43. Damien
Damien
The hall is too quiet.
Too still.
Even the air has gone heavy, like it’s holding its breath—waiting for blood.
I stand at the end of the corridor, staring at the double doors of the chapel. I needed an unused space for my cleansing, and what better place than a chapel?
My hands are clean. For now. My thoughts are not.
They never are.
Two girls wait behind those doors. Young. Frightened. Beautiful in that fleeting, breakable way. They tremble when I look at them, which tells me they still understand divinity. Still recognize wrath as something sacred.
They’ll do.
They have to.
Because something needs to bleed tonight.
Reese stands beside me, silent. Obedient.
But I see the flicker in his eyes. Doubt. Guilt. Maybe fear.
Good.
Le t him feel it.
Let them all.
“We need to reestablish order,” I say calmly, buttoning the cuffs of my white shirt. The linen clings to me, freshly pressed. Pure. Unblemished. “They need to see that the betrayal of one does not go unanswered.”
Reese doesn’t move. Doesn’t nod. Just watches me like I might come unhinged if he breathes wrong.
He’s not wrong.
“I gave her everything,” I murmur, almost to myself. “Freedom. Power. Purpose. And she used it to rot us from the inside.”
I turn slowly, eyes locking on his.
“We were holy, Reese. She desecrated that.”
He swallows hard. “They didn’t know her.”
“They don’t need to know her to feel the consequences,” I snap. Then softer, “This isn’t punishment. It’s purification.”
His throat works as he swallows. “You sure this is the message you want to send?”
My eyes narrow. “You think I care about the message?”
Silence.
“I care about the weight,” I continue. “About the fear. About the silence that follows the scream. That’s what I want echoing through these halls tomorrow morning.”
I take a step forward, breathing steadily now. Controlled. Reverent.
“I don’t need their understanding. I need their obedience.”
I reach for the handle. Reese doesn’t move.
Good. He still knows who stands at the altar.
I nod once toward the door. “Bring them in.”
He hesitates.
Only for a second.
Th en turns.
Two shadows shuffle behind the stained glass. Fragile outlines. Lost souls. But tonight, they’ll be something more. Something divine.
Sacrifices.
Reese holds the door for me, eyes avoiding mine.
I smile.
The sanctuary is cold. The floor is already marked. The blade rests on the altar. I walk in first, steps echoing like a hymn.
“Tonight,” I murmur, voice barely audible, “we wash away her sins.”
I don’t look back.
The doors shut behind me. And the chapel begins to breathe.
The candles flicker as I light them one by one, my fingers steady, reverent. Wax drips onto the stone altar like tears. The air is thick with smoke and old blood, though no one has bled yet tonight. Not yet.
I can feel them behind me. The girls. Their breathing is shallow, lungs fluttering like caged birds.
Good.
Fear is honest.
I reach for the ceremonial cloth folded at the edge of the altar. White linen. Trimmed in red. Fireproof. It was Harmony’s job to wash these once.
Now she stains them in fucking betrayal.
“On your knees,” I say without raising my voice.
Reese guides them forward.
I hear the shuffling of bare feet, the stifled whimpers. One of them begins to sob.
I close my eyes, ears sucking in the sound like a sweet melody.
“We are born into sin,” I say, stepping in front of them. “And we die in it—unless we are chosen.”
I pace slowly between the girls. Neither meets my gaze.
That’s wise.
Th at’s instinct.
Because tonight, I am not a man.
I am a god.
And gods do not need forgiveness.
They need a sacrifice.
“This altar has seen pain,” I murmur. “It has tasted the marrow of those who came before you. Do you know what that means?”
Silence.
I crouch, grabbing the chin of the one on the left, forcing her to look up. Her eyes are wide. Glossy. Red-rimmed.
Terrified.
“It means it already knows your name.”
She sobs harder. I let her go.
I rise and return to the altar, slowly removing the blade from its sheath. The steel hums in the candlelight. Honed. Patient.
I raise it to my lips and kiss the flat edge.
Not in affection.
In thanks.
Reese shifts behind me. I don’t look at him.
He no longer speaks during the rituals. Not since Harmony left. Not since the light in his eyes began to flicker.
I wonder if she took it with her.
“It’s not enough to remove her,” I whisper to no one and everyone. “We have to scrub the stain. Boil it from the bones.”
I turn toward the girls.
“You are the offering,” I say gently. “You are the sponge.”
The one on the right begins to scream.
I don’t rush her. I don’t hush her.
Let it echo.
Let it fill the rafters.
Let the chapel weep with her.
I step forward and press the blade against her collarbone—not hard enough to cut.
Just to feel the heat of her fear pulse beneath the skin.
“I baptize you,” I murmur. “In fire.”
The knife carves its first line.
Shallow. Deliberate.
She thrashes. Reese holds her.
The scream dies into a whimper, then into a gurgle.
Not because I’ve silenced her.
Because she’s choking on her own terror.
I pull away, and blood trickles in a clean line down her chest. I move to the other. Her mouth is open, eyes vacant. She’s somewhere else already.
I envy her.
I slice a matching line on her sternum. Both girls shake. One convulses. Reese grips her hair. The knife glints.
I begin the ritual.
“The traitor was Eve,” I chant. “The deceiver. The corrupter.”
I cut again. Not to kill. To peel. To reveal.
“The new world cannot hold her name. Cannot speak her sin.”
I drag the blade down one’s side.
She jerks, body going stiff, blood dripping in ropes onto the floor.
I hum a hymn I don’t remember learning.
I think Harmony sang it once. Back when she knelt. Back when she obeyed. Reese flinches at the sound. He recognizes it, too.
But he doesn’t stop me.
He won’t.
I step back, covered in red. The floor beneath them is soaked. The altar drinks it greedily. I close my eyes and spread my arms.
“Cleanse them,” I whisper. “Cleanse me.”
The girls slump.
No t dead.
Not yet.
That’s not the point.
The point is the process.
The point is the offering.
I press my palm to their blood and smear it across my chest.
Across the blade.
Across my face.
“Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed,” I whisper.
Then louder, “Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.”
Then louder still—
“OBEDIENCE IS GOLDEN. SIN IS CLEANSED.”
My voice shatters against the stone.
My vision swims.
My body sways.
The world slows.
I hear something fall—maybe a candle. Maybe Reese. It doesn’t matter. Because in this moment… I am everything. And nothing. And she will feel this.
Wherever she is. Whatever hole she’s hiding in. She will feel this scream in her bones.
She will hear the blood. She will smell the smoke. And she will know—I am coming.
Not as a man. Not as a monster. But as a god with no heaven left to lose.
And when I find her…
Her sacrifice will make this look merciful.