sanctus_cineris | ✞[ XII. ]✞ Station of the Cross

[ ✟ ] O people of Zion, who dwell in Jerusalem, no more will you weep; He will be gracious to you when you cry out, as soon as he hears he will answer you. The Lord will give you the bread you need and the water for which you thirst. [ ✟ ]

No longer will your Teacher hide himself, but with your own eyes you shall see him,
While from behind, a voice shall sound in your ears: "This is the Way; Walk in it."

| Isaiah 30:19-21 |

"O mi Iesu, dimitte nobis debita nostra, libera nos ab igne inferni, conduc in caelum omnes animas, praesertim illas quae maxime indigent misericordia tua. Amen."

[ † ] The camera pans up slowly, and there on the outer walls of the church the Priest can be found looking up towards the celestial heavens, the lofty heights of the ruinous steeple that creaked precariously under its own weight having sustained heavy damage to the point where the tower and spire threatened to dislocate completely if not for the careful hands of the architects who had constructed them.

The strained whisper of the Angelus bell could be heard twanging in the distance, the sizable hole in its metallic surface from a blast of blinding light.

The screen waivers and blackens, blanketed in a pocket lined on the inside of his cassock so he might step inside. Calm, and measured, the Holy Knight opens the frequency across the network, projecting the broadcast to all who might hear it. [ † ]

Residents o' Discedo: Thaes es Faither Andersoon. Ef ye ar' en need o' sanctuary, coom tae St. Peter's church. Thaer es shelter fer all who migh' seek refuge.

[ooc: Father Anderson is offering shelter to anyone in Discedo who will need it. The church has been reinforced to withstand fire and the undercroft can be used as a bomb shelter. Since it is made of stone it is arguably one of the most secure buildings in Discedo.]

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[There's suddenly a weight on his arm, Maxwell's claws digging into the fabric of the priest's cassock. The man connected to it was positively thunderstruck.]

What is it? What the Hell is it?! Is it Armageddon? Are we in the middle of Sodom and Gomorrah?

What!?

What did you see!?

[A sharp exhale, and that hand would come away bloody, a sticky wetness still clinging to his sleeve. The wound was raw, and he instinctively grit his teeth, taking ahold of his superior's collar to give him a slight jostle.]

Coorie doon! Thaes es nae time tae be oop en ae panic.

Half th' citieh es en chaos. We're under attack....Frem creatures unknown.

[He had to keep his head in this situation—if his own Commander and Chief wasn't sound then someone had to be!]

...Thaer's been ae loot o' structural damage.

[The fierceness in Anderson's gaze was more terrifying that whatever was going on beyond the church's doors, and he froze as he was shaken and clutched at his hands.]

P-perdonami.

I.. Please..

[The sight of the blood was what brought him back to his senses. His determination to keep his Knight in check taking over and poising him.]

Please get inside, they've heard your plea! You cannot take damage like you have before, Anderson.. please!

[Twinning their fingers slaked in blood he tried to pull and lead him inside. Losing him once had been hard enough on his psyche.. to lose him a third time rattled the younger man to the icy core.]

[Massive shoulders hug the curve of his draping cassock, and he lumbers forward obediently, unresponsive beyond a curl of fingers over his leader's own. Touch was such a rarity, and even in this stage of city-wide bedlam, the dusky-fleshed Templar could do no more than clasp to his brethren for a reinforcement in strength.

He would Follow his Chief into the inner walls of the sanctum without protest, an uneven grimace displayed upon his holy lips.

His exhaustion showed plainly as the solemnity upon his stern countenance, adamantine strength keeping him resolute.]

Th' enemies ar' formidable. Ahn thaer es nae time...Th' city es en shambles. Maxwell...Ah have tae go back oot thaer. Ef ah dinna...Ef ah dinna th' price o' lives ah fear es far greater than we've yet tae realize.

[Perhaps the incident with Cain, which he had not discussed, was weighting on him. It was clear at least that he would reap Vengeance, "I will repay", sayeth the Lord.]

. . .

[There was not a damn he could give over the losses out there. So long as the clergy and Angelina were safe inside these walls, the more suffering out there the better. Callousness hardened his heart and revulsion stayed his hand from letting him touch the door to venture into the fray.

Not long ago he was standing at a podium, watching a battle not unlike this and laughing. Now he could only leer like icy daggers as his subordinate took on that traitorous role again as humanitarian for the damned.]

You and your bleeding heart.

[A vicious sneer left him as he turned on heel and sauntered from his heretical priest. Let him go. Let him see how those heathens will repay him.]

Edited 2010-07-16 07:48 (UTC)

[ Glorious was he who fought in the Name of the LORD, and supplied mercy to His People. Maxwell thought them all undeserving, and denounced them, for he thought them Anathema. Anderson could not.

The Prince was as hard and cold as a diamond, with bitter shocks of poison to choke down his own toxic arguments.

Anderson, loyal and steadfast though he be, was also of Faith that if they could be Saved, then there was hope for mankind.He would not turn a blind eye to the people of this place simply because They were Lost, for a flock without a shepherd to lead them would flounder and fall astray.

Anderson was a living embodiment of Christ, while Maxwell was Judas, and had no such attachment to the masses.

There was a hand on the other's arm, and he ripped him back, pinning him to himself roughly as he stared him down.]

Ye self-righteous bastard. Thaen sit here ahn watch everythin' be destroyed around ye.

Edited 2010-07-16 08:25 (UTC)

[The strike came swift and sure, pinning the writhing serpent between stone and man. Maxwell's fury snapped like the poisoned hate-filled jaws of the Laviathan.

Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook? Or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down?

Canst thou put an hook into his nose? Or bore his jaw through with a thorn?

Could even this Christ-like man dare stir him? The cruel prince peeled back his lips in a vicious cut-throat sneer and dug his nails into Anderson's wrists till they wept scarlet.]

UNHAND ME, TRAITOROUS APOSTATE!

Go forth! Go forth and lay down your life for a mass of unbelievers who would sooner SPIT. IN. YOUR. FACE. than be grateful of your Heavenly Mercy!

Edited 2010-07-16 08:55 (UTC)

Ye great bloomin' fool.

[ Nothing could fill the tears in his soul at those words, and he simply released him without another word, knowing now that everything he'd strived for..Everything he'd thought Maxwell had become...Was a lie.

It was a mistake to have expected more of one whose hatred devoured the world. But the pain that spread through him would only create more of a divide between them in the end.

A failing on his part. He'd...

Sooner not have seen.]

...Guid bye Yer Grace.

Ah'd sooner die ahn protect thaes place wit' ye ahn everyone else en et thaen let et all coom tae ruin.

[He didn't expect a reply, and headed for the great doors, determined to bring back those he could alive.]

[Dropping onto unsteady legs, Maxwell staggered as he hit the ground, and touched at the burning in his chest from whence he was grasped. Wide-eyed and paled as Anderson turned his back on him, he heckled his exit with condemnation.]

Go on!

Go out there and die like a pitiful lamb to the slaughter!!

You'll see who the fool really is!!!

[THOOM! Shut the moaning doors, echoing the bloodcurdling emptiness of the sanctum and resounding it into the prince's hollow husk.]

[A sharp winded gasp shivered off the walls, and stood hunched in grievous anguish at the alter was Maxwell, grasping a hand over his trembling mouth.

What had he done?

He had just severed a pact with the only safeguard he had... and in turn severed off a piece of his jagged heart, that fell and pierced into the depths of his bowels.

He quivered through a violent tremor and fixed his hand tighter over his mouth, feeling the stabs of many pangs rip up his esophagus. And as he coughed harshly into his palm... ribbons of red life poured forth from betwixt his fingertips, staining him with his trespass.

And God shall smite you, you white washed wall:

For you sit there to judge me according to the law, yet you yourself violate the law by commanding that I be smitten!

Fear gripped him at all ends as his ulcer ruptured due to his own injudicious iniquity. And there his knees gave way and his grasp strained outward to grasp unto nothingness.]

Domine.. ignosce mihi...

. . .God forgive me, please...

✞[ XII. ]✞ Station of the Cross

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