When Blake next woke the storm was over. Disappointed that he woke at all after what looked like the sun engulfed the land. It was no longer day, but night now. Blake hadn't moved an inch from his seated place up on the roof. numbly watching the anarchy happening below for the past few hours. Everyone below his gaze started off similarly lifeless. Confused about what to do with their glorious prophet dead. Giving up on doing anything with his body now festering with maggots. As the time crept further along, mayhem took over Temple Gate. Arguments stirred up on who was to blame for this. Rioting followed by mass destruction tore the town apart. The silent night broken by the crying screams of many down below. Other buildings caught on fire so much so that the town was brightly lit with the sky tinted blood red above it all. After all that, they kept trying to kill each other further and Blake had, had enough.
Before the anarchy began they, Of course, focused on Blake first. Sun having just seemed to set at the time with a red edge at the horizon. They threw all sorts of threats of what would happen as soon as they got up there or if he got down. "Skin him." "Hang him by the loins!" "Throw him to the rack." "Tie him to a pyre!" "Take his eyes." "Take his heart." Gathering together enough to start a fresh scaffold build until the arguing picked up against each other. Blaming each other for not coming to Knoths call. "You heard him. Why didn't you come out?" "He called you to kill the outsider." "Why didn't you run after him?" Arguing on who let the outsider get by them to chase Knoth up onto the roof.
Fights breaking out wrecked what little work they did. Marta tried to enforce things to move along, but their anger was soon out of control. Mobs of people fighting broke various objects across town. Ripping things apart to unleash their pent up rage. Broken chunks of wood used for clubs to beat each other. Slabs of metal roofing turned to shields against those with broken glass. Tossing people into twisted bundles of barbed wire. Slamming things around until someone must've knocked over a torch or lamp. A fire grew to engulf a huge part of the town as it spread. They tried to put it out at first. Grabbing tubs or buckets of water from the river to toss along. A rare moment of harmony in the middle of the night for an hour or two. When the fire refused to die they gave up as it devoured too much. The fire stopped when it reached a buffer of river space it could not cross. Blake could hear them all sobbing below about what was happening to them. Soon riling up another massive fight of the blame game.
Hours of shouting gnawing on what little mental strength Blake had left. Temporarily relieved when Marta tried hard to control the populace, but without her weapon she was half the threat she used to be. Crippled further by the broken ankle Blake caused her. Still, the loud Insult tossing was paused to flee from Marta charging into the mobs. Resorting to physically tossing people back into homes despite the physical pain Blake noticed from her wincing. Some obeyed her clear physical order by remaining inside. She choked a few testing her patience by coming back out to hurl more threats. Limping after everyone else scattered around was wearing her down. The inevitable happened where she couldn't drag anyone around anymore. Soon as the mob noticed those too scared to chance her wrath before, vacated their homes to fight once again.
Their screeching voices were all Blake could hear for the next few hours. "Knoth should have killed you heretics!" "The Lord will never forgive you." "Followers of the Devil." "Fuck you, I'll piss on your grave!" "Come near me and I'll split your skull."
It was clear Marta didn't have any control of the rioting members and she knew it too. Standing on the sidelines unsure of what to do since Knoth only commanded her to kill. Cultists were doing that to themselves now with bodies piling atop each other.
Marta attempted again to turn their anger upon Blake. "You fools! Stop wasting your wrath on each other and drag the demon down from up on high."
One bloody rioting follower turned the tide. "That was your duty! You were to crush him by Knoths orders."
Turning onto the one within their reach the mob's angry voices dog piled on. "Why'd you let him get away?!" "You wanted this!" "You always questioned the faith!" "She's a traitor!"
She went wide eyed at such accusations against her. "Shut up you rabid dogs! Don't you dare bare your teeth at me. Fetch the demon and I-"
"Heretic!" "Witch!" a few shouted. "Carve her!" Turned into a full on repeated chanting. "Carve her!" "Carve her!" "Carve her!" Taking up barbed wire for binding. Surrounding her with various weapons in hand. Sickles, knives, sheep shears, axes looking ready to butcher her like a pig for the pot.
Blake couldn't help but watch the encroaching circle close in on Marta. Who, at its center, threatened them to "Get back!" A loop of barbed wire was thrown around her neck to yank her down. She kept to her feet with a retaliating yank of the sharp cord carving her neck. Needing a group to pull back in a tug of war. Till a second wire was looped and she was slammed down into the dirt. seeing her fate closing in, she resorted to begging. "Wait, no! I always followed the prophet. I-i never! The sinners, I killed them. All of them! I did as Knoth commanded! I did-" Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Her screams did too as they slammed their blades into her. Yanking on her to ruthlessly separate her skin from its muscle. Blake couldn't watch a moment longer. Flashes of Lynn's death by butchering merged with Marta's. He had, had enough. His legs were shaking when he stood.
"STOP!" His command froze the rioting town to look up. "Knoths barely dead and still you keep killing each other. What's wrong with you all? Can't you stop for one day?! Look around you. Your homes are burning and most of you are dead in the streets. Aren't you tired of it yet? Go the fuck home!" His legs shook the entire time after being so stiffly seated he feared collapse. Using the pick axe, if it could be called that anymore, he carefully sat back down.
The townspeople looked between one another without a word. Sounds of crackling fires filled the quiet void between them. Looking down they released the wire carving their own hands. Weapons to tools were dropped at their feet. Walking silent back into their homes not a single person wasn't covered in muck mixed bloody wounds. Abandoning their savage execution of Marta. Who, once the crowd was gone, struggled back to her feet. Blake couldn't see her face with it held low, but he could hear her heavy breathing. As she stood still, he was able to see how badly her injuries were. wires still wrapped tight around her neck. Pale skin stained red as bits dangled off from where they partly skinned her. Enough blood dripping off her finger tips to leave a trail in her path. Limping off into the night between buildings with wires dragging behind her. Blake wasn't sure if she'd survive long while covered in so many wounds. Sighing at the silence blanketing the town with dawn around the corner.
Back to watching the world below him he peered through the lit up windows. People sitting lifelessly around dinner tables. Some grabbed rags to at least clean themselves. Others prayed desperately or read the false gospel papers Knoth wrote for them. Each house discovering the next person to blame, the almighty God himself. He saw so many tear down the crosses decorating their houses. Some yelling at God for what happened or why. Some sobbing in front of candle lit holy alters they dare not ruin. Blake twitched a smile when he saw a few destroying Knoths papers. Many others he couldn't see or, judging by the dark windows, went straight to bed. The last few remaining outside couldn't return home as theirs were turned to a pile of ashes. Sleeping on chairs, benches or gathered in prayer circles. Those breaking up to search out a place to sleep.
When the sky gained a brighter blue hue a light rain storm rolled in. rainfall washing away the blood soaked ground. Snuffing out the remaining fire to smoky embers across the heaps of ashes. Thirsty, Blake took the time to drink up what he could. Slightly refreshed with more old muck washed from him. The idea to come down still didn't cross his mind. He was content to stay on the roof. until when? He didn't consider. His mind, body and spirit lacked the energy to even do the simplest of tasks. Noting everyone else was feeling the same this new morning. The explosion of rage last night left everyone exhausted. Maybe even sick as many rubbed their heads of migraines. Turning off bright lights to keep only a few candles up during the storm. No one ate that day from what he could tell. Lightly sipping water here or there being the most. Blake noticed that his own migraine had disappeared despite last night. His skull felt ready to split on the day he killed Knoth. He passed it off as a stress migraine in connection to everything before.
Focusing back on people the prayers were vastly picking up by afternoon. Their blaming turned to pleas of forgiveness. Begging to bring Knoth back to them. A rumor spread somehow that Knoth would be revived like Jesus after three days upon this night, the third night since Knoths death. Many brightened and prayed inside before coming out to do prayer circles in the rain. Heading toward a church that wasn't burned down to, most likely, pray some more. He's not coming back. Blake laughed on the inside. Damn, three nights already? How long have I been up here? Did I sleep for a whole day? Surprised, but not after how exhausted he was when Knoth was struck down.
The night came and went with no holy revival. Townsfolk continued to pray for Knoths return. Being so high on the roof it was easy to hear those speaking below. Even whispers floated up on amazingly well acoustics. He heard them talking between each other that maybe they had to "Wait another night?" One of the few suggestions tossed up as to why Knoth was still a corpse. "Did he revive on the mountain he gained his knowledge?" "That's a bit of traveling to get from there to here." One idea having them all return home. "Is there anything about this in his gospel?" Searching the named papers for any little clue. Those who tore theirs now piecing them back on tables. Grasping at straws only a few returned to trade theories. Giving up to sit back at home.
After that there was no call to action from anybody. Blake felt completely forgotten at this point. Over the next couple days everyone stayed home running on autopilot it felt. They'd wake, eat a can of something, pray, wander around rarely talking with one another. wander some more, pray again before dinner then sleep. When Knoth died it seemed they all did too albeit at a slower pace. On The dawn of the seventh day Blake couldn't ignore something any longer, he was starving. Very literally and rain water could only last him so long up on the roof. Today was the day he decided to come down.
Using the pick to stand his joints popped from their stiff position. Taking a moment for his legs to stabilize before wobbly heading for the bell tower. Looking down to see that, unfortunately, the stairs were melted and collapsed from the fire. Grumbling with a sigh he headed to the end of the roof instead. Searching for a nearby building he could maybe jump to. The closest available was one of those radio poles Blake hated, but it was also a bit of a leap away. I could make it if I ran. Looking behind to plan out his running jump. Measuring through eyeballing it on if he had enough room. Backing up the entire roof's length he gripped on the pick in hand. After everything He didn't want to abandon it anywhere. Finding its weighty presence comforting in his hands alongside the idea he could crack a skull in one hit. Planning to use it for extra tossing momentum he leaned it far back over his shoulder. This is so stupid. He lightly scolded himself for this plan. Leaning low into his run he held enough energy to make the launching leap. Thrusting the pick over and forward to slam into the pole. Creating a loud metal screeching crunch when he hit the horns.
Taking a deep wheezing breath, he made it. Hanging from the pick handle on a pole that at least got him a whole floor lower. Gingerly he moved to get a grip around. Suddenly dropping after a screech of the horns ripped free from their top. He landed down with his weapon still in hand and the horns crashing down onto him. He got to his feet with a groan covered in minor scrapes.
As if the loud metal scraping noise wasn't enough he attracted the attention of some cultists sitting out on their porches. "The Angels down!" He heard one shout.
Ugh, that nickname stuck? Questioning why, as he thought they'd prefer what Knoth called him. Should have stayed on the roof. Not appreciating having more attention called onto his presence. Looking around at cultists watching him from afar. His anxiety spike calmed when it looked like no one was moving for him. He walked around the burnt church. Making it to the front when his energy was drained. Stopping to sit upon the front porch steps. Diving into his thoughts after having not really tapped into them for a week. I get food and then what? If I get better, then what? Head home? Thinking of how empty it would be without Lynn. Do I want to? Could I move on after this? Could I go back to work without her? Could I do it at all? ... I could wander out into the woods and- … Thoughts stopped by his skin prickling in alarm. An approaching danger he was slow to check on. Seeing a dark figure enter the edge of his vision he turned his head to see Marta limping over. He would have jolted if his body had the energy for it. She was clean of most her blood, aside from her neck still choked by bits of barbed wire deeply embedded. Sections of it healed between lots of scabbing. The wires extra length before now gone and the remaining ends looking badly frayed from a jagged cut. Her skin stitched back on in many areas of messy patch work. Dressed in a different set of ragged dark navy robes made tight by beaded strings. She stopped not far from him, her towering form eclipsing the sun over Blake.
He asked her. "Going to kill me?"
Her voice rougher than usual. "It's too late." Asking back. "What now?"
"You're asking me?"
"You struck down our prophet, without Knoth we're all condemned. What are your plans for the world, Angel?"
"I'm not an angel and I'm not Satan either. Don't you get it? All that Knoth preached was bull shit. He's gone and the worlds still here. There's a shit ton of people out there living normal lives. There is no apocalypse or rapture coming or Antichrist in baby's. More are born and raised every day. Your all just a bunch of psychopathic murderers hiding behind a bible. Not even a real one at that. Some words from a madman rapist that thinks he hears God. But where's God now, huh? Pfft, he abandoned this place years ago I'm sure.
Me and Lynn didn't come to deliver evil in this rotten town. We came here to figure out what happened to a poor pregnant girl found along the road side and murdered in a hospital bed. Now my wife was murdered and my child- … Maybe didn't exist. I don't know what the hell else is going on around here. Between the lake of dead fish and the disease running rampant. I've seen a lot of shit that I clearly know now wasn't there at all. Maybe I got mercury poisoning. No way Lynn's pregnancy developed so fast overnight. Whatever caused it, I'm sure you bastards are partly responsible, maybe indirectly, but still. Do whatever the fuck you want. The worlds gonna keep going." He huffed with a look over to a small crowd gathered in the distance watching his and Marta's interaction.
She glanced back to where he did, facing back to inform. "They fetched me. Sayin' the Angel had come down."
He rolled his eyes. They try to rip her apart then beg for her help. He wasn't going to mention that out loud though. "Why call me Angel now? What made the name stick?"
"Angel O Death."
"Ah." he sighed, connecting the rest. Looking around he saw a lot of it, but after Knoths death so much more came all at once. Body's strung up to burning piles and heads topped on poles. It was everyday for them, but now they think the embodiment of death is visiting? At least all of them had a lot less to suffer through. Even if their deaths weren't very peaceful. All the people I've seen caged and tied around here. … Remembering back to the places he ran through. People caged or chained to beds. Were they still alive? Did someone care for them at all this past week? Someone should help them. Glancing around as if he could find someone to do it. Only me. The answer echoed in his head. He turned to Marta. "Do you know where any prisoners of Knoth are? That could still be alive?"
She glanced to the side then back to nod. "Yes, spread out in a few places."
"Can you show me?" He wasn't sure if she'd help at all after what he did, but may as well ask.
"What would happen if I refused an Angel?" Turning to limp in a certain direction. "I can."
Blake took a moment to get up using the pick as a walking stick. Managing to keep pace with Marta even with the heavy weapon. Ignoring the many stares they got while walking past. Some heading back inside. From the sight of him or Marta he wasn't sure. Looking forward to her as she mumbled something. Picking up bits he recognized as more bible verses that she usually spoke before. She went quiet when they stopped before a building. A large barn-like structure with a huge iron lock and chain shutting its front.
"Here are where most are kept. … Knoth had the keys."
"... Ah. Well." he took a deep breath after inspecting the lock. Swinging back the pick to slam it down. Missing the lock he aimed for, instead he bashed a sizable hole into the whole door. Close enough. He shrugged on the inside. Peeking through before he stepped in. It was dark, filled with rusted cages lined against the walls. People maimed, or about to be, shivering wide eyed in the cages at Blake's appearance bearing Marta's staff. Torture equipment lined down the middle covered in blood to bits of meat from the last victim. He stepped down the blood stained concrete to the first cage with someone locked inside. They were starved, but alive enough to lift their head and look at who had entered. Many shivering scared after the loud crash he caused. He inspected the lock, another big iron needing keys. Blake tried his attempt again without missing. His strike sliced the rusted hunk of metal off with a spark. Excited by his success he moved to the next.
The next slave crumpled down under Blake's presence. "Have you come to kill us?"
"No." he answered with a slice of the lock.
"Has Knoth forgiven us?"
Blake paused. "No, Knoths dead. … I killed him." He hesitated to answer the second part. Not knowing how they'd react.
He continued cutting the cages free of their locks to at least allow those to leave. He didn't have a plan further than that, he didn't even have one for himself. Those freed stepped out to lightly gather with each other. Watching Blake go down the line. When he was done he walked back out. Passing by Marta outside waiting for his return. Before they could move to the next place the freed slaves stepped out to follow him. Shrinking back at Marta, shooting them a look. Disapproval laced by disgust in her downward gaze.
"Marta." Blake's call broke her stare. When she moved to lead him onward the slaves cautiously stepped out. Slowly following after him in a closely compact group. He didn't mind that they were following him, but he wasn't sure what they expected.
"You, uh- you guys can do what you want now." Flashing an awkward smile. "You don't have to follow if you don't want to."
They looked between each other lost at the idea of wandering off on their own. Blake stretched his shoulders in a subtle shrug. Wincing at his shoulder sending a bolt of pain. Geeze, what was that from? Feeling along his shoulder he could tell it was badly bruised. From what? Shifting away the ragged curtains still covering him along with his clothing. He saw the massive bruise line left from the first day. The imprint matches well to a certain section of the pick axe handle. Oh yeah. Guessing it didn't hurt sooner since he did a strange hibernation on that roof, refusing to move. Things are gonna catch up with me now. Arriving at the next place he roughly swallowed at what he may be about to see. Going ahead of Marta waiting on the side he stepped through the rickety looking shack. Looking around a corner he was startled back by the sight of someone.
Himself, looking unrecognizable in the mirror's reflection. Fuck, I do look like death. The shredded curtains formed enough of a hooded cloak. Thin from lack of food his face was more gaunt then before. Still mostly pale from the ash not washed away by the rain. Part of it sliced and other parts peeling from being burned. Looking down, parts of his arms were the same. Edges of burnt skin black around the red freshly exposed sections. He grabbed the leftover curtains hanging off him to be rid of it all. Feeling ten pounds lighter already when the fabric was off. Brushing the dead skin about to break away on its own. Stepping forward again he reached a group of poor women. Beds lined up with the women shackled naked to them. They didn't even respond to his presence. He swallowed before stepping in, avoiding looking toward them. Cutting the chains, having the women jolt up. They flinched away from him, understandably. Relaxing only slightly when the others arrived behind him. Doing their best to help by finding bedding to cover them. They joined the growing group of the freed.
On the path of freeing others Blake's crowd grew to a sizable thirty-three freed by the time he was finishing. Others followed, but they were from around Temple Gate. At first Blake feared they would start another fight. Instead they acted pleasant toward those out of their prisons. Reunions were occurring between family's separated under Knoths rule. Many splitting away to their homes they long thought they'd never see again. Others happily surprised their family's weren't long dead while they were locked away.
Further along his task Blake grew more exhausted. struggling to keep freeing people of their shackles at each new destination. If Marta didn't have her limp holding her back he would've fallen behind by now. Passing her into another building to the first he saw shackled to the floor. Catching his breath just after holding the pick axe back in readying to hit. Slamming it down on the lock the blade screeched off the metal followed by a train of sparks. A gouge left behind from the hit, but the lock was still intact. He tried again without success. Guilt eating at him when he failed at breaking the person's chains. Raining only sparks off the scraped lock refusing to budge. Noticing his plight the others looked around. One taking a set of keys off the wall to hold out to him.
Blake caught his breath to speak. "Thank you." Taking the keys to unlock those left. Exiting the building he returned to Marta's side.
This time she didn't move on when he returned. Before he could ask why, she answered. "Those were the last."
"That's all? … No, I remember more." Backtracking his steps when he first entered Temple Gate. "There was a basement with cages. Where's that?"
"Those in the compounds down below escaped. Fled out of Temple Gate off to Val I imagine."
"But Val's dead."
Marta shook her head. "No, I pray that heretic was."