Invocation
by SMYGO4EVA
From the moment Maxwell seized the mantle of archbishop, his soul blackened.
There were many things Anderson had taught him, in the name of serving their Lord, something to keep evil at bay – Maxwell still wanted to become great. He wanted something to grasp onto. He didn't work himself from dawn until dusk. He surely didn't become a man of God all for naught. Serving irrevocably in the name of God was enough, but not anymore. Maxwell knew he would rise above all else.
Anderson was a soldier of God, inscrutably. In every waking hour, he made sure his actions would be known as such. He feared that Maxwell would never see the error of his ways. Ever since he was a boy, there was always something burrowed deep. He was used to being the strong one, the one quick with his bayonets, striking down those who desecrated the Lord's name, as he also was with a stern word. Wielding such power was one thing, but dipping one's hands in such intoxication was another.
He had turned his back on God. There was no salvation beyond what lay ahead for him.
Anderson had thought he had taught Maxwell all that he knew, but even a glimpse of power was enough. It was an aphrodisiac that no confession could purge. All throughout his life, Maxwell was the hardest one to reach out to, even to this day. Invocation wasn't enough. Anderson knew that never would be.
It would never be enough, no matter how much faith there was, and no matter how many countless cries had howled into the bloody night.