USUAL DISCLAIMER APPLIES.
Okay, haven't updated in a while, but here's a Farfarello one-shot for you. Be warned for language and general hostility/blasphemy towards Christianity. Don't take it personally.
This is just a story.
As always, R&R appreciated
Agnusdeiquitollispeccatamundisluciferluciferagnusdeimorningstarfallenfromheaven
drop quickly
before you fall, it's a stack of cards and you just pulled the ace, maybe you'll win this time if you have the queen of hearts. One lady, no drops
always a winner with the bonny queen, can't help but win when the childrne shriek and the cats wail and somewhere the man and the liar and the child fall in behind and destroy
destroy destroy destroy break it make it shake it like a chacha or a polka with maybe a side of french fries but those were nasty what about those good Irish foods and sometimes German German sausages
fat white thick needed to get out
too white like God didn't need
didn't want who cared it didn't matter God was
there were angels and three saints and a sinner and something writhing on a cross and then acid spilled over everything
paint it black
paint me with black wings
miserere nobis miserere nobis pain hates
pain hates
hate
I am the victim
There was rain.
It fell down hard, pelting him with little bullets that he couldn't feel - just see, feel his eyelids flutter closed and open and closed again as the drops hit them.
He didn't care.
There was a statue of an angel standing outside the church. It was wet, glistening in the rain and the light from the street lamps and the occasional car. He didn't touch it. Just stood there, staring up. Eyes caught on the angel's. It was a bloody travesty, that was. A bloody travesty, it didn't fucking need to be. Fucking perfect statues of God's fucking angels and they didn't need to be. He raised his head and stared, stared unblinking until his eyes watered. He didn't wipe away the tears.
Angels were God's messengers.
He couldn't kill them. They had no bodies. God had a body though oh yes he did God became flesh the fucking Transfiguration and then there was a man and a cross and a woman who gave birth without sex bloody Virgin Birth he didn't like and that was good. That was special.
"You're an angel." The words were casual, expressionless. "Not so bad as the Virgin or Him. But it'll hurt Him to hurt you."
If he could. There was no point to breaking statues, not when there was a fat priest inside stuffed into a sleek black cassock just waiting to be melted and gutted and tormented until he screamed blasphemies and died. That would hurt Him. That would hurt Him more than destroying white marble in the courtyard.
"I might come back for you later." He turned and walked away for a few steps and then paused, looking back over his shoulder. "I know you'll be waiting."
The church was lit.
He'd fix that.