Disgraceful Redemption does not own any recognisable characters. The author does not necessarily share the same spiritual beliefs stated in the story, and any religious context is purely for the story. The author does not intend to offend anyone and the meaning of religious passages are not up for debate with the author. The author apologizes if offence does occur or information in the story is wrong in some way. All religious context is purely for story purposes. Thank you.
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Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.
…
Setting down the worn leather book, fingers lightly caressing the simple golden cross imprinted upon the front, Wolfgang bowed his head and whispered prayers to his Lord. The words were devoted and true, felt and said from the very depths of his soul, and he smiled upon finishing.
He stood and turned, opening his arms wide with a benevolent smile gracing his thin lips. As a whole, the entirety of the mass stood and each performed the sign of the cross, haggard faces a little less long.
Sunday service finished, a few villagers came forth whilst the rest shuffled out of the church to continue with the day. Wolfgang welcomed the few with the same benevolent smile, leather bound cross imbued book lovingly held in the crook of his arm.
…
"Good day, Father."
"I thank the Lord every day for the blessing He bestows upon us, Hope," Wolfgang replies, smiling kindly to the woman, his bible held securely to his chest. Hope smiled, her tired face regaining a little more youth, a little more life.
She excuses herself politely, moving on to whatever destination she had. Wolfgang let her, attending to his own duties as a young boy comes up to him. The Priest lowers to one knee and lends an ear, smiling genially to the hovering widowed mother nearby.
The boy asks Wolfgang to bring back his father. His smile turning sad, Wolfgang opens his bible and reads from it, the verses running sure and flawless from his lips. The boy doesn't understand, not yet, but he seems to know enough that his dad will not be returning. He turns and walks into the folds of his grieving mother's skirts, hiding his face away from the world.
The only comfort that Wolfgang can give is to continue reading the holy words of God, now settled comfortingly on his knees, his cloak and robes soaked in mud and refuse. Oblivious to the gathering crowd and crying family, he reads and reads until his voice is hoarse and his body shivering violently from the cold.
…
Offering his life to serve his God and the bible had always been what Wolfgang wanted to do. While the words of God spoke to every person in some way, they seemed to dig into his very soul and lift the blackness away. When he devoted himself to his Lord and Savior, Wolfgang felt a little less dirty, a little less tempted by the wiles of humanity.
He is but an instrument to the Will of his God and nothing has ever given his life more meaning than that.
….
Thunder and lightning battled for the skies, raging monstrosities rendering the earth with clangs of steel and flashes of unholy light. Wolfgang stood motionless upon the altar, head tilted back and eyes watching the window. The lightning lit the backdrop sky for but one moment; the searing outline of the black cross burned into his eyes and the next moment, he looked down.
From his feet stretched the holy cross, slithering across the floor and molding into his shadow so that the two were indistinguishable.
There came a pounding on the doors and Wolfgang moved to answer, banishing the shadow from the floor as the light waned. Once opened, he was unsurprised to see a majority of the villagers at his doorstep, and beckoned them in. All were welcomed in the Lord's embrace.
Each slash and clash of steel and anger made His children flinch and huddle as they moved the benches to the sides of the hall to make room to sit at Wolfgang's word. Sit they did, the older and younger collapsing in both fright and heavy wariness. They sat in an almost circle, with Wolfgang in the middle and seeing the lost and fearful faces around him, Wolfgang knelt upon the floor and read from his heart, his worn, cross imbued leather book pressed to his chest.
"Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.' Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence."
Wolfgang does not pause when banging upon the door happens once more. Jedidiah is up in an instant to allow entrance to the comfort and protection of God's holy church. Several more villagers quietly and respectfully find a place to listen to the Father read the teachings of the Lord.
"He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday."
More banging and Jedidiah lets them in. The storm continues to rage and Wolfgang has to raise his voice to compete with the cries of battle.
"A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. If you say," Wolfgang stands suddenly, yelling amidst the roars of the unholy caterwauling to be heard. "'The Lord is my refuge,'!" He stares out at his audience and flings a hand out. "and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent! For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone!"
He holds the villager in rapture of the scripture, sees the fear retreating from their lives and devotion to their Lord coming to the fore. He smiles, the smile feeling raw and sharp, and his voice rising in passion in response. For he guides the Lord's teachings into their hearts and minds and he shall grasp their fear and banish it like the Lord sweeps all his fears and doubts into His bosom.
"You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent! 'Because he loves me,' says the Lord, 'I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name! He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him! With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.'!"
I shalt not fear, for the Lord is at my side and God's kiss upon my brow and the Holy Spirit guarding my soul.
…
The storm eventually moves on, leaving behind destruction and sorrow. Many die, and many sneer in contempt, for they are convinced that God had sent the maelstrom to test the belief of His children. Only those who had sought protection under His roof survived and those that did not simply did not.
However, despite their beliefs, the dead were buried and many funerals to be had. Wolfgang had not slept, in silent grief over the loss of His children. He read from his book, easing passage for lost souls, and retreated to the church, where he kneeled for hours upon hours of prayer. Finally, Wolfgang collapsed and did not dream.
…
Beyond certainty, life moves on. Wolfgang performs the many services in which he is bound to perform in the name of his Lord. New life is brought forth, holy matrimony, mass, funerals, prayer. It is a steady stream of life, one bound on a single road. Wolfgang does not linger on what could have been; instead, he offers advice to lost and confused souls, baptises the blessed infants, and smiles, laying the deep fear of His children to rest every time it awakens.
And every day, he prays for a bountiful harvest so that the winter is not so harsh, so that His children, rewarded for their faith in Him, can live happy lives amongst their general wariness.
…
The harvest was plentiful. Happy villagers, a bounce in their steps, finished their final preparations for winter. The chill already frosted the ground and buildings, white puffs of air from the mouths of living, breathing beings. From the step of the church doors, Wolfgang smiled and led the way into the church, a guilt ridden man following.
Settling into the booth, he opens the wall of sin.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
…
Even the bountiful harvest was not enough to battle the harsh winter. Gaunt faces stare back at his equally gaunt face, eyes dark and black against pale, pale skin. Wolfgang reads and reads until the light of hope is back into their lives and they leave after, hearts recharged for more hardship.
However, it is not to be.
Driven by intense hunger, wolves descend from the mountain upon the hapless village and slaughter mindlessly. With no distinction between man and animal, they slaughter every living thing they find. Some villagers managed to flee to the church and barricaded the doors, but Wolfgang knew they would not hold long.
"The Lord is my refuge!" He shouted, clutching his rosemary in a white knuckle grip. "Return from whence you came, foul creatures!"
The doors bulged a little and Wolfgang paled. He haltingly began to read the scripture by heart, shooing the few surviving villagers into his remote quarters and shoving his sparse bed aside. The two women and child were crying, but their fear receded, if only a little, at the familiar verse. Wolfgang smiled tightly at them as he opened the cellar door and motioned them in urgently, still rattling off scripture to ease the terror weighing heavily upon their breasts.
He very nearly took the Lord's name in vain as he heard the church doors give and break. He shoved the last man down and closed the hatch, shoving his bed back over the cellar door. Gripping his book and cross, Wolfgang ran out of his room and shut the door firmly.
"I will love You O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; My God, my strength, in whom I will trust; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my str-" He paused for but a moment as a howl rent the air with a menacing chill. Fear crept into his veins, and doubt poisoned his mind. But then everything was thrust away and he continued in a strong, unwavering voice. "My stronghold. I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised; So shall I be saved from my enemies."
Low, menacing growls and clicking slowly came closer. The wolf was hunting him and all Wolfgang could do was stand against the evil invading His holy ground. He would not bow to his fear.
"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-" The beast turned the corner slowly, a snarl on its snout and a blaring emptiness in its soulless husk. Wolfgang finished his prayer. "-and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil."
Wolfgang performed the sign of the cross just as the wolf lunged.
"Amen."
…
He gasped in a deep, rejuvenating, life giving breath of crisp winter air. Darkness and oblivion had been and now life flowed into his veins. Confusion and disbelief warred within him, but as he looked upon the moon, only confusion was left. The moon saw fit to bring him back from the eternity of death and graced him with a new name.
Wolfgang refused to use such a vile name. His Lord had named him Guardian and Protector of His children and so he shall wear his name like his Lord hath commanded. Ignoring the shimmering rays of the moon, Wolfgang graced his grave with a heavy heart. His worn friend sat at the base of the crude cross, words that had once lain neatly inside now beyond his ability to make out. The pages were drenched in an ugly red stain that he knew to be his blood.
He fell to his knees and prayed fervently to his Lord, begging forgiveness for his trespasses. He prayed for a long time.
…
When he could finally allow himself to leave his final resting place, Wolfgang surveyed the remains of what was once the village he had taken care of and looked over. His own grave lay atop a low rise, from which the rest of the graves of the fallen villagers were laid to rest. They encircled his and he felt humbled as he observed. They would spend eternity nestled around him, drawing comfort from him like they always had.
But they couldn't now. The man in moon had thought it prudent to rip him away from God's hands.
It is a long while late when he is able to pull himself away from the desecrated village.
…
Weary from his travels, Wolfgang finally reaches the next town, hoping He is still guiding him towards salvation. But to his horror, as he walked through countless people, unseen and unfelt by the masses, he knew there was to be no salvation for his damned soul. He walks amongst His children like a wraith in the night and unable to handle it, Wolfgang flees into the wilderness.
…
Utter isolation and cold, dark nights chink away at his remaining sanity. He ponders the meaning of his revival, of the man in moon, of why God had given his soul up to the Devil's games. He ponders the meaning behind his inability to be seen or felt, his heart rotting in his chest and his hope decaying in the pit of his stomach. Unseen, his skin pales and pales to a greyish hue and his hair, once short, grew and grew to previous unimaginable lengths. His once black robes turn indistinguishable to his shadow and he wanders like the dead in the night, without destination and without purpose.
He happens upon a small village, merely twenty or thirty strong, and ponders the meaning of life. How he had gone from well-loved and respected to some unseen ghostly wraith, damned from God's embrace. And that hurts. That God had so willingly damned his soul to eternity of wandering the earth. He had no one. And no one wanted him.
Tragedy strikes so long as there is happiness to be found. Vile men attack the village, pillaging and looting the simple houses, rounding up the women and killing the children. In a fit of forgetfulness, Wolfgang forgets his predicament and rushes forward to catch the fallen child. He had been running away, as his mother bid him do, but tripped. Wolfgang, somehow, does catch the child and sets him gently on the ground as his attention is arrested by the approaching bandit.
One of the men of the village intercepted him, though, so Wolfgang turned back to the child, ready to offer comfort of the scripture. But the child screams, fighting tooth and nail to get out of Wolfgang's hold. Surprised, he lets the boy go, who runs off screaming. Face paling even more, Wolfgang lurches to his feet and flees once again.
...
Wolfgang later learns that the boy survived and spread the story of how the boogeyman summoned the bandits and almost spirited him away. He scoffs bitterly at the name, stupid as it sounds, but as the years pass, the word spreads further and further.
He walks the streets and he is seen, he is felt. But he does not dare to approach the church. He does not dare to look upon God's face. He is not worthy.
Once he would have reviled the use and enjoyment of fear, but that is lifetimes ago. He finds comfort in giving children a thing to fear. He finds amusement when a full grown man soils himself from witnessing his visage. Unknowing, his eyes bleach from black to yellow, where they reflect his decaying soul and strikes terror into his victims.
Finally, he throws his name away. It is the final remnant of the man who died so long ago. He no longer deserves the title or the honor it had brought him once upon a time. That man is dead; had been dead since the wolf tore his throat out.
Denouncing God, he threw away his name and adopted a new one. One dipped in the sins of darkness and molded to his form now mere shadows of his former self. Shadows and darkness and sin and the delicious taste of fear.
Pitch Black.
…
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.
…
Joseph 1:9
Psalm 19:1-15
Psalm 18:1-3
Our Father prayer
Psalm 23:4