THE KINGDOM

The Judgement at Christ's Coming

"This is evidence of the righteous judgment of God, and is intended to make you worthy of the kingdom of God, for which you are also suffering. For it is indeed just of God to repay with affliction those who afflict you, and to give relief to the afflicted as well as to us, when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven with his mighty angels in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus."

— 2 Thessalonians 1:5-9

DECEMBER 5TH 2039

10:59PM MST

UNKNOWN


Communion was a righteous affair that night. The blood of Christ nourished, cleansed and brought forth a sense of righteousness only achieved by the damning of souls and the purging of His holy lands. God was good, Esteban was his hands. And the damned abomination was a thorn in his side.

If her blood smelled better, he would have fed her to his congregation by now.

She was fortunate enough that her scent did not tempt their tastes and that the sound of her deplorable, foreign heart elicited no hunger from those loyal to Him. Her curious existence was of no worth to him despite her apparent importance to the soldiers of the Volturi.

What good was a weapon who expressed such remorse?

Despite her accursed ways, Esteban found relief in watching her hunt. She was not a full demon. She was other in so many ways. The way she moved confounded his frustrations. The lives of the demons mattered more to her than the lives of the humans and the fact that she saw value in either proved some ailment within her.

Esteban had fed already, twice. He always fed first; that was the way of communion. It wasn't until each hunting party returned to him that he would go back out again and retrieve. They had lost three holy souls tonight, delivered unto Him from the hands of their enemy with haste.

He would turn six more tonight and with any luck, four would remain by the end of the week.

Two followers that had earned the rank of disciple with this last mission, and they would be blessed by his venom soon enough if his followers up north did not return successful from their mission.

Esteban waited in the large, main room for the rest of his own to return. The Volturi members did not waste time with their hunts and had arrived back at the chapel before even he had returned. He always prayed before and after his meals and did not deign to be hurried on.

He did not enjoy the glances he received when they noted that he had returned alone and his followers were enjoying the freedom of Communion without his constant supervision. There were not enough towns in the area and traveling had been a necessary part of the receiving of tonight's sacrament.

For all of the Volturi's strength and influence Esteban laughed at the thought that they might believe themselves to be the only ones capable of instilling obedience into their lot. Esteban did not need to chaperone his followers. Their obedience was proof enough.

He busied himself with another round of prayers, feeling peaceful as each group of disciples and followers alike rejoined their party in the house. After he wrapped another recitation of the Lord's prayer he watched with calmness as his earlier instruction was being followed.

His followers that currently lingered in the northern territories had been eager to prove themselves worthy of a more honored place within Esteban's congregation. Twelve of the seventeen he had created two months prior were currently awaiting further instructions, idling in the wilderness with a keen excitement, ready to bring more sinners toward the lip of the pit of Hades.

Upon listening in as Esteban planned their first few moves against his target, the Volturi's messenger had clicked their tongue in reproach. Esteban had barely refrained from replying with rage at the condescending noise. "They are not your current targets."

Esteban had said: "But they will be."

The messenger said: "Perhaps. In time."

Esteban said: "With joy and haste I would be pleased to provide proof of competence."

"Then do so with your mission."

"Following my first move with this second attack will further divert this witch's attention," Esteban had paused, "will it not?"

The messenger rolled his beady eyes. "It will."

Esteban had stared back, still not believing their warning of such a vile woman, "Then, when my cursory trial is complete, proving the wretched abomination you've so proudly thrust upon me as practical, let me do what I do best."

"And what might that be?"

"Invoke the wrath of God."

The wicked messenger did not hide his mirth. "What might that look like?"

"Linger and see."

The messenger did not linger. Esteban was happy enough for his departure. He was less happy about the means of communication forced upon them. He did not deal with telephones. He refused to handle such newfangled devices. It was why he had insisted upon use of the radios for his test.

Again, the loan had quietly jumped at the opportunity to assist Esteban's disciples in managing the electronics that buzzed and whined at frequencies unnatural and dreadful. When all was set and it was time to finally call their fellow parishioners up north, the vile loan had offered the phone to Esteban of all people.

Esteban glared at the device in the loan's hands and would not accept it. The arrogance to assume such a duty would fall to him almost pushed him to the point of violence. The bones in his pocket grounded him and he pressed fingers against teeth, uttering low prayers as one of his followers quickly retrieved the phone to deliver to a trusted, informed disciple.

He would not make that call. He had already made the command.

Frustration was still his companion, but the Volturi had not yet led him astray. Between the tools provided (both demonic and electronic) everything had gone off without issue. The woman had died, just like he'd hoped she would.

Esteban had no memory of the blond man they had taken captive despite the intel the Volturi provided that he had served under Monterrey's whore alongside her second-in-command. Esteban had been affronted by the knowledge of the Major's survival but even moreso had he been enraged by the apparent peace of the Major's current existence.

The Major did not deserve retirement and quiet. He did not deserve acquaintanceship. He did not deserve a coven off of a battlefield and away from the pains of war. He did not get to terrorize and maim and kill and then enjoy a life of nonviolence.

Maria would always be a sitting, stupid fool of a woman, planted in Monterrey and waiting to be brought to salvation. But she, at least, knew better than to infiltrate the tame world that existed up north. It was better that she remain where her fellow demons strayed than taint peaceful lands. When Esteban deemed it her time, he would happily send her to Hell with his borrowed weapons.

Perhaps, while he did away with the Major, one of his fellow men that roamed with armies of their own would do the deed first. Unless, of course, the harlot did what she did best and negotiated her way through to sunrise the way vile women always did.

While the whore of Monterrey continued her reign, the Major had not died like Esteban had hoped. The way he'd prayed. The Major had not parted ways with Monterrey under amicable circumstances. He had fled like a coward.

Esteban thought again to the man they'd taken, hooded, maimed, and planted. An ally of the Major. The woman, his mate. The woman, her body ash and her soul in Hell.

Esteban had delivered the grieving soldier to the Major's doorstep and hoped the message was clear.