip a mere finger's width from the pupil of his eye. Tate smiled wryly as he pushed the weapon forward an inch, clearly relishing in the sight of the man who had just displayed such aggression cowering like a frightened rabbit before him.
“Your name?”
“Jack Hunter.”
Tate nodded once, then gradually withdrew the blade. Jack's eyes remained fixed upon him as he strode back to the centre of the space, the low light from the candles casting deep shadows in the folds of his robes whenever he turned.
Silvia's breath came in short, ragged gasps, her every heartbeat resonating throughout her body. Carefully, she laid her head back against the wooden plank of the cross, when all of a sudden she noticed that Seth's eyes were turned in her direction, an expression of incredulity on his face; at first, she thought he was staring at her, but soon saw that his gaze was on the one to her right.
“My friends, welcome to my home.” The sound of Tate's voice brought all three's attention back to him. “I'd liked to have made you feel more comfortable from the beginning, but, well, it seems that we've gotten off to a bad start already, so I'll reintroduce myself. My name is Tate, and there's a reason why you're here.” He paused, his eyes passing from one figure to another. “A heavy burden has been places upon your shoulders: two of you are guilty and the other innocent; the one who is innocent shall live, and the guilty ones die. However, it is up to you to decide who is who.”
Jack's whole body froze. “But... That's sick! You can't expect us to pass that kind of judgement on people we've never known.”
“Oh, really?” Tate waved his knife in the air. “But surely if they're guilty, then they deserve to die, don't they?”
“No-one deserves to die.”
A small laugh escaped the black-haired man's lips. “No, of course not. I'll just let you take a better look around before you come to any certain decision, though.”
Jack shot him a scowl before turning his eyes to the two figures beside him. He briefly scoured Silvia up and down, then leaned forwards slightly to get a view of the other; it wasn't long, however, before his eyes widened in shock.
“Hodgson...?”
Seth too, it seemed, had been hit with the realisation. “It is you! My God...”
As quickly as it had come, the disbelief faded from Jack's face, only to be replaced with a look of burning hatred.
Teeth clenched, he turned back to Tate. “This man is evil - he's the guilty one. If anyone should die, it's him!” he exclaimed.
Tate's lips twisted into another sneer as he stared down at the blade in his hand, turning it over and over like a child playing with a toy.
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you just say that no-one deserves to die?"
Jack opened his mouth to protest, but swiftly closed it again, as if deciding that silence was the better option for the time being; however, it was mere seconds before he launched into shouts again. “But I can justify myself - he's a murderer!”
“No, he's lying,” Seth stammered.
At once, Tate's eyes snapped round to him, and he cowered back into his cross.
“Lying, you say?”
The brown-haired man nodded, but was interrupted as Jack exclaimed, “Yes, you are! You're the guilty one here - not me.”
“I see...” The smile had all but disappeared from Tate's face, though the amusement still hung in his eyes, as thick as if it had been painted on. Suddenly, he spun around to face Silvia, which made her jump a little. One hand reached out to touch her jawbone. “Lies, lies, lies... What do you think, my dear? Who's telling the truth?”
“I-I don't know.” All this time, the woman had been quiet, allowing the conflict to erupt around her. Perhaps a small part of her still believed that she was trapped within a dream, and that if she remained still for long enough, she would be able to wake up in the comfort of her own home; yet the longer she spent in this place, the less likely that was becoming.
“Oh, really?” said the man. Slowly, he trailed his hand across her face, passing a slender finger over her bottom lip before withdrawing sharply and raising the knife. When he next spoke, it was to all three of them: “In that case, perhaps you need some kind of incentive to move you along, and we'll see how things unravel from there.”
Tate's eyes passed lazily from one figure to another, but then, without warning, he lashed out and drove the dagger into the soft flesh of the woman's upper arm. The tip hit the wood so hard the whole structure shook with the impact.
There was a deathly silence for a few moments as Silvia froze, unable to believe what had just happened; then came the pain, waves of raw, burning agony that spread through her whole shoulder like an electric current and made her gasp. She was vaguely aware of someone shouting next to her - Seth, from the sounds of it - though she was beyond making out words.
Tate smirked, evidently pleased with what he saw before him: blood trickled down his wrist, thick and scarlet as it crept over his pale skin. Slowly, he turned his eyes to the brown-haired man.
“How about every time someone lies, I bury the blade in a little deeper? That way, the truth is sure to come out quickly.”
His voice was low and smooth, much how Seth imagined a snake would talk if it were given the ability. When he opened his mouth, however, it was Jack who spoke out.
“It was m-my daughter,” he began. “She fell sick and began to develop a deep fever, so I took her to Doctor Hodgson to find out what the hell was wrong with her. It turned out that she was suffering from a rare form of insomnia, a kind that would eventually prove fatal if left untreated. The drugs that could help her had to be imported into the country, but it was only when my daughter's condition deteriorated significantly that I discovered Hodgson was stealing the drugs for himself.”
“No, that's not-”
At once, the knife was pulled free and slammed back into the woman's flesh, sending droplets of red spattering across the black-haired man's face. This time, there was no holding back the single, deafening shriek that tore through the air, rebounding off the church walls so that the entire building shuddered.
Seth was frozen, his body rigid with the sight in front of him - never before had Tate seen so much fear in a single person's eyes. His lips trembled as he whispered, “No, no, I would never do that.”
“Yes, you did. All this is because of you. My little girl died because of you!”
Another hit, another scream. Silvia was visibly trembling now, her every breath interlaced with helpless sobs.
“P-please stop that,” stammered Seth.
“Why?” Tate's eyes were gleaming as he turned his head in his direction. “Surely if you're innocent, then that makes this woman guilty - she deserves this.”
“She does.”
Both men snapped their heads round to the one who'd spoken; even Tate couldn't believe what he'd just heard. The tip of his tongue slid over his dry bottom lip, and he cocked his head to the side like a curious animal. “Oh?”
“I speak the truth.” Jack's expression was firm, his voice devoid of any emotion behind the black mask. “I have no idea who that woman is, but I would bet anything that she was brought here for some kind of crime she has committed. And that man...” He gritted his teeth. “I doubt I shall ever be able to forgive him for what he has done to my family.”
Seth gasped. “You mean to say you're just going to sit back and let him torture-"
“I'm not going to let you walk free of this!” Jack's voice was nothing less than a roar now. “I don't know what the hell this is, but one thing I do know is that I will not let you escape unharmed whilst I die here.”
There was a moment's silence, broken only by the sound of the woman's short, agonised breaths; then someone laughed softly.
“Well, this has certainly turned out to be interesting,” Tate chuckled. His hand coiled into a fist around the knife handle again, and with one sharp jerk, he pulled it free.
A pained whimper escaped Silvia's lips; she was too frightened to look down at her arm, but knew that it probably resembled more a piece of butchered meat than her own flesh and bones. She could see from the corner of her eye the blood that stained Tate's right hand, dripping down his jaw and clinging to the black of his collar, and continued to follow as he made his way over to Seth.
“It was a tough decision, but I've finally decided to hand judgement to Jack.”
“Wh-what are you-” began Seth, but his words were cut off as he felt the blade's moist edge push against the side of his throat, just below his jaw.
“So, what's it to be, Jack?”
Jack was speechless at last - his bottom lip quivered for a second, though when he opened his mouth to speak, it was Seth who shouted out.
“Don't you dare!” he screamed. “Don't-”
“Shut up!”
No sooner had the words been uttered the words, Tate whipped the knife round and slashed at the area at the top of the man's neck. A single shriek shook the air, but with a second slice it was silenced, as though a switch had been flicked within him.
Silvia turned her head left, half-expecting to see a corpse suspended beside her, but to her equal relief and horror, the man was still alive: Seth's head rolled back on his shoulders, his neck opened and sending tides of red pouring down his front. A deep wheezing sound, like air being passed through an empty tunnel, sounded from his throat.
“What did you do?” exclaimed Jack, horrified.
“You told him to shut up, and I silenced him for you.” Tate's eyes passed across the space to the man, who cowered under his stare. “That is what you wanted, isn't it?”
Jack was silent, unable to form words; defeated, he hung his head and simply listened to the sound of the other's pained breaths.
“So I guess that means it all falls down to a mass vote, then,” continued the black-haired man. “Jack?”
“What?”
“Is Seth innocent or guilty?”
The man's eyes widened in their sockets. “Guilty, but-”
With the wave of a hand, however, he fell quiet.
Smiling, Tate turned to Silvia: “And what about you, my dear?”
The woman shook her head vigorously, trying to hold back sobs. “You're sick.”
“Oh, I am? Tate's smile fell a little, as if the comment had struck him deeply, but soon picked up again when he spun around to face the brown-haired man. “It seems the decider falls upon you, then, since our lady friend here evidently doesn't have the courtesy to take part." He shot her a look that could only be described as disgust.
Seth was frozen, his whole body trembling in silent agony. Slowly, he dropped his gaze to Tate, who was staring up at him with expectant eyes; yet when no answer came, he shrugged and raised the knife.
“Well, in that case...”
Immediately, Jack gasped, as though he could tell what was coming. “No, wait-”
But it was too late: in one swift movement, Tate swung the knife round into the man's stomach, driving it in up to the hilt. He paused for a moment, then began to move it upwards in a sawing action, like a butcher slicing his way through a cut of meat.
Seth thrashed from side to side, writhing against the blade as much as his bonds would allow. Blood splashed to the ground like water from a bucket, but there was something else as well, something dark and solid whose foul scent rose up from the floor like steam. He threw back his head in a shriek, though of course, no sound came out - it was as if the scene were happening behind a glass screen.
Eventually, the blade was pulled away, but by that time, Seth was already dead. His body slumped against the cross, an expanding pool of his own insides gathering at his feet.
“Jesus Christ, you actually killed him!” Jack screamed hysterically. “You bastard!”
His voice rung around the room, yet Tate took no notice of his cries; grinning, he dropped the sodden knife and began to make his way over to the man. There was a slight spring to his step, almost like that of an excited child. Jack watched through wide eyes as he whipped a pistol from somewhere deep within his robes, placed the tip against the underside of his jaw and, without even hesitating, pulled the trigger.
The gunshot pierced the air, reverberating against the wall so that it sounded a thousand times over. Silvia's eyes were squeezed shut when she heard the noise of something metallic colliding with the ground and slow footsteps making their way towards her.
“You're shaking, my dear...” A warm, wet hand touched her cheek, but she managed to pull away sharply.
“Oh? Are you scared of me?” There appeared to be an edge of disappointment in Tate's voice. Slowly, he slid his fingers downwards, across her jawline to her collarbone; the woman could feel the trail of blood left behind clinging to her skin like rot.
Then all of sudden, they were gone.
Gradually, the woman forced her eyes open, and it wasn't until she saw her vision shaking before her that she realised how close to passing out she really was. The smell of Seth's blood, as well as the throbbing agony from her own arm, filled her head - if she'd opened her mouth, she probably would've vomited.
To her surprise, however, Tate was no longer in front of her: the man had begun to travel back across the small space, towards the lines of pews that made up the body of the church; and as he walked, he spoke.
“You're probably wondering why you're here, aren't you?” he said. “I know I would be if I were in your position.”
When he reached the fourth row, he stopped, bent down and picked up what looked like a bottle of clear liquid. Then he returned, lips twisted into a wry smile.
“Or perhaps you already know why you're here.”
He stopped a foot short of the centre cross where Silvia was bound. His eyes carried within them a small gleam as they met hers.
“You honestly don't think that I would bring three people here and have them completely unrelated, do you? How boring that would be.” A small laugh escaped his lips.
All of a sudden, he raised his hand and tapped the woman's chin, his tone mirroring that of a scolding teacher. “My dear, I know who you are. I know that three days ago, Jack came to you with the request of killing Seth, the one who had ultimately caused his daughter's demise. And of course, you accepted.”
Silvia's heart was in her throat; vigorously, she shook her head. “No, you're wrong...”
“Wrong? Then I suppose the news that you've been practising witchcraft is wrong too, then. I'm surprised Jack didn't recognise you to start off with.”
“I've never even m-met these people in my life.”
There was silence for a few moments, a silence interrupted only by the slight crackling of the bottle top as Tate made to unscrew it.
“Little Girl can't sleep, Daddy takes her to Doctor, Doctor steals her drugs, Little Girl dies, Daddy swears revenge on Doctor and pays Witch to subtly strike him down... It's all one beautiful cycle, don't you think?” Each hand movement was slow, grating, as if he were deliberately trying to draw the moment out for as long as possible.
“My dear, do you know what used to happen to those branded a witch in the past?” He paused, perhaps expecting a reply, though none came. “Death by immolation - they would be tied to stakes and burnt to ashes.”
At last, the top came free, and the man dropped it to the ground before raising the bottle to his mouth and taking a mouthful.
Then all of a sudden, his lips were against the woman's.
Silvia froze rigid. Tate his everywhere, his mouth baring down upon hers with such ferocity it was painful; but there was something else as well, a foul taste that filled her mouth more and more the longer the two remained locked together. Some of it even spilled onto her clothes.
At last, the man pulled away and stepped back, as if to admire the sight before him. Cold liquid stained heaving Silvia's front, glistening against the material of her shirt.
“Do you remember when I told you that two out of three of those gathered here were guilty, and the other innocent?” he said. “Well, I've been thinking, and perhaps I was right after all: up until now, I've been trying to find the good in everyone, to flush out the evil and reveal that one silver lining... But maybe for some people, silver is all there is.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps God isn't the only perfect being after all.”
As he spoke, he pulled a tiny box from his robes and flicked the top with his thumb to reveal a small, pink flame. Slowly, he raised it towards the woman.
“Yet it in the end, it is only God who judges us.”
In a flash, the flame leapt onto the material, then began to travel upwards, raging across her collar, neck and licking the bottom of her chin. Silvia screamed at the scorching pain, but her cries were drowned as the remainder of the bottle was emptied over her head; and the fire, like blazing jaws, reached up to devour it. Within seconds, the entirety of her upper body was enveloped.
Gradually, Tate made his way backwards to stand and watch. His eyes passed from one figure to another, and for a moment he caught himself trembling; it was not in fear, however, but in joy. He held up his palms, ran his gaze over each bloodstained finger individually, and in his mind, he couldn't help but think how beautiful they looked.
Then, from deep within, a voice spoke to him.
Yes, Tate - you have done well.
And the man grinned.
I know.
[Author's Note]
Reads as subtly as a reverse bear trap to the face.