INNOCENT BLOOD
A Confession of Israel's Sins
"They sacrificed their sons and their daughters to the demons; they poured out innocent blood, the blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed to the idols of Canaan; and the land was polluted with blood. Thus they became unclean by their acts, and prostituted themselves in their doings."
—Psalm 106:37-39
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DECEMBER 6TH 2039
4:37PM
UNKNOWN
Esteban's congregation kneeled in the snow, their faces turned downward and the tops of their heads and backs of their necks exposed to him. They completed their prayers in perfect synchronization. Their words were a soft symphony that blessed the mountainside with praise intended for the Father Almighty.
One by one, Esteban shuffled to his disciples. One by one he stood before each one of his followers. He signed the cross into the air, willing the space between them both to fill with the Holy Ghost. He pressed an ashen thumb to each forehead, bringing their solemn faces upward so that he might also trace the mark of the Father across their faces. The disciples' markings were kissed. The followers' clean canvases were dirtied.
They'd be purified and marked as holy if they survived and if their elder disciples perished.
It was known to all of them. It was embraced by all of them. It was the way and the truth and the light of God. Esteban prayed that all of these men and women, sons and daughters of Heaven and Earth, either earn their route to the Kingdom above or meet Him tonight, through the glory of the highest.
His feet moved with a soft caress across the wet Earth as he walked back toward the altar. It was not time for communion yet. First they needed to take care of their sin before they might receive this holy gift.
"Children of God. Holiest of the land we walk and set to pave His path before Him. Our time has come to face these sinners. The first of their punishments will be doled out tonight. Mercy may, and will, befall those whom we retrieve. And for the ones that we do not deem worthy of one final act of contrition we will purge them from these lands. Burn them for a fire that will only precede the ones that will engulf them for eternity.
"These are a sick, unhealthy sort. A breed of unholy, scornful demons that exist to mock our Lord and bring evil to the lands which we so fully dedicate for love and promise and grace."
He scanned his eyes across the bowed heads of his congregation. He allowed his eyes to narrow as far as they could. His perpetual stare lessened as he forced what was left of his eyelids to sink down over his eyes. "Stand," he demanded, voice warm and firm, "and let us give thanks to the Lord."
"Thanks be to God," his congregation replied musically.
Off to the side, the heretics that he was forbidden from killing watched with the faces of sinners who would join their victims if they did not repent and pledge their love to God.
The two hooded figures were still, both in face and body. The young boy folded his hands in front of him, politely. The boredom in his eyes could not be disguised as anything else. The man at his side was not much taller, but was clearly a man and not an almost-child. He seemed to be staring into the snow as if it were just as interesting, if not more so, than the prayers that brought Esteban's congregation to a glory higher than what he could feebly understand.
A lack of faith meant a lack of character. These blank men could be colored in the glory he offered if only their damned souls tried. Perhaps it was their masters that forced them backward and prevented them from participating. Esteban itched for a meeting with the heretical 'Kings' that oversaw their world. The men who had allowed their holiness to sink into mire and fall into vapid ruin.
Then, there was the girl.
Her heartbeat was a wretched distraction for the newest members of his congregation. He prayed to God every day that He would make her scent turn into one that would appeal to their kind. A slip up from a child of God could surely be forgiven. The presence of her heart and blood alone should have been enough to seal her fate the instant she was handed over to the man who turned newly born demons into men of God.
The abomination was damned lucky that her scent filled them all with a wary, confused disgust. She stood behind both of the Volturi weapons. The horror on her face was poorly concealed and entirely disregarded.
He wanted so, so very badly to kill her. He prayed and prayed and prayed day in and day out that he would be allowed to kill her.
But first, he had a task to complete. A coven to annihilate. A seer to retrieve.
Esteban turned away from the miscreant, afraid of what his temper might decide for him.
"Kill if you must," he instructed, his words continuing with the warm force, blanketing his congregation with the type of confidence only God could gift to them all. "For the act itself will simply bring them forth to their Judgment. Collection though," he inhaled deeply. The scent of ash and blood and venom did not exist before him yet, but he smelled it, smokey and delicious on his tongue despite its absence. "Those who collect these sinners and bring them to me will be rewarded with all the riches of the Kingdom of Heaven. You will bathe in the blood of Christ until morning rises." Retrieve the seer. Break apart the spares. Kill all that resist.
Esteban inhaled, and lifted his head and hands.
Esteban exhaled and lowered them both.
"Let us pray." They stood. They turned. They moved.
A/N: Blah blah blah chapter late. My bad. Busy busy. I will fling them on here when I can. You get another one tomorrow. Love u bye