Chapter 3
Nicolas
After they loaded the bodies into a discreet service van and returned to HQ, Nicolas was directed to a conference room in the administrative building to give his statement about what happened.
On routine nights, he would turn in a written statement about his squad’s patrol, but when something went wrong—like seven people in a squad dying in a single night—that would require answering some questions.
His only saving grace was that there was a coffee machine inside the room with him, with a stack of disposable cups.
It was the cheap stuff, but it was better than nothing.
When Sloan joined him, his cold expression gave nothing away.
They sat across from each other at the conference table while Nicolas gave his carefully curated statement.
Again. And again. And again. Yes, his squad ran ahead of him.
Yes, he tried to order them to stop. No, they didn’t listen.
Yes, he tried to rush after them and help.
No, he wasn’t fast enough. The demon used some kind of power to blow him backward and pin him still, and by the time he could move again, it was over.
Each time, Sloan stood, offered Nicolas a few moments to collect himself, and then he left. When he returned, they did it all over again.
Nicolas was exhausted. His head throbbed, and the coffee had made him jittery.
He just wanted to go home. Was Sloan questioning him repeatedly because he suspected Nicolas’s story was full of lies?
It was. He couldn’t tell them the truth, that the demon had pressed his mouth to Nicolas’s neck and all sense and reason had left him.
That they’d talked. He couldn’t tell them how terrifying and arousing it had been.
They would kill him. Maybe he would deserve it.
The door opened, pulling him from his thoughts, and he raised his head from the conference table and reflexively pulled his cold cup of coffee closer. Sloan sat down across from him and leveled him with a cold look.
“Let’s run through this again.” It was the same thing he said every time.
Nicolas sighed. “I don’t know how many times I can do this—”
“You’ll do it as many times as I order you to, Captain. Again.”
Nicolas sighed, staring down into his coffee.
“We were patrolling Sector 93. We saw a hooded figure go inside the metal-working plant. The others charged in right away and ignored my order for them to wait. I wanted to go in with a plan, but they didn’t listen.
I chased after them, but by the time I reached them, they were all on the floor.
Their bodies were… broken. They were screaming in pain.
I tried to rush in and help, but the demon used some kind of power that blew me back out of the room.
I watched it… suck the life out of each one of them. One after the next.”
“Sucked the life out of them how?” Sloan asked. The same thing he asked every time.
“It grabbed their heads, pulled them up, and bent over them. It sucked some kind of dark… essence out of them. I screamed for it to stop, tried to get free, but I couldn’t.”
“What happened when it was done with your squad?”
“It… It let me go. I said something. I didn’t mean to, but I think I said, ‘they’re all dead.
’ And the demon spoke back. It said they had black souls.
That it ate their sins. That it’s something called a sin eater.
” He’d debated even telling Sloan that much, but a small part of him hoped Sloan would hear those words and realize how bad things had gotten in the guild.
That he’d take some responsibility for the darkness of those souls.
“And why didn’t it attack you?”
“It pointed at me and said ‘bright soul.’ And then it just disappeared.”
Sloan’s face hardened. “You’re telling me that some demon claimed every other man in your squad was, what, evil? And you were somehow the only one it didn’t deem worthy of being eaten?”
Oh. This was the point where Sloan usually just got up and walked out. He hadn’t said that during any of the other interviews. Nicolas straightened, casting about for something to say.
“I-I don’t know, Commander. I’ve never seen anything like that demon before. I don’t know what it—”
Sloan slammed his fist into the table, and Nicolas startled back in his seat.
“Those were good men!” Sloan roared, getting to his feet and bracing his hands on the table. “Those were my men! You expect me to believe some demon you’ve never seen before killed everyone in your squad but you? The brother of a dissenter?”
Ice froze down Nicolas’s spine. “Sir…” he croaked. “I’ve been nothing but loyal to the guild.”
“Your father would be ashamed of you.”
The words stole his breath. His father, the first Paladin Garcia, had died for the cause, and he was buried in the plot behind the church with their mother now.
He and Daniel grew up listening to battle stories, admiring the scars their father wore like badges of honor.
He was a strict man, raising them like soldiers rather than children.
Earning his approval had been a lifelong endeavor for both of them.
As far as he knew, neither of them had ever been successful.
He always wanted them to be stronger, smarter, better.
“For surviving?” he choked out.
“For letting your men die!”
Nicolas crumpled, sliding his fingers into his hair. “Commander, I didn’t! I tried to help them!”
“You should’ve tried harder! You should’ve died trying! You stood there long enough to hear that monster’s lies? Why didn’t you attack it?”
Nicolas opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Sloan leaned in, each word cutting like a blade. “You either had a crisis of faith and didn’t care enough to, or you were too much of a coward to try.” He pushed off from the table, straightening. “Either way, I know what must be done. Enter!”
Nicolas’s mouth was dry. The door swung open, and two paladins stepped into the room, eyes on their commander.
“Take him to be cleansed. Let Conroy do it.”
Father Kenneth Conroy, their new preacher, was a fan of the cleansings.
He particularly liked wielding the whip.
He’d once been a Theology teacher to the recruits.
Now he had power—or the illusion of it, gifted to him by Sloan—and he took a sinister amount of pleasure in making examples of the sinful.
“No.” Nicolas shot to his feet. “No, you can’t! There was nothing I could do!”
“I find that hard to believe,” Sloan sneered.
The paladins strode toward him, grabbing his arms and hauling him toward the door. He struggled to free himself, shoving into them and twisting, but they held fast.
“Commander, please don’t do this.”
“For some reason, some of you seem to think it’s okay to be soft on the enemy!” Sloan roared. “You watched this demon kill your entire squad and let it get away! That is not how my paladins are meant to operate!”
“No! That’s not what happened! Let me go!”
Sloan was implacable, and Nicolas was dragged from the room.
Somewhere along the way, he shut down. There was no point in fighting.
Others had tried and failed. The sun was bright, and when they strode to the post, everyone on the grounds stopped what they were doing to watch.
Silence descended around them. Even the birds failed to chirp.
Nicolas was hyperventilating as they secured his wrists to the iron shackles screwed into the post. Words rang like a gong in his mind, over and over: this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening.
It was surreal to go from pleasure in the dark to this sick fear during the day. He couldn’t believe he’d prefer to be back with the demon.
“Wait, what’s happening?” a familiar voice shouted. “Nic? That’s my brother! No, stop! Stop this!”
“Danny!” Nicolas screamed, casting his eyes about for him. “Stay back!”
There. Daniel was pushing his way through the growing crowd, but some of the witnesses in the crowd held him back. He tried to shove them off him, but there were too many of them.
“No, you can’t do this!”
“It’s okay.” But it didn’t feel okay. His body trembled, rattling the chains anchoring him to the post.
“What’s going on?” Daniel demanded, looking past Nicolas. “What did he do?”
Father Conroy circled him, unfurling the leather whip. His beady eyes reminded Nicolas of a snake’s, and his wide mouth stretched into a smile that made him look unhinged.
He crowded against Nicolas’s back, his chuckle a dark and menacing thing.
His fingers slipped under the bottom hem of Nicolas’s shirt, making him shudder.
“Can’t have this in the way, now can we?
” And with a tug, he ripped the shirt up the middle, leaving it to hang from his shoulders and neck.
The leather whip grazed his back like a caress, and then Conroy moved away.
The crowd parted, and Sloan appeared like a shepherd amongst the flock. “Let it be known,” he said to the crowd, “that this is what happens when a captain fails his squad.”
Nicolas gripped the chains tight, his face burning.
Tears tracked down his cheeks as he closed his eyes, and he pressed his forehead to the warm wood.
This was going to hurt, but Daniel had made it through this.
So could he. They were cut from the same cloth, and he drew strength from that knowledge.
“We’ll host funeral services for the seven members of Captain Garcia’s squad this afternoon.”
“What?” someone wailed. “Evan is dead?”
“And Jacob?”
“Wait, what happened?” someone else shouted.
“They were attacked by a demon, and their captain let them down,” Sloan said.
“But we will not let wickedness find a foothold in the world. We will hunt it down and wipe it out, one failure at a time. And I’m sure after today, after he is cleansed, Captain Nicolas Garcia will never again let a monster take a life. ”
Nicolas swore one thing to himself. He swore that these people wouldn’t hear him scream.