Chapter Eleven

Manjoume awoke with a jerk, sitting up in his bed and glancing around the room uncertainly. It took him a moment to remember that he was not in Osiris Red anymore; he was a member of the Fourth Dorm, in his new room, still dressed in his new uniform and laying on top of his new sheets. The banging on his door paused for a moment, and it was the sudden realization that it was not some constant background noise to be ignored but something new and novel that should be dealt with that brought its existence to his attention. His eyes moved to the door, not understanding. Who was that? And, perhaps more importantly, why on Earth was he able to hear it after just waking up? Had he forgotten to put in his earplugs before going to bed? A quick brush of fingertips over one ear answered that question: yes, in fact, he had.

Bangbangbangbang–

"I'm coming, hold on!" he shouted at the insistent pounding, shaking his head as he stood. That was strange. . . usually, Manjoume always remembered. Perhaps his talk with Asuka had been more frustrating and draining than he had originally thought. Maybe he tired himself out with all this packing and moving and repacking. Or maybe the Ojamas and the Dark Scorpion Gang had all been just so silent last night that it had not occurred to him that he was falling asleep. Yellow was hovering over the clock on his night stand at the moment, wringing its hands and staring out the window at nothing in particular. Don Zaloog had taken a seat on the edge of Manjoume's desk, his attention focused on his weapon as he spun the chamber of his revolver idly before snapping it back into place with a flick of the wrist. Manjoume grabbed the door handle and threw the door open, glaring death and daggers at whoever was stupid enough to bother him this early on a Sunday.

"Hey, Manjoume—!" Juudai. Of course it was Juudai, standing there grinning and breathless as if he had run all the way from Osiris Red, or his thinking cliff, or the lighthouse, or some other place on the other side of the island.

"–San da." Manjoume paused after the curt correction, looking over the school's hero with a frown. ". . . Are you wearing a Yellow jacket? And what do you want?"

"Yeah, whatever," Juudai shrugged the first comment off as he stepped into the room, pushing past Manjoume and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Manjoume's frown only deepened. He had not wanted to invite the other boy in. As if realizing that there had been a question posed to him, Juudai rushed to reply: "And yeah, I am. I have to. The Morality Committee is being crazy hardcore this year, remember? I got bumped up to Yellow, and now I have to wear their ugly uniform. Anyway, I have to ask you something."

"And it absolutely could not wait until—" Manjoume glanced down at his watch to double-check the time. "—after eight?"

"Nope. What kinds of animals live on the island?"

". . . Really?" Manjoume shut the door and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wooden frame. "That's what couldn't wait? Why the hell do you care?"

"It's important," Juudai reiterated, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed where they did not quite touch the floor. He met Manjoume's disapproving gaze, and gave him a beseeching look. "Please, Thunder-san?"

"You're a moron," Manjoume snapped, but knew that in the end he would give in. It was the only way to get Juudai to talk, or better yet, to leave. Besides, the school's hero always won, and it seemed pointless to fight such an inevitable fate. ". . . Bears. And there are bats, and some birds, and tropical snakes, and. . . and rodents and annoying students. Happy?"

"And monkeys. I saw a seal in the bathhouse once, too."

"If you already know, then why are you asking me?"

"Never mind. Thanks, though," Juudai replied with a shake of his head, looking over to the window and Ojama Yellow. A strangely thoughtful expression came over him as he watched the small spirit. "They're really quiet today, aren't they? It's weird."

"You haven't been hearing them either?" Manjoume straightened, and walked over to the bed to sit down next to the other boy. It was something that he had been wondering for a while now, and he was almost relieved that Juudai had brought it up. Surely, this was a sign that something was decidedly Not Good on the island. But Juudai just shrugged and fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.

"Winged Kuriboh's been pretty agitated since yesterday."

"Did something happen?" Was this a sign of some new apocalypse? Should they organize a search party to find Pharaoh and ask Daitokuji about it? Should they be calling an exorcist? Juudai gave him a wry smile, as if he had heard the unspoken sentiment loud and clear.

"Nah, not really. We ran into this kid from North Academy, Johan Andersen. You know him?" Juudai asked. Manjoume just shook his head, brows furrowed. He had met and beaten a lot of people at North Academy; that was how he had managed to rise to the top and be selected for the annual duel between the two schools. It was strange that he still thought of it as an annual thing, even though they had not had one last year, and with the new Morality Committee rules, it seemed unlikely that they would have another one this year. Juudai nodded absently, looking back to the window. "He said he was the top guy at North, and wanted to duel. Of course, I beat him, 'cause you Northy kids are really only good for wrestling polar bears and exploring ice caves."

Manjoume gave Juudai a rough shove, and the other boy laughed. "Oh, shut up."

"Anyway, he's okay. He has a spirit that doesn't really get along with Winged Kuriboh, and his deck is kinda cool. We're going to the bathhouses later. Wanna come?"

"No thanks. I don't even like hanging out with you when you're fully dressed: what makes you think I want to be around you when you're naked?"

Juudai laughed. "I'm glad that you'll never change, Manjoume."

"–San da. And what's that supposed to mean, anyway?"

"Nothing. It's just. . ." Juudai trailed off, his smile wavering as a more serious expression took up residence on his countenance. "I don't want things to change anymore, y'know? That's why I'm going to make sure that it's going to be okay, and that the Light stays gone for good."

"Juudai?"

"So, don't worry about Asuka, or what Saiou might still be up to," Juudai put a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder as he stood and headed for the door. Manjoume stared at him, confused and stunned by the sudden direction of the conversation. "I'll take care of it."

Where had that come from? Manjoume had not said anything to Juudai about Asuka and his conversation with her from yesterday; Hell, he had not even seen the other boy until just now. How did he know about her? And what did he mean by Saiou still being up to things? The man was dead. Manjoume had seen the bloody mess that Kenzan had brought up after Juudai's duel with the Society's founder last year. The idea that Saiou was doing anything other than resting in his grave was outrageous, and downright crazy. Actually, it was more than crazy, because even Manjoume could not bring himself to believe it.

Had everyone lost their minds? As appealing as that thought was, he did not think that it was likely. Manjoume leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the newly laid wood of his floor between his feet. Juudai's fear and strange behavior worried him. Maybe all this talk of Saiou and the Light, of resurrections and vessels of God, was starting to get to him. It seemed like everyone else was in on some secret, knew something about what was happening but would not share it with him. He was starting to get tired of always being the last in the know.

"Hey. . . hey, aniki?" Ojama Yellow sounded tiny and far away when it spoke, its high-pitched voice strained with some unfamiliar tension. Manjoume looked up, one brow raised as he waited for the ugly spirit to continue. He did not even scold it; he was glad to hear the Zero-Attack speak again. "Are you still going to see those guys?"

"You mean the guys from the Morality Committee?" Manjoume looked back to his watch. It was only eight-thirty. He did not have to meet up with them until late afternoon. Juudai's strange comments had solidified his resolution, but at the same time, he could not shake the ominous sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was getting that feeling a lot this year. Manjoume gave Ojama Yellow a half-hearted smirk. "Yeah, I am. Someone's got to figure out what's going on on this island, and who better than the Super Detective himself?"

He had been by this old dried up well many times before, though this time it was not for the sake of climbing to its bottom to retrieve junk cards for a new deck. Manjoume had not done that since early last year, before the birth of the White Order, and the sight of the rock rim with the tips of the long wild grass brushing its side brought back an odd feeling of nostalgia. It made him think of his freshman year, of ante duels and cards tossed out to sea, of North Academy and fields of ice. The soft cries of monsters lost by choice drifted up to him from deep inside the well and he could not help but wonder if his companion would mind a slight detour to rescue them. But Fuuma Naoki had already admitted that he never saw spirits or heard shadow-whispers, and probably would not have understood Manjoume's desire to save them.

"Here, White Thunder," the green beret was saying, his mouth split in a wide and fervent grin, as he pressed a dark uniform into Manjoume's hands. It seemed like he was always smiling, like there was nothing that could diminish his optimism. Was that the right word? Maybe it was faith; a belief that the Divine Light would make everything okay in the end. But Manjoume did not know if he believed that anymore. He looked down at the uniform, then back to Naoki's hands, which now held a pair of black combat boots. "I took it from the supply room in the back of the barracks, so everything should fit. Don't worry; I'll make sure that you'll blend right in."

Manjoume just nodded, his throat feeling tight. Naoki set the boots down on the ground and then turned to the well, looking down into the darkness as the boy stripped out of his new black jacket and traditional purple turtleneck.

"I'm excited. I can't wait for you to hear Lord Raphael speak. I wonder what you'll think of the Order," he was idly musing, toying with the shoulder sling of his M-16. Manjoume looked up with a quizzical expression. He took off his jeans and stepped into the green fatigue pants before replying.

"You didn't tell me much. I'm not sure what to expect."

Naoki laughed, smiling over his shoulder as he watched Manjoume slip into the dark undershirt and button up the combat blouse. "The Society of Light is what the Order would have been – I think – if we all could have felt the glory of God. As it is, the Order is dark, and cold, and very structured; we have a military hierarchy, and we undergo a lot of combat arms and religious training before we're allowed to join a unit. More often than not, we work in the shadows instead of the light, but still. . . I consider myself part of the Society of Light now, but my reasons for joining the Order remain: we believed in God, and Christ, and that the world was under attack from darkness. We wanted to save it, and were willing to sell our souls to do it."

"You're a security guard at a dueling high school," Manjoume stated this fact with a furrowed brow, finishing the last button and reaching for the black belt. Naoki moved to face him and sat down on the well's edge. He took off his beret and sunglasses, and ran a hand through short brown hair. It occurred to him then that Naoki was really very young, and probably not much older than himself. Still, the green beret had seemed both far more innocent in his ideals and infinitely more experienced in his faith than Manjoume could ever remember being.

"Your friends have fought demon gods and evil men on this island," the Committee member paused for a moment, tilting his head up to squint at the ever darkening sky above. The well was in a clearing, so no branches obscured his view. "If the higher ranks of the Order weren't so corrupted, if men like Napoleon hadn't been allowed to run wild for so long, you wouldn't have had to deal with any of that. That's why we're stationed here as guardians of the Dark Door. We're supposed to protect you from the darkness on the island, and from your own curiosity.—" His gaze flicked back down to where Manjoume was trying to tuck his pants into his boots, and his smile returned. "—I'm sorry, White Thunder, but you're doing it all wrong. Here, let me."

He stood, and walked over to kneel in front of where Manjoume had taken a seat in the long grass. The boy leaned back so that he could tuck the fabric in evenly, folding over a small piece on either side of Manjoume's leg, before beginning to lace the boot up. He wrapped the shoe string around the high top in the middle of Manjoume's calf once. There was only one knot.

"Anyway, our leader, Lord Raphael, was the right hand man of the Holy Avatar more than a decade ago. The Order's goal then was to cleanse the world of evil by summoning a. . . a leviathan, I think you'd call it. But when the Avatar was killed, Lord Raphael ultimately changed the Order's purpose. Now we guard the portals between this world and the Khenti, but sometimes I think that he forgets that we're not still trying to kill everyone."

"The Khenti? What is that?"

"It means 'the black.' It's kind of like Purgatory, but cold and filled with monsters, and demons, and all those spirits that you can see and hear. Some people refer to it as a realm of shadows, or the place between the land of the living and the land of the dead. Personally, I think that it might be Hell."

". . . Why did you leave the Order and join the Society of Light, Naoki?"

The green beret's hands stopped, hesitating on the second boot. Their eyes met, and Naoki's smile grew even larger. It reminded him of Juudai, Manjoume realized with a slight start. Not the Juudai from this morning, not the golden-eyed Juudai from the elevator over the summer, but of a Juudai that could have been. Everything Naoki did reminded him of Juudai, if only he could have saved him earlier last year. If he had not waited, if he had not let the White Order become infected and crumble away into the severity of the light and ignorant, childish pride. . . is this how Juudai would have been? He wondered what Juudai would have sounded like with the name of God on his lips, or how he would have laughed with Christ in his heart.

"I left it because of you," Naoki said simply, and Manjoume tilted his head up and back so that he could look at the sky as he listened. He wondered if this was how Asuka felt when he had converted her, when he had taken her hand and walked with her into the pure, beautiful Light. Was this the kind of faith that he was able to inspire, but never reach for himself? Manjoume imagined that it was his rival speaking, and the thought made him hurt all over. "I never saw Saiou-sama and I never heard him speak. To me, you were the White Order, the heart of the Society of Light. You would talk about finding salvation in the Divine Light, and it was like. . . like I could see it, feel the warmth on my skin. I've never felt like that before. You sounded like the Prophet. To me, you are the voice of God."

They were silent for a long time after that strangely intense confession – the emotions so much deeper and more meaningful than any kind of mortal love – until he patted Manjoume's knee to signify that he was done and they both rose to their feet. Naoki adjusted his weapon and put his headgear back on; they exchanged a few, brief words on military etiquette and on the proper way to wear a beret. Manjoume could not think of a response, and so he kept his mouth shut as they headed into the woods, away from the school and towards the Morality Committee barracks. The speeches he had given as Saiou's right hand were in the forefront of his thoughts, and he wondered if Naoki was hoping that he would revive the Society of Light. But without Saiou, it would all be meaningless.

. . . Wouldn't it? If Manjoume was able to be a stand-in for the real Prophet, if he was able to keep just far enough away from the Light to keep from burning, would it be possible to bring back the White Order? Asuka was wrong about being able to bring back Saiou. Manjoume knew this, but was it possible that Saiou was not needed? The messages were all still present, the Messiah's words still echoed in his head some nights. It felt wrong to think like that, but if Christianity could survive without Christ, then it only seemed right that the Society of Light could survive without Saiou.

But if he brought back the Society or the White Order, that meant that he would be bringing the Light back to the island. He wondered what Juudai would do, wondered how far the boy would go to stop him. Juudai always seemed frighteningly serious when he talked about the Light and Saiou these days. Honestly, he did not know if he could win a fight against the school's hero, no matter how important the outcome was to him. Manjoume brought a hand up to fidget with his hair, but quickly dropped it out of the fear that he would mess up the beret. Maybe hearing Doom would help; maybe remembering what religion looked and sounded and felt like without doubt would be good for him.

"Do you even know any Catholic prayers?" Genji whispered worriedly, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Manjoume mimicked his pose, and raised a brow. It had not occurred to him that their faith would be so structured; he had never been Catholic, and the idea that prayers would need to be memorized verbatim seemed strange. Before the White Order he had been an atheist, although his father believed in a traditional form of Shinto. Somehow, he did not think any of that would help. Genji suppressed a groan. "Just follow my lead and try not to look awkward. . ."

They were on their knees on a thin stretch of cloth that had been laid out over the cold concrete floor of the barracks' sanctuary. The room was dimly lit by candles from the front; above them, Manjoume had noted that there were a number of long fluorescent lights, all of which had been left off. There was a low altar in the center of the candle light, a metal chalice and standing dish resting atop it; beside it stood a wooden podium. All around him Manjoume could see people, some with soft faces who looked even younger than himself, all with heads bowed and berets and sunglasses removed and resting on the floor by their knees. The M-16s had been stacked standing in a pyramid formation in the previous room.

Manjoume ducked his head down at a nudge from Naoki on his right, who offered him a small smile before closing his eyes and murmuring some foreign prayer. He swallowed hard, feeling like an intruder in their holy place. Manjoume squeezed his eyes shut and strained his ears, moving his lips silently. There was a soft buzzing of voices from the room, all cut suddenly short by a set of heavy footsteps. For a moment, that was all he could hear: the light creak of leather, a shift of rough fabric over itself, and the fall of each measured step up to the altar. Then there was nothing, and he dared not open his eyes.

"Before we begin, let us pray to Saint Michael, in the hope that he will bless our battles and help us onward towards victory against the ever growing darkness," a man with a deep, heavily accented voice began, and Manjoume recognized him as the speaker from yesterday's assembly. The gathered members joined in as their leader recited the prayer. "O glorious prince Saint Michael, chief and commander of the heavenly hosts, guardian of souls, vanquisher of rebel spirits, servant in the house of the Divine King and our admirable conductor. You who shine with excellence and superhuman virtue deliver us from all evil, who turn to you with confidence and enable us by your gracious protection to serve God more and more faithfully each day. Amen."

The Morality Committee members ended at different times, so that 'amens' rang out through the bunker. Manjoume opened his eyes to thin slits, certain that Raphael could not see him from the distance in this near-darkness, and raised his head ever so slightly to watch. The big man stood behind the podium much as he had the day before, his hands raised as if for silence, although no one else seemed to be watching him. Behind him, Manjoume could see those white wings, which had a faint shimmer of ethereal light all their own.

"It has been brought to my attention that the care and protection over this island has grown lax and weak in my absence, and I mean to correct these mistakes as quickly as possible, through any means necessary," Raphael's voice boomed across the concrete room, followed by the sound of his wings rustling quietly in the natural pause as he lowered his arms. He leaned forward on the podium, glaring down at his uniformed flock. "Have you all forgotten why we are here? Doom was not created to spread fear and intimidate children, and nor was our strength meant to waste away while we watched the Armies of Darkness grow. What have you been doing with yourselves these last few years? Where was your righteous anger when the enemies of our God took His words in vain, and led the ignorant into the open and waiting maw of the Devil's minions?"

Raphael stepped away from the podium, his heavy boots carrying him down from the altar. He stalked through the first few rows of Committee members. Manjoume had to consciously stop himself from turning his head to follow that predatory movement, had to snap his eyes closed for a moment to make sure that the French man had not spotted him. When he opened them again, he found himself looking at the man's broad, tense shoulders and agitated, fluttering wings. Raphael continued to bellow angrily at them: "Did God not warn us of these charlatans, these false prophets that would twist the Gospel to serve themselves? Have you remembered nothing of the Scripture handed down to us?"

He reached out then and grabbed a young man by the neck, pulling so that the Committee member was forced to arch his back and stare up at him from a painful angle. Small white feathers drifted down to the floor behind him, and Manjoume could feel Genji trembling next to him. Raphael shook the young man roughly as he commanded him to respond: "Tell me, soldier; when did you last read the Bible?"

"I. . . I-I—" at this uncertain beginning, Raphael tightened his grip and shook the young man harder, muttering for him to speak up with more confidence. The young man did, though his voice cracked slightly as he tried again. "I read the Word of our Lord daily, sir."

Raphael released him roughly, shoving him forward onto the concrete. The young man caught himself with his hands just in time to save him from breaking his nose on the floor. Doom's leader continued moving through the rows, his hands now clasped firmly behind his back.

"The Devil himself will appear before us in numerous forms; he will be a child, and a woman, and an angel bathed in white. Such was the case only just last year. This so-called 'Society of Light' was led by a false prophet who used the teachings of the Bible to blind its followers and lead them away from the path of righteousness. Why did you follow?" Raphael whirled on another Committee member at this. He slammed his foot into the man's back. The Committee member fell forward, crying out in pain. Raphael kept his boot firmly planted there between the green beret's shoulder blades, pressing down until the man was begging for him to stop. He shouted over the pleading. "Was your faith so weak that you could not see through the Devil's flimsy disguise?"

"I didn't join them!" the Committee member was screaming, trying vainly to free himself. Raphael sneered again, but stepped back and continued on down the rows. When he stopped, it was at the beginning of the row where Manjoume, Genji, and Naoki had all knelt. Manjoume quickly closed his eyes again and dropped his head down further, hoping that he had not been seen or recognized.

"I have heard their heathen sermons, and the way they claimed to be warriors of the Divine Light, heaven-sent and fate-bound. This is a lie, gentlemen, told to deceive us and confound our mission. Never forget who we are!" Raphael started off slowly, but his words gained in fervor and volume as Manjoume heard him coming closer. "We are not filled with light! We are not holy, or divine, or beautiful! All of mankind is a putrid stain that defiles His holy and perfect gardens! But, like Eden's serpent, we are bound into the service of the Lord to fight the demons we once called 'brothers.' We are the last of the Crusaders! We are the bloodstained carriers of salvation! We were awakened from this mortal nightmare to walk through the shadows and light the way for His people. And though we are damned to darkness and our souls are black with sin, as long as we are strong in our faith the everlasting grace of our Lord God will save us from the fires of Hell."

It was not the rousing motivational speech Manjoume had been expecting, not the inspiring words of a leader who wants his followers to become better human beings. This was not an order that wanted to save people. This was an order that hated humanity for its inherent darkness, an order that lived on self-loathing and deprecation. And for that reason, it sounded truer than anything he had heard in a very long time. Manjoume knew well what it felt like to claim one's own imperfections and failures, and to use them as a weapon. Still, he did not like it.

Raphael stopped just behind the three of them, his presence like a great and dark shroud that descended heavily across their shoulders. Manjoume could feel the French man glowering at their bowed heads, could feel his pale eyes burning into the back of his neck. He wished that he could turn around and see the man, as if somehow the addition of sight might make everything infinitely less terrifying. "It has come to my attention that there are those who would disagree with me. There are those among us who have not seen the folly of their ways, and do not understand the gravity of this situation. In this very room, there are those who would see the Society revived and our own Order fall to ruin in its wake. The Door here is weak; it has already been opened once, and the keys and items that bind it shut have already tasted blood. The darkness grows ever stronger as we struggle amongst ourselves. We do not have the time or resources to spend fighting both of these enemies right now. The Order must stand strong in the face of this trial. We must show no mercy to our rival, for he will show us none in return. We must crush his will to fight beneath our boot heels; we must inspire fear in his heart when he hears our name. I will say this only once to those who have joined the Society of Light, and who still believe that they are members of that cursed cult: Saiou was not the Avatar of our Lord. He was not God's chosen messenger. He is not Dartz!"

Quietly, Manjoume heard Raphael begin to pray:

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

There came a sound of rustling wings and fabric, of a metal snap being undone and something sliding against leather. It was loud in the silence, and it was followed by an ominous click and the very distinct sound that a gun makes when the slide is cocked back and a bullet chambered. He knew that sound well from when he was younger; the Manjoume Group used armed bodyguards at most meetings. Manjoume cracked an eye open and tilted his head as slowly as he could to try to catch a glimpse of what Raphael was doing.

"O most sweet Jesus, through the bloody sweat which Thou didst suffer in the Garden of Gethsemane, have mercy on this wretched soul—" Raphael recited the holy words without emotion or hesitation. Manjoume's breath caught in the back of his throat with a tiny choked noise as he eyes grew impossibly wide, the thought that he might be caught fleeing his mind entirely.

There was a gun pressed to the back of Naoki's head, the young Morality Committee member shaking badly and trying hard not to cry. Raphael looked down at him with a cold expression devoid of pity, his arm straight and steady. His jacket had been unbuttoned and was open, and Manjoume could see the side holster where the gun must have come from. As Raphael continued the prayer, Naoki yelled over him, sobbing to his peers:

"We are not the monsters that he tells us we have to be—!"

"—through the pains which Thou didst suffer during Thy most cruel scourging, have mercy on him."

"I have seen and felt the touch of the Divine Light, and it has burned away the veil that Doom has tried to throw over our eyes—!"

"—through the pains which Thou didst suffer in Thy most painful crowning of thorns, have mercy on him."

"We've lost too much to this hatred of humanity—!"

"—through the pains which Thou didst suffer in carrying Thy cross to Calvary, have mercy on him."

"Don't you see?! The Society was created to help cleanse this filthy world—!"

"—through the pains which Thou didst suffer during Thy most cruel Crucifixion, have mercy on him."

"Now is the time spoken of in Revelations—!"

"—through the pains which Thou didst suffer in Thy most bitter agony on the Cross, have mercy on him."

"Saiou-sama was no false prophet, but the Son of God reborn, as foretold by Malachi—!"

"—through the immense pain which Thou didst suffer in breathing forth Thy Blessed Soul, have mercy on him."

Raphael pulled the trigger.

The bullet ripped through the back of Naoki's skull at a slightly downward angle so that it was forced to exit through the center of his face in an explosion of red gore. Blood and brain tissue, tiny bone fragments and pieces of cartilage, spattered across Manjoume's stunned face and the cowering backs of the Committee members in the row in front of them. One of them doubled over with a sharp, pained howl, thrashing as he clutched at his left boot, which had been punctured by the escaping round. Genji bit back a sob, shoulders shaking violently as he fell forward onto his hands, fingers curling into his palms to bite half-moons into the soft skin there. Manjoume could not move, could not blink; he could do nothing but stare as the tension was ripped from the body, as every muscle suddenly went slack and it toppled over onto the sticky concrete.

While the exit wound had taken all of Naoki's defining features, Manjoume saw that the entry wound was fairly clean, about the size of a large coin. Plasma oozed from that blackened spot on the back of his head, staining his brown hair and dripping down his neck to join the yellowed slime and grey matter that puddle around him. It reeked of gun smoke and that heavy copper-ozone stink that blood gives off. Distantly, he heard someone retching from the other side of the room, and that smell soon joined the others. A white feather drifted down to land on Naoki's body, and only then was Manjoume able to turn his disbelieving gaze away.

Raphael holstered his weapon, and without wiping off the blood that had speckled his hands and front, he pulled his rosary out and finished the prayer:

"Wretched Soul, I have prayed for thee, and I entreat thee, who are in danger of being damned and of losing God forever, to pray with me, though we are all but miserable sinners. Amen."

Manjoume was still shaking, could still see the mangled, faceless body on the floor beside him every time he blinked, as the other Committee members began to recite their Rosaries:

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. . ."