IV. Sacrilege

Show me your face, show me a reason to think
My soul can be saved if I sell you my sins
I'm going blind, but one thing's clear
Death is the only salvation for me

Lucifer Deathrage. 12.
District Twelve Male.

The twenty-fifth year sees District Twelve a land divided, despised, and destroyed.

Along the District fence lie corroded corpses, beasts and bugs alike slowly devouring their flesh. The people are still shivering with dread in the aftermath of a snowstorm unfit for May. The people are still trembling in fear of the next tragedy, the next unholy disaster that'll further their District's descent into misery.

Nobody can agree upon the person behind these horrible deeds. Some say that it's the Peacekeepers, finally taking a stand against the District they're oddly biased against. Others say that the slaughter is but an unfortunate coincidence. Only a few know the truth. Only a few know the true identity of the man who's left Twelve to crumble in his palms. Only a few know about the man who's locked away in a compound, waiting for his moment to strike.

And those who know say he's the son of the devil himself.

"Oh, darling," his mother Lilith coos one chilly morning in late June. "It's nearly your thirteenth birthday. Are you getting excited?"

"Of course I'm excited!" young Lucifer Deathrage enthuses in response. "Do you think I'll be able to have a party?"

There was a time where Lucy's mothers kept him hidden from the world. They didn't allow him many friends in the compound, claiming that he was too important to socialize with "mere commoners." They claimed isolation was necessary so that he could "harness his true nature," and thus he was raised in a world of shadows.

"Most definitely. It's not every day the antichrist himself turns thirteen."

Antichrist. It's a word that's been thrown at Lucy since the day he was born. Even now, he's not quite sure what it means. People oft' tell him stories about his father, claiming he was the embodiment of the Dark Days. They tell Lucy that one day he, too, will become a human apocalypse, that his father will be oh-so-proud of him. But all Lucy knows is what he's heard; he's still never met the man.

"Can we invite my dad?" He raises his eyebrow and asks the question that's been plaguing his mind for weeks.

His mother's expression suddenly shifts from serenity to panic. She ruffles her fingers through his hair and sighs. "Are you sure you want to do that, dear?"

"Why wouldn't I be sure?" Lucy cocks his head in unamusement. He tries to keep his temper under control around his parents, but sometimes he simply can't help himself - it's almost like he's been possessed. "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure."

Lilith continues to fret, her hands visibly shaking. "I just don't know if it's the best idea."

"Why's that?"

He's been taught to love his father unconditionally, but at times, Lucy finds it hard. How is he supposed to be devoted to a man who hasn't shown his face around the compound once in nearly thirteen years?

His mother sighs. "To be completely honest, I'm not sure he'd show up even if we did invite him."

Lucy rolls his eyes. It's exactly the answer he was expecting from her, and oh how it makes him want to scream. She's clearly keeping a secret from him, and he's sick and tired of it. Doesn't she know that the truth always has an odd way of revealing itself?

"It's got to be worth a try," he continues to plead. In all honesty, Lucy's not sure what he's even gaining from this interaction. Even if he does successfully convince Lilith to invite his hellfiend father to his thirteenth birthday party, he sincerely doubts that the man will actually appear.

(There's a lot that Lucifer Deathrage doubts in this world. After being locked away for so long, he often finds himself wondering how much of his world is real.)

"We can ask your other mother if you'd like." Lilith compromises, which is probably for the best, since Lucy's now on the verge of another tantrum. The last time he bursted into a fit of rage, a quadrant of one of Twelve's mines "coincidentally" collapsed.

He nods. "I'd like that, yes please."

As he walks through the hallways to his mothers' bedchambers, Lucy hears a voice reaching out to him through the cracks in the wall.

It asks him, "π•¬π–—π–Š π–žπ–”π–š π–—π–Šπ–†π–‘π–‘π–ž π–‰π–”π–šπ–‡π–™π–Žπ–“π–Œ 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕴 π–Šπ–π–Žπ–˜π–™ π–†π–Œπ–†π–Žπ–“?"

"π”π”’π”žπ”³π”’ π”ͺ𝔒 π”žπ”©π”¬π”«π”’, π”‡π”žπ”‘." He rolls his eyes. "ℑ𝔣 𝔢𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔒 π”―π”’π”žπ”©, 𝔴π”₯𝔢 π”žπ”―π”’π”«'𝔱 𝔢𝔬𝔲 π”₯𝔒𝔯𝔒 𝔯𝔦𝔀π”₯𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔴?"

"𝕴'𝖑𝖑 π–ˆπ–”π–’π–Š π–œπ–π–Šπ–“ π–™π–π–Š π–™π–Žπ–’π–Š π–Žπ–˜ π–—π–Žπ–Œπ–π–™," the voice says. "𝕬𝖓𝖉 π–žπ–”π–š π–π–“π–”π–œ π–œπ–π–Šπ–“ 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 π–Žπ–˜, 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 π–žπ–”π–š?"

"π”šπ”₯𝔒𝔫 β„‘ 𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔢 π”₯π”žπ”―π”«π”’π”°π”° π”ͺ𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔒𝔯𝔰," Lucy replies, slightly annoyed.

Lilith taps him on the shoulder. "You're lost in thought again. Your father was speaking to you, wasn't he?"

"He was, yes," he admits. "He said he'll only reveal himself when I fully harness my powers."

"Is that not what I told you? Do you now see why I said it was a bad idea to invite him?"

"I suppose." Lucy merely shrugs his shoulders.

Based on the last year or so of his life, Lucy likes to think that he's fully harnessed his powers. If he hasn't, then how could you explain the swarm of flies that took out a group of loyalists? If he hasn't, how could you explain the tornados and snowstorms all around the District?

If he hasn't, Lucy's almost afraid of what he'll be capable of when he finally peaks.

(Or maybe this is all just a sick coincidence.)

They finally reach their destination, Lilith gently knocking on the door. "I probably should've asked you before I knocked, but do you still want to talk to her?"

Before he has the chance to say anything, a voice from inside the room shouts, "Come inside!"

"It's not like I have a choice now," he mutters.

He walks inside the bedchamber to see his other mother perched eloquently on her red-velvet chair. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling casts a kaleidoscope of light onto the ground whilst she smirks. She raises her left hand and beckons Lucy towards her.

"What a pleasant surprise!" she drawls, her voice a dark, husky tone. "I wasn't expecting my most darling son to visit me so early in the day, but of course I'm not going to say no to your company."

Lucy sits on the stool by her chair, Lilith standing behind him.

"He wanted to invite his father to his birthday party, Countess," she explains to her wife. "I already told him why that's a bad idea, and he agreed with me, thankfully. Still, he wanted to see you."

"I'm not allowed to meet him until I've fully harnessed my powers," Lucy reiterates.

Countess kneels down and lifts his head with her thumb. "That's exactly right, Lucifer my beloved."

Even though she's not his mother by blood, she loves him as if she was. She took in Lilith when she was pregnant and has been at Lucy's side since the moment he was born. Though he doesn't know much about her past, she claims she's raising him in her spitting image. Countess raised him to be proper and poised, only letting ferocity reign over his mind when absolutely necessary. Their weekly hunts in the forest remain some of Lucy's fondest childhood memories.

"Can you see my frustration, though?" Lucy asks her, hoping she'll be able to sympathize. She's always understood him more than Lilith has.

"Definitely. I know what it's like to be confused, and to struggle with your identity. Believe me, I did so for a long time. Your father did too."

"He did?" Lucy's brows raise in excitement. "I never knew that."

"Of course he did," Countess answers. "Even if your father is far from human, he has still struggled like one. Why else would we all be so fond of him? Why else would we all be so desperate to please him."

Lucy's desperate too, even if he isn't sure why. Surely there are better people for him to worship - people who actually pay attention to him even if he's not fully invincible yet. Maybe he'll understand once he does reach his full potential.

(Maybe he never will. Maybe he's doomed to be a slave to the chaos he doesn't understand for the rest of his life.)

"You're right," he says, just as he knows he should. His eyes dart underneath his mother's bed, where a black paw's peeking out from the bedskirt. Lucy laughs. "Mischief? Mayhem? Which one of you's underneath there?"

"Oh, well, then I'll just get going." Lilith makes a hasty exit back towards the door..

The cats have a habit of scratching at her. In fact, they have a habit of scratching and hissing and anybody who isn't Countess or Lucy.

Once the door shuts behind her, a red-eyed critter emerges. He prances towards Lucy, sitting on the ground beneath his feet and offering him a purr. "Good morning, Mischief!"

Countess echos him, "Good morning, sweet little thing."

Mischief cocks his head backwards and hisses.

Lucifer smirks. "I think he's hungry."

"Makes sense," his mother responds. "What do you say you go out on a hunt to get him and his brother some food."

"All by myself?" Lucy asks. He's only been hunting alone a few times, and even then, he wasn't completely by himself - his henchman, Roach, was with him.

"Lord no, that's too dangerous," Countess says, leaving Lucy a smidge disappointed. "Take Roach with you, and maybe that friend you two made in town."

"Vionei?" Just his name is enough to make Lucy shudder. He met the older boy one day in the Hob when he was offered a cigarette. Lucy accepted it immediately, noticing a sense of familiarity in his eyes. He immediately decided that Vionei was in fact a succubus, and that's why he's so drawn to him. Lucy also can't deny just how handsome he is, though he doesn't have time to engage in something as juvenile as romance, especially not when he has hellfire and damnation to reap.

Countess nods. "Sure, take him with you. I'm sure you boys will have a great time."

Truth be told, it's been hard for Lucy to have "fun" lately. He's growing up far quicker than he ever thought he would, and as a result, his world is making less and less sense. There's so much that Lucy wants to believe, and yet he fears someday he won't be able to.

"I hope so."

There's an awkward pause before Lucy continues to speak. "Can I ask you something, mom?" For the first time in a while, his voice shakes.

Countess smiles. "Of course you can, dear. You can always ask me anything!"

"Right." Lucy feels his palms beginning to sweat. "I was just wondering if you think I'll ever be good enough for my father. I'm starting to doubt it, and as a result, I'm starting to doubt whether or not he's real. He talks to me in my dreams, yeah, but I'm still just..." He looks down at the ground in shame. "You know what? Forget I said anything."

He stands up to leave, but Countess grabs onto his wrist before he gets the chance.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, sweetie," she says, sitting him back down on the stool and reclaiming her throne. "I promise though. One day your father's going to appear, and he's going to be so incredibly proud of you. In fact, you're already doing a great job. The only reason he hasn't shown himself is because he knows you're capable of more. And I know it too."

"Really?" Lucy asks, fire in his eyes. "You really think I'm doing a great job?"

"Of course I do," his mother extends her arm and strokes his cheek. "That Peacekeeper's head didn't fall off all by itself. Those snowstorms didn't happen naturally. It was all you, Lucy! Believe me, your father is proud of you already. All you can do is make him even more proud."

"I will." Lucy crouches down and cradles Mischief in his arms. "I'll make him proud, and you proud, and Mom proud. I'll make everybody down here proud too, and then all of Twelve. And then I'll make all of Panem proud of me!"

"That's the spirit!"

And so, Lucifer Deathrage emerges from the compound that day with a sinister smile.

The people in the streets tremble at his visage, but Roach and Vionei follow him with glee. He's not sure why everybody is so afraid of him. He's not sure if people truly do suspect him of his crimes since his mothers frequently swear that they don't.

There's so much that he isn't sure of, and he knows that as he gets older, he'll be sure of even less. That's just a part of life, right?

Maybe one day, things will make sense. Maybe one day, Lucy's father will actually be proud of him. At least the world bends and breaks at his will, and it'll continue to do so until the day he dies. He just hopes that in the far future, when his day of reckoning comes, he'll be able to say he finally understands.

For now, he'll settle for wreaking chaos on Twelve with every step he takes.

Aleister Darski. 18.
District Nine Male.

He hates that it's gotten to this point.

For so long, Alesiter's mother, Cornelia, has put him in a box. For so long, she's wrapped him around her finger, oh-so eager to shape him into something he isn't.

"Stand up straight, Aleister! If you don't, the devil's going to knock you over."

"Pay attention, Aleister! The priest is just trying to guide you onto a path to righteousness."

"Keep quiet, Aleister! Nobody wants to hear you questioning the lord's words."

His childhood was full of his parents' bullshit musings. They'd ramble on and on about a man in the sky who's somehow able to solve everything and heal the world. With every sermon, Aleister could feel them becoming more and more tone-deaf to the world around them. With every prayer, Aleister's parents became more and more zealous for salvation.

If only they knew the truth. If only they knew what Aleister knows now: the world is a terrible, awful, place, and there's no use in sugarcoating it. No "god" can fix a place as broken and desolate as Panem, and it's absurd of people to believe that one exists. It's insane of Aleister's parents to raise him to believe there is hope when humanity as a whole is completely and utterly doomed.

Maybe he'd be happier if he just accepted that his parents were cursed from the start.

Aleister did everything he could to save them. Night after night, he concealed himself in the shadows, drawing his own blood and spilling it into a vial. He'd close his eyes and cast a spell, the same way Olve (his Olve) and LaVay (may his name be remembered forever) taught him.

Night after night, Aleister prayed, just as his parents taught him. But he didn't pray to the cloud-borne savior his parents clamored for. No, instead he aimed his pleas to the Devil himself, a sickly man resting six-feet-under, the only truth in this wicked world. The Devil doesn't lie to Aleister- no, the Devil doesn't lie to anybody. The Devil sees the world as it truly is: cruel, unfortunate, and vile. The Devil's accepted that humanity is a hopeless cause, and he won't rest until everybody gives into chaos, fully accepting that the world they inhabit is no longer able to be salvaged.

When they first began their misadventures together, Olve told him, "There are people who won't like you because of what we're going to do together."

At the time, Alesiter dismissed him. How could anybody possibly scorn such a valiant warrior for truth? But now he knows that nobody cherishes those with knowledge. Instead, he and his companions are feared, and that is a compliment far more impressive than love.

His parents never loved him. If they did, they would've allowed him to fly instead of sealing him away in a cage of affluence and privilege. If they did, they would've cultivated his interest in the unknown instead of shutting him out again and again and again…

Because Aleister's parents were never capable of loving him, the best they can do is be filled with fear for the son they didn't deserve.

(His father certainly was when the flames climbed up his pants, the lurid scent of his flesh filling the forest air. Ophir Darski screamed as his skin seared from the flickering orange hues. He gripped the pillar of wood with every last bit of life left in him, but it wasn't enough.

Much like how Alestier's spells didn't show his father the truth of the world and all its atrocities, Ophir's aggrieved yells didn't do a thing.)

(All they did was make Aleister feel more powerful, more divine. For the first time in his life, Alesiter Darski truly felt free.)

Hence why he's decided it's best that his mother meet her husband in the depths of Hell. Like Ophir, Cornelia was incapable of learning the truth on earth, but Aleister sincerely hopes the Devil is willing to educate her once she's home in his realm of shadows.

It's laughable that Cornelia was excited to see her son when he went to retrieve her. She said to Aleister, "Oh honey! It's been so long. Have you finally come to your senses?"

He didn't have a response. Of course it'd been months since he'd seen her. Aleister was all but certain he'd given up on her. Or at least, he was until Olve reminded him there was a way to set her free.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Olve asks. He darts his eyes to the center of their makeshift stage, where Cornelia writhes beneath the ropes binding her to the stake.

Aleister rolls his eyes. "You know, you said the exact same thing when it was my father."

"And I meant it then too, my besotted," he quickly replies. "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I'm just saying, it's the only way toβ€”"

"The only way for her to truly be free of all her earthly damnations." Aleister finishes Olve's sentence before he gets the chance. "I know, dear."

Of course, Aleister's incredibly fond of his lover. He has been since the moment their paths crossed purely out of chance. Still, there's something about Olve that's been grating at him lately. Yes, Olve's the one who showed Aleister the truth about the world and all its darkness, but that doesn't give the man an excuse to chastise him. Aleister listened intently to Olve's teaching. He knows the purpose of everything he's done and everything he will do, and he doesn't love being talked down to like a callow mortal.

No, Aleister Darski is far from simplistic mortality. Though he has yet to reach his full potential, he's ascended beyond the blinded man he once was. Still, he cannot become the divine Devil's servant Olve claims he's destined to become if he's still being treated like he doesn't know shit.

"Right." Olve nods solemnly, careful not to let the golden crown fall off his head. "Does that mean you're ready to begin?"

"Give me a minute, please." Aleister folds the velveteen edges of his cloak over his chest and hunches his shoulders forward in an attempt to look as meek as possible.

While his mother screams, Aleister's siblings Karolina and Milos watch helplessly from where they're chained to a bench. As their older brother approaches them, they both shudder in fear.

"Hey now," Aleister attempts to soothe them. "I promise, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Right, because I totally believe that," Karolina sneers. "Whatever you did to father, you're going to do to mother, and then to both of us."

That's… untrue.

Unlike Aleister's parents, too far gone in their ignorance and fanaticism, there's still hope for young Karolina and Milos. They're younger than Aleister was when he learned the truth, and, provided they're willing to listen to LaVey and his teachings, they'll both be able to understand soon enough.

(And thank the Devil for that. Though he'd never admit it, Aleister undeniably misses their company. Him and Karolina used to converse about how affluence and sin are two sides of the same coin. While he and Milos often butted heads, Aleister misses the rush when he proved himself right. He was once just as ignorant as Milos. He's sure that his younger brother will soon have the gauze lifted from his eyes.)

"I won't, I swear," Aleister promises them. "Can you trust me?"

"Considering you killed our father, um no." Karolina rolls her eyes. "Absolutely not."

She makes a fair point, he thinks, a sinister chuckle escaping his lips. "What can I do to win back your certitude?"

"Not kill us," Milos suggests. Aleister's pleasantly surprised to see that he doesn't appear to value their mother the same way Karolina suddenly does. It's as if he and his sister's late night conversations where they promised they'd get out of the house and make everything better no longer mean a thing now that Aleister's actually done it.

(His one regret is not taking Karolina with him, but Olve claimed it was too risky. He told Aleister that LaVey only had the capacity to enlighten one person at a time, which he now knew was a lie, but at the time, Aleister believed Olve. When he confronted his lover about this, Olve admitted his lie was for the purpose of getting close to Aleister without any distractions, because he wanted him fully and completely. He's never had his heart melt the way it did in that moment. Embarrassing.)

"I won't, I swear to the Devil I won't," Aleister pledges again. "If either of you are somehow put in harm's way, you're fully permissible to kill me."

Even if Aleister did somehow do something to harm both his siblings, the joke's on them. The fire that burns inside of him can't be nulled, not when the Devil himself is pouring kerosene in his soul.

"Are you done yet?" Olve calls from several yards away. "I don't mean to alarm you, but she's getting a bit impatient."

Aleister tilts his head and looks his mother in the eyes. As she tries (and fails) to squirm free from her bindings, her eyes glimmer with unbridled fear and unspilled tears. It's an expression Alesiter recognizes all too well. People once told him that he had his mother's eyes, and the statement holds true even now. Aleister appeared just as shocked when he learned that all of his parents' teachings were pathetic little lies. Perhaps Karolina would be less afraid if she was more open to the truth.

(Aleister still doesn't understand why his spells didn't work on his parents. He channeled all his strength and all of the dark magic that he'd been given, and yet… nothing happened. His casting had never failed him before, but in his most crucial moment, the sorcery somehow let him down.)

"Yes, I'm ready," Aleister says, sauntering towards Olve with his head now held high.

A startled noise escapes his mother's mouth, but the gag between her lips prevents it from being at all comprehensible. It's still enough for his lip to curl in disgust at the pathetic display before him.

"This is your fault!" Aleister scoffs at her. "You're the one who left me inhibited for far too long. You're the one who guarded me from reaching my full potential. You're the one who refused to believe the truth."

He kneels down to grab the can of oil Olve so generously set aside for him. No matter how hard he tries to pretend otherwise, Aleister's hands tremble as he walks closer and closer to his mother.

With a grunt, Aleister flicks his wrist, sending the oil splashing against his mother's skin. He keeps his head facing the ground, knowing that the hysteria in her eyes will just distract him.

(Why can't he look her in the eyes? Does this mean he actually regrets what he's doing? Why can't he just look at her. It's what the Devil would want, and yet…)

"Lighter?" He turns his head over his shoulder and extends his hand towards Olve. The sounds of his siblings' screams fill his ears, but Aleister pretends they're noises of admiration instead of fear. That's the only way he'll be able to do this.

Olve hands Aleister the lighter, which he flicks once, twice, until it emits a small flame. He presses it against his mother's wrist with a twisted grin. "This was your choice, not mine."

He drags the lighter up and down her arms, and then over her chest. Though his mother kicks at his shins, fighting with everything in her, Aleister pays her no mind. A reaction is exactly what his mother wants, and therefore a reaction is exactly what she won't get.

As the flames begin eating at her skin and consuming her body whole, Aleister carefully steps away from the carnage. The putrid smell is one he's now familiar with, so this time Aleister doesn't gag. There's no need to, not when he has total control over this moment.

All he can do is smile, but he's only able to look his mother in the eyes once her face has become completely disfigured by the fire. He stands proudly at Olve's side and presses a kiss on his earlobe. "I told you that I could do this."

Aleister turns to see Milos on the ground, passed out in fear, and the shell-shocked expression on Karolina's face is bordering on disgust and hatred.

"You're insane," she spits at him.

"So what if I am," Aleister says, shrugging his shoulders. "This world was destined for insanity. I'm just adapting before it's too late."

When the inferno that was once Cornelia Darski finally runs its course, all that's left is a heap of black ashes on the ground where she once stood. Aleister approaches the pile and runs his hands through it, the soft texture somewhat surprising him. Serves her right to suddenly turn into nothing, he muses. He brushes his hands on his thighs and looks up towards the sky. I guess there really is no such thing as a man in the sky who can solve all of her problems.

No, the world itself is too big of a problem for anybody or anything to fix, and it's Aleister Darski's job to ensure it shatters further.

If he could never be repaired, the world doesn't deserve to be either.

Olathe Whitethorn. 18.
District Seven Male.

"Take it easy for tonight, boys! We'll get it in the morning."

"Are you sure the Graggoth even exists?"

"Of course it exists! Hell, I swore I saw it yesterday."

"You don't even know what it looks like. How can you be sure?"

"Well, whatever I saw, it looked exactly what a Graggoth should look like."

"I think you're becoming delusional, Calidus."

Olathe chuckles to himself from behind a bush as the sun falls over the Hissing Woods. Another day where he's gone completely unnoticed. Another day where, in spite of the myriad Peacekeepers hot on his trail, Olathe has lived to see the stars rise into the sky.

Good lord, they've been at it for months now, he muses, collecting the berries he harvested into a small satchel. When are they going to realize that I'm inexorable?

He swings his bag over his shoulder and sighs. Why can't they just leave me the fuck alone?

There was a time when Olathe was unsettled by the men in white who stood for nothing good in this world. His parents always warned him to stay away from the Peacekeepers, telling him about their dangerous and wicked ways, and for the most part they were right. Tayen and Nodin Whitethorn did, however, neglect to tell their son just how idiotic Peacekeepers can be if their buttons are properly pressed.

(That's knowledge his parents likely were never privy too. Olathe wishes he too had the good fortune of never having to go near one of those rabid barbarians, but such is life. He mustn't complain when, in all actuality, he's the lucky one.)

A white light flashes in Olathe's peripherals. He rises to his feet and brushes the dirt off his tattered pants. Careful not to make a sound, he begins his journey back to his cottage. He notices the light growing closer to him, but doesn't fret. Why should he? A Peacekeeper's never caught him in the flesh before. Now's not going to be any different.

(It's always Olathe who does the catching. He's always the predator, never their prey.)

The light fades away as Olathe's hand-built dwelling grows nearer. Once he's sure that whoever was tracking him is gone, he takes a moment to catch his breath.

A gust of wind sends leaves brushing against Olathe's ankles, prompting him to look downwards.

"Is something nearby?" he mutters to himself. "I'm not in danger, am I?"

Of course he isn't. There hasn't ever been a time when Olathe Whitethorn was legitimately in danger.

(At least, not since the fateful day Head Peacekeeper Calidus ruined everything.

Olathe remembers trembling behind his father, tears in his eyes as the men in white took everything he'd ever known, everything he'd ever loved and loaded them with bullets. He remembers his mother whispering in his ear that she loved him as she fell to the ground. He remembers his father telling him to run into the forest and get revenge before he collapsed just the same.

Since then, Olathe hasn't had the privilege of being afraid. He's had to grow into his own man, and he knows better than putting himself directly in harm's way.)

"Oh, Graggoth!" Olathe hears a deep male voice shout from afar. "You can't hide from me forever!"

The absurd nickname Seven's endowed upon him always makes him snicker. They speak of him as though he's a mythic beast, a monster who feeds on the blood of innocents. If only they'd thought once in their lives and realized it's only ever been the lives of Peacekeepers claimed by their so-called "Graggoth." Perhaps then they'd be less afraid to let their children go out at night and more willing to abolish the force that a "heinous beast" clearly was biased against.

Then again, why should Olathe expect any intelligible thoughts from mere fools? Why should he expect competence from a group that turned a blind eye while his beloved parents were sentenced to death just for trying to keep their son out of harm's way?

"I'm coming for you!" The voice is louder this time. Though its carrier is trying to sound strong, Olathe can hear their voice quaver. Oh how he wishes he didn't have to be someone that commoners fear. A shame he wasn't given a choice.

He licks his lips, digs his hand down his back pocket to ensure his favorite knife is still there, and smirks. This should be fun…

Olathe walks towards the pond near his home, moonlight glistening against his long, raven-colored hair. He maintains a neutral expression on his face, but his dark, smoldering eyes, still look ahead. Footsteps sound in the same direction as the mystery voice, growing louder and louder untilβ€”

"Oh, you're not the Graggoth!" A Peacekeeper stops in front of the small lake. "I'm so sorry, ma'am, I justβ€”"

"Sir," Olathe corrects the officer, batting his eyes like the innocent man he could've been. "Do tell me though, what is this 'Graggoth' you speak of?"

"I suppose it's the least I can do since I disturbed you," the Peacekeeper replies, sitting down alongside the pond and dipping the toes of his boots into the water.

It's hard for Olathe not to laugh when he knows exactly where this conversation is going. It's even harder for him to show restraint and not just kill the bastard now.

"Right, so there's this monster who roams these forests brutally murdering people, and it's known as the 'Graggoth," the Peacekeeper begins. Olathe nods his head, pretending he gives even the slightest of fucks about the false lore behind him. "I want to be the one who catches it. It's gotten to so many of my colleagues, and I just need it gone. As the Head Peacekeeper, it's my duty, you know? I'm shocked you haven't heard of the Graggoth. It's always in the news."

The title "Head Peacekeeper" instantly sends a shiver down Olathe's spine. He's spent year after year in search of the man who ruined his youth. There's no way in hell the man he's speaking to is Calidus. That'd be too easy. Perhaps Seven has a second Head Peacekeeper now?

"I prefer to live a quiet life," Olathe explains, not half wrong. The loudest sounds he regularly hears are Peacekeepers screaming in hopes he'll have mercy on them. "Call it blissful ignorance, but I've always been happier with my head up in the clouds, not paying much attention to the world beyond these woods."

The officer hardly pays attention to what he's saying, instead fiddling with the seal around his helmet. Olathe guides one of his hands atop the Peacekeepers and whispers. "You don't have to wear that if you don't want to, you know."

He nods, beginning to unhook his helmet. "Right. I know I don't I just getβ€”"

"So used to living behind a mask, you don't know who you are without it?" Olathe recites the same speech he gave to twenty-five other Peacekeepers before he rid the world of them. "You see me here, living life unaware and unafraid, and you're a bit jealous, aren't you?"

"How did you know?" The Peacekeeper lifts the helmet off his head and throws it aside. Olathe recognizes the shining blond hair and the glittering blue eyes that now stare deep into his soul. Calidus. Even more so than before, it's hard for Olathe to resist his urge to slit the man's throat.

He tells himself, Good things are worth the wait. This will definitely be….

"It was just a lucky guess," Olathe answers Calidus' question. "I've never met a Peacekeeper before, so really, I didn't know what to say."

"Well, I've never met somebody quite like you before, so I guess we're even." The officer's hand crawls on the ground towards Olathe's, and he has to fight to keep his own hand still.

He can't help but ask, "What do you mean, like me?"

Olathe knows that Calidus is lying. He met Olathe's parents and didn't even give them a chance to talk before shooting them. If he had, he would've heard Olathe's mother say that the only reason she didn't take her son to his first reaping was because she was trying to protect him from the dangers of the world. He would've heard Tayen Whitethorn call herself a pacifist, and say that the world was better off without a pageant of murder that's turned heaven into hell. Maybe she could've changed the Head Peacekeeper's mind. If he'd only listened, maybe everything would be different now.

Calidus smiles. "You're just… effervescent."

"That's the first time someone's ever told me that." Now Olathe's the one who's lying. Each and every one of the Peacekeepers he killed went on and on about how he's utterly gorgeous. What a shame it's given him a bit of an ego.

Olathe lets his left hand crawl up to Calidus' chin. "You're not bad yourself, you know."

"I feel like I'm dreaming," the much older man admits. "Just moments ago, all I cared about was catching the Graggoth, but nowβ€”"

"You can kiss me, if you'd like." Olathe once again cuts him off. In all honesty, hearing Peacekeepers profess their love to him has gotten a bit boring. He's heard enough of the same compliments again and again - lord knows he more than believes them. He much prefers just getting to the meat of things.

Calidus nods, signaling Olathe to lock his lips with his. As much as he wants to puke at the fact he's swapping saliva with his enemy, he knows it's all for a greater good. He knows that temporary disgust is worth the joy he'll feel once the bastard's dead.

(Discomfort is nothing compared to the pain Olathe's parents felt as they laid their lives down for him.)

Olathe deepens the kiss, trapping Calidus in his lust enough so the officer doesn't notice when Olathe's body shifts so he can grab the knife from his pocket with his right hand.

He pulls away, bites his lip, and smiles. Calidus brings his fingers to Olathe's chin and whispers, "You're… just... so…"

"Wait, I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I?" Olathe asks. Without pausing for an answer, he plunges his knife into Calidus's side, feeling warm blood splatter onto his shirt. "You can call me the Graggoth."

The officer recoils in immediate pain and screams, "What the fuck?"

"That's a really dumb name, by the way," Olathe says, twisting the blade deeper into the man's flesh, allowing his blood to stain the lake's water red. "I wasn't expecting much from you common folk, but 'Graggoth' is just horrendous."

"Get off me!" Calidus hisses, trying desperately to push him away. He swings his fist at Olathe's face, but the boy merely ducks his head.

As the officer wordlessly yells, Olathe pulls the blade from beneath his skin with a sΗ«α΄œα΄‡ΚŸα΄„Κœ. He wipes the blood on his pant-leg before tearing through the fabric of his shirt, watching as more blood wells to the surface. Olathe smirks, then drawls, "Sorry that I had to shut you up, big guy. I just wanted to give you a little talking to."

Calidus continues to scream and struggle as the boy speaks over him, slowly cutting deeper and deeper into his chest. "You may not remember this, but we've met once before. It was six years ago, just a week after the reaping, and you killed my mother and father before proceeding to burn my family home to the ground. All my parents wanted was to protect me from the cruelties of the world you unfortunately contribute to. It's a shame that you don't have anybody to protect you now. I'm afraid I have to kill you."

Olathe uses his left hand to push firmly against Calidus' forehead, exposing the tender flesh of his neck. He watches the fear flicker in Calidus' eyes, but by this point he's numb to it. He's spent too long waiting for this moment to give it up now. "Actually, I'm not afraid. You're finally getting what's coming to you."

All it takes is a single quick movement, and it's over. Olathe pays no mind to the scarlet that splatters onto his face as Calidus' jaw goes slack, and the man's once-blue eyes soul roll over in his head into an alabastrine white. In fact, as Olathe lets his pallid body fall to the ground, he can't help but smile.

"Finally," he whispers to himself, looking up at the moon that hangs above him. "Mother and Father, I've finally gotten your justice!"

Olathe rises to his feet and swings his body in the wind, ignoring the footsteps that stomp in his direction. For the first time in his life, it's as if an overbearing weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He's finally achieved his mission. Finally, the world is without Seven's most heinous man, and his parents can rest knowing their precious son got vengeance for the way the world treated them.

Even as five Peacekeepers watch him with a mix of shock and horror in their eyes, Olathe doesn't care. He did what had to be done, and it's not like Calidus can be brought back to life. As the officers tackle him to the ground and place cuffs around his wrists, the only thing Olathe can do is laugh.

Seven may think it's getting some grand form of revenge by ripping Olathe Whitethorn from his woods, but the damage he's done shall never be repaired.

In the end, he always gets what he wants. In the end, the world shall be his and only his.

The House of The Wolves - Bring Me The Horizon

Look I know this chapter was insane, but consider this, I had fun and that's what matters.

Thank you very muchly to Haiden for Lucy, Void for Aleister, and Dyl for Olathe. These boys were very special, and I had way more fun writing for them then I should've. Y'all already know that I'm a whore, don't act surprised. Kudos to Laney for putting her whole betussy into making sure this makes at least a surface level amount of sense.

Next week, we're beginning the Reapings with three more special friends of mine that I'm very excited for you to meet. Thank you everybody for all the love you've given this story thus far, I really do enjoy hearing your thoughts on what's probably going to be my most batshit story, or at least my most camp one.

Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds

PS. I've been saying "Fuck this shit, I'm out" for a year and a half. How would we feel if I changed it? No idea what I'd change it to, but it's worth asking.