Evangelism
Disclaimer: Tekken and all associated characters are the property of Namco.
Warnings: Contains scenes of sex, violence, rape, and strong language.
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Prologue
New England, 1692
A pair of feet splash clumsily through the icy water and, slipping on wet rocks, the young girl gropes at the dirt with frantic fingers, clambering up the hill. Her heart thumps in her chest like a hammer pounding on an anvil. Looking fearfully over her shoulder, she can hear the whoops and cries of her pursuers on the far side of the river. They are gaining on her. Urged on by her terror, she struggles to her feet, picking up her filthy, trailing skirts and hurries between the trees. The low, setting sun sends long, dark shadows across the uneven ground, disguising stones and roots, causing the girl to come crashing to the ground on many occasions. Now she can hear their taunts and laughter closer, and the splashing of their boots in the fast-flowing water behind her. Her nails dig into the rough bark of a tree as she reaches out to steady herself, forcing her aching limbs to continue. She can catch the warm slash of light through the trees ahead, sparkling at her like the last desperate strands of hope that give her the strength to maintain her flight. Driving on, she breaks from the woodland and the gravel crunches under her throbbing feet as she throws herself towards the parish, and towards her last hope. As her fists impact upon the hard wood of the door, pleading for it to open, the cries behind her intensify. She has been sighted, and the enemies shall be upon her soon.
With a last, despairing burst of strength, she shoves the door open, tumbling after it and landing hard on the dusty, holy floor. "Father!" she chokes, striving to get back on her feet. "Fa… father!" she cries hopelessly, tears and dust catching in her throat, as she stumbles her way forlornly towards the altar. Her pleas are dwarfed by the laughter of her hunters as they fill the room behind her. Like thunder rumbling through dark storm clouds, their taunts echo over her head, filling the rafters with their cruelty. Weeping bitterly, she collapses before the altar, exhausted, no longer able to raise her voice above a whisper. "Father…" she whimpers softly, digging her nails into the wooden pew beside her, clinging to it fearfully, heedless of the splinters burying themselves in her fingers.
"He's not going to save you!" a voice snarls at her. "No one will save a cursed little brat like you!" he taunts, tearing her to her feet by her hair. Laughter ripples through the group at the scream she lets out. "Filthy little witch's child," the boy barks, tossing her the floor and spitting on her.
Crawling wretchedly across the floor, she tries to drag herself away from them as the word spreads through the older children. "Witch! Witch! Witch!" they whisper at first, their volume rising, as they crowd in on her, finding amusement in their suffering. "Witch! Witch! Witch!" they shout, kicking at her and spitting their venomous words down upon her.
"Your mother was a filthy whore, and so are you!" they accuse her.
"My father is out of business because of your curse, you wicked whore!"
"Spawn of Satan!"
"I say we skin the pathetic rabbit," one boy suggests, and the girl's eyes widen in horror at the flash of steel before them.
"No! We should hang her like we hanged her Witch-Mother!"
"Why not burn her, so that nothing is left of her wickedness," another cries, swinging the burning candles down from the altar and letting the flames dance tortuously in front of her eyes, before carelessly casting the fire upon the floor.
"I think she should be punished first," the boy with the knife says, grabbing her around the throat and pushing up against the altar. Choking her with one hand, he draws the blade down her cheek, delighting in the trickle of blood and the frightened whimper she emits. Pressing the knife to her throat, he rips at her filthy clothing, leaving her painfully exposed to the roving eyes of her tormentors.
"Ha!" another boy cheers. "Fuck her like the whore she is!"
The knife-holder sneers over his shoulder at his partner in crime, grabbing his victim's budding breast in his fist and mashing his lips forcefully against hers. She lets out a tiny squeal and wriggles weakly beneath his touch, fear causing the bile to rise in her throat as he reaches to undo his pants, and rams his hardness roughly against her. A great blast of agony explodes upwards through her stomach as her forces himself inside, smashing her organs against each other. Her head rolls back and she stares blindly up at the ornately decorated ceiling of the church, as with each thrust, a new and more terrible ripple of pain courses through her body. Her back is pounded against the hard stone of the altar again and again, for what seems like an eternity to the poor child. The hot, savage breath of the boy dampens her shoulder with its alcohol-laden stench, and his roving hand tears at her skin with its clawed and filthy nails, as the knife digs into the soft flesh beneath her chin.
"Hell, the church is on fire!" the boy's laughing companions cry as he finishes his business, too drunk to take it very seriously.
"Better get out of here," he chuckles, pulling himself away from the girl, as her broken body slides limply to the ground.
"But first," he snarls, crouching down beside her, and gripping her jaw to force her face towards his. He kisses her violently, shoving his tongue into her unresisting mouth. "Don't want the little witch spreading her wickedness, do we?" he whispers into her ear, as he trails the blade lazily down her body, plunging it deep into her belly. She bucks wildly upon the floor, screaming terribly as he twists the knife and pulls it from her guts, blood pooling on her stomach and trickling down her side to run in the cracks on the cold floor.
As the echo of the great doors slamming shut singles the monsters' departure, the girl rolls her head weakly to the side and lifts her eyes to look up at Jesus, hung on the cross above the altar. No longer lit directly by the candles, his features are hidden in constantly flickering shadows. Struggling to draw breath, the girl stares up at the darkened face of the lord. Her body is cold and trying to shiver, despite the heat of the encroaching blaze and the warm blood flowing at her neck and across her belly, spilling between her legs and spreading over the stone she lies upon. Darkness and shadows creep closer around the edges of her vision, and she labours to keep her focus.
"Lord…" she whispers almost inaudibly, her last breath soft and weak. "Please… save me."
And the lord she prays to does listen. Jesus lifts his eyes to meet her gaze, the deep red of his gaze burning into her from the shadows of his face. She watches as he moves upon his cross, dark wings unfurling behind him, and he steps down, leaving his eternal crucifixion to tower above her, the shadows thrilling over his powerful muscles, emphasising his impressive physique. She stares up at him, sunk into an unnatural calmness that melts away her fear and trepidation.
"I will save you," he tells her, and his voice comes to her not from his lips, but from within her mind. "Just promise me your soul, and you will be saved," he professes, his voice silky and warm, soothing her, and she believes him.
"I promise…" she begins to commit, and the smile spreads across my brother's face.
"You would sacrifice your seat in heaven, so that you might live another day of your tortured life?" I ask the child, emerging from the flames that have encircled her. Her eyes wander slowly to look upon me, widening in awe as they find their target.
My brother looks upon me with disgust, and I feel his gaze burning into me like the blade of a dagger. "Do not listen to her treachery, she will bring you only death," he hisses at the dying child. "All she says are lies."
"It is he who lies to you, child," I soothe her, brushing my fingers against her damp cheek.
My demon half reaches for her, and I block his arm. "Do not believe what she says," he growls at the frightened girl, and the wickedness sparks in his eyes.
"Fear not the devil, for your path lies with God," I whisper to her, brushing her eyes gently shut, freeing her from his clutches. As she dies, my brother lets out an evil cry, striking at me, and sending me flying back into the burning pews, as he takes off, anger boiling in his every vein.
This is how it has been since the end of the Great War of Heaven. I remember before then, the love that was my brother, my other half, my heart. But it was not enough for him, and he opposed the lord, betrayed my trust, and was cast out. Since that time, he and his kind have roamed the earth, preying on the suffering and weak, to obtain the souls that they so desire. And as long as they do, I will be there to stop them, for I am an ultimate evangelist. I am an angel.