Haruto rolls his eyes. "Oh yes, it's not his fault now that they actually have to pay for what they've done. If you're going to deal with this, please get on with it. His wailing is making my teeth ache. And make sure you get our things back while you're at it. It seems like they weren't adverse to claiming our things despite it 'not being their fault'."
Kris glowers at the boy....
|
"The Lord forgives, boy, but only unto those who SHOW that they desire forgiveness. Just as Judas was purchased to deliver Our Savior unto the hands that killed him, so too YOU have been purchased with dirty, filthy money.
So long as this money stains thy hands, so too will YOUR SOUL be stained with it, and with the SIN that it carries, and that it made you do. For thus, we all know, does all evil cometh.
Perhaps if you were to offer up the filthy lucre, then might salvation and grace be delivered unto you.
But, alas, if you love money more than all else, then there is no Redemption left for you, and thy flesh must be cleansed of the corruption that now inhabits it."
He looks at the boy meaningfully as Power gathers in his hands.
Thompson Springs. It was a small town, filled with small people with small, small sounds and weak hearts. And yet...
Constance's glare stares into Herbert's eyes, as she takes a quiet step forwards, the thudding of her boots akin the slow approach of death. I know what you want., she thinks at the rage inside of her, as she grasps at the hatred, the pain of her own death. Placing a pale, cold hand on Herbert's chin, she shakes her head. "What they said, Herbert... What they said was all true.", she whispers in a hoarse voice, before shaking her head. "Justice's a darn ragged b*@@#, and she always charges more than you can afford.", her hand darts around her neck, a dry, sad smile spreads across her lips. "Now tell me what you did, to me, to my comrades, and to my girls... and we'll see how much you owe her."
to assist in the task of scaring the boy into speaking the truth, Kris cocks the shotgun's hammer.
He grins at the lad. It's grotesque.
As the posse enters the post office, Herbert turns his wild gaze to each in turn. Seeing these spectres walking and talking--well, most of them talking--would itself be enough to set his jaw loose. Between the words of Father Murphy and Constance, there was never a chance he'd stay silent.
"I DIDN'T DO NOTHIN'!" he wails. He manages to get in a kneeling position, looking up with red, puffy eyes. His hands clasp like a sinner desperate for salvation he knows is beyond reach. "It weren't me, I swear it! They told me, Uncle Fred said to just stay here, but I heard the plan. He went to your place, Miss Fleming, he and his men, the other deputies and a posse, and--and the others, they hid around town, so when you rode in, they could..." He heaves several sobs and his gaze drops to the floor again. "I heard the shouting and some shooting. I didn't see nothin', but I know they done the job.
"And then it all went to Hell!" His eyes shoot back up, panicked in his bleary face. "They started shootin' folks, the ones in town, for sport or for somethin'! I heard somethin' about sinnin' and sacrifice and--and I don't know what else. Uncle Fred and his boys come in with your things, and he told me to just stay set and guard 'em and not come out, but..." Herb draws a ragged breath and shudders. "I saw 'em draggin' bodies up the road, to the church, before they set it afire. It's black magic or worse, I bet."
As if upon hearing his own words, Herbert's eyes grow even wider and more fearful, and he lunges forward to clutch at the legs of whoever's closest. "You already killed Uncle Fred, didn't you? He was out back to get the money. Then you gotta kill that other fella! Their leader!" His sobs are gone now, replaced by an intense, terrified firmness to his voice. "He--it ain't human! I don't know what it is, but that thing they follow ain't a man! It can't be! I don't care what you do with me, but you gotta swear you'll put it back to Hell where it belongs!"
"Sinning? I haven't heard of many outlaws who are religious fanatics as well. At least our murderers are interesting folks." The martial artist absently cracks his knuckles. "Now I'm quite curious to meet this man. And share with him everything he deserves for instigating this mess."
Constance's gaze, pinned to Herb's dread-filled eyes, doesn't waver for a second as he tells his tale. As he finishes, she nods, her fist curled. "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.", she whispers to nobody in particular, as her knuckles grow even paler. "I think this town's had enough of faithful sinners, Herb.", she answers a moment later, reaching over the table to grab her weapons. As she holsters her own revolver in her belt, she turns towards the young man.
"You've done a real evil, Herbert Wills.", her voice is merciless, imperious. Tearing the deputy's badge from his shoulder, she cusps it in her hand. "But so did I, a lifetime away. I came here to pay for what I'd done, and in a way, I guess I did. So let me tell you something.", she whispers, drawing the revolver she was buried with. "There's precious little justice in this world, Herbert Wills. You're going to spend every one of your remaining days on this land, caring for the folk of Thompson Spring, and washing out the blood from your family name. You're going to do what's right by them, and by the Lord." Dropping the ice-cold badge back into the frightened man's hand, the veneer of life around her face disappears with a snap, as she thrusts the revolver, handle first into his other hand.
"For if you ever do somethin' that ain't right, Sheriff Wills.", the harrowing voice rumbles out. "Justice will come knocking."
Herb silently pleads with his panicked eyes, and whimpers with a flinch as Constance tears the badge from his chest. He flinches back further when she draws her revolver, and begins shaking his head again, his jaw quivering. When she drops the badge in his hand, his head falls, and the cold metal slips from his palm to land on the floor with a soft clunk. The gun also drops in his loose grip, the barrel landing beside the badge.
"I can't," he mutters, his voice choked with tears again. "You don't understand, Miss Fleming, I can't. I've always been--I ain't no fighter, I ain't a lawman. I ain't never shot anybody, and I don't think I can. And I don't even know there is a Thompson Springs anymore. Not after this."
He looks up again, his eyes tired and red. "I want you to live, you and your friends. And I want them to die. But I can't do it. I can't. I seen too much, I done too little. I don't deserve to go on."
"They've lost about all they can lose at this point," Haruto says with a sigh as the gun clatters to the ground and the man starts sobbing once again. He'd thought there was a limit to how much one person could cry before they just gave it up. "I don't particularly care if you decide to stay or go, but for f*cks sake. You live in the middle of the frontier. You can't be this much of a 孬種." He pauses for a brief moment as he realizes that he slipped into his native tongue. "A coward," he quickly corrects. "And a rather pitiful one at that. Did they manage to steal your 屌, your dick, while they were burning down your homes? You had the jewels to stand up to us but you crack like eggshells as soon as someone else comes along? You must be better than this."
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Agitated, Father Murphy keeps his cool. Passing the young man he states, "Our Lord forgives all those who ask for it. Go and sin no more."
Then all his attention is focuses on re-acquiring all that is his. As he resumes his affects, he grabs up a bottle of whiskey. Proud that he's not just smashing the top to bypass the cork, he uncaps it and takes a hearty fortifying drought.
A shiver runs through his body as the welcoming taste, which he has longed for ever since his awakening, burns through his body.
Some things even death can not change.
"It's a good thing, then, that not wanting to pull a gun's the first thing that's needed here.", she scolds the man. "Take care of those who can't. It's never too late until you draw breath.", she smiles darkly. "On this, you oughta take our word. You can run 'til your boots are gone, and until your soles have bled all you got over the desert, and die alone in the darkness. Or you can die a just man. There ain't no other path." Putting her hand in Herb's, she stares back into his eyes. "There's folk in need, Sheriff Wilks. And there ain't nobody else who can lead them."
Reaching down to place the badge and pistol on the table next to Herb, she feeds six rounds into her carbine, then puts it on her shoulder. Reaching over to take a dainty bonnet, she gently fixes it onto her hair, before feeding the lever-action. "Now, I think this town ain't big enough for two posses from beyond the grave. I didn't pay to have that church built so that the first bastard can burn it the moment I'm gone." She turns to glance at the father, the bottle already in his hand. "Reckon that calls for some retribution from beyond, Father?"
"I didn't do any standing," Herb mutters. He doesn't even muster the strength to look Haruto in the eyes. "Say what you want. I know I'm yellow. You don't gotta tell me."
It seems appeals to his courage or honor fall on deaf ears, but Constance's approach reaches him. When she takes his hand, he does look up, locking his eyes on hers. At the second declaration of his being the new Sheriff, he sniffs mightily, and his eyes fall on the badge and pistol when Constance places them beside him.
And sure enough, as the others finish readying themselves, they hear a throat-clearing from Herbert Wills. He's standing now, with the badge pinned to his chest once more, and his revolver gripped in a fist so tight the skin is all taut whiteness. His face looks similar, drained of color and filled with fear--but with a touch of determination currently riding shotgun and holding the reins.
He swallows loudly and walks to the door. "Everybody ready? I think the church is empty now, and they was talking about holing up in your place, Miss Fleming. That's where we'll find 'em." He pushes out the front door, leaving it open in the windless gray, and turns to point once he's at the foot of the stairs. "Right up that way. I'd guess maybe a dozen of 'em, so we oughta--"
Herb's words are cut off by another rifle crack, and he staggers as a spray of blood blasts from each side of his chest. He takes one weak step, then a second, looking down at the red spreading across his shirt. When he looks up at the posse again, he coughs and mouths what looks like, I'm sorry. Then his feet fail him, and Sheriff Wills collapses in the road, his pistol spilling from his grip.
Battered, Vigor reduced one die type
I'll be damned, a Raise
Haruto's eyes widen slightly as he drops to one knee next to the fallen young man. He carefully pulls back his shirt to get a good look at the bullet wound. "The wound is bad, but not fatal as long as nothing happens that will make him bleed out. Father Murphy, you might want to help him, but he should make it. Luckily he's fairly healthy." The martial artist cracks his neck as he stands back up and focuses his chi through his body. Then he pokes his head forward to see if he can identify the shooter.
Kris roars in anger at the gunshot and heads to the nearest window to see what he can see.
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Fr. Murphy is happy when the formerly-cowardly man at last stands tall and looks straight, accepting his Salvation and ready to do good works. "No one who hopes in you will ever be put to shame. Psalm 25:3."
When the inevitable bullet-crack comes and the man falls, the smile remains on his face. "Ah, but of course," he mutters.
He nods serenely as Haruto assures them that the young Mr. Wills is not quite dead. "The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all," he states, looking down, and clenching his fist.
"Our pursuers were swifter Than the eagles of the sky," he intones.
As Haruto moves out to inspect the fallen form of young Herbert, the wooden banister next to him shatters into splinters as another gunshot tears across the street. He falls back, but even the glance he got was enough to tell that the newly-christened Sheriff is still breathing, although it's shallow. As a pair of our posse prepare themselves for what's sure to be another fight--or perhaps simply a continuation of the first--Kristophe peers out one of the windows.
The main street itself is still empty, but for the bodies lying in it, but he can see all the way up the road. The stables and general store stand same as before, but anyone looking can spy some clear activity at the big hotel at the end of the street. A couple of men have apparently just exited, judging by the still-swinging batwing doors, and they're hesitantly standing by the bottom of the stairs leading to the entrance. Another pair of fellows are on the balcony above the entrance; one is crouched and pointing a pistol over the railing. The other, though, is standing tall, a rifle still held up to his shoulder.
Drake: King of Diamonds,
Father Murphy: 10 of Hearts
Haruto: 6 of Hearts
Kristophe: Ace of Spades
Bandit Leader: 5 of Diamonds
Banditos: 2 of Spades
Haruto keeps his head back and clenches his fist as he looks up at the rifleman. He must have been the one to get a clean shot on Herb. He squints against the glare and tries to pick out a good angle to make an approach from. The two men on the balcony would be out of reach of his fists, but perhaps one of his special techniques could close the gap. "I can take the two at the bottom of the stairs if someone can give me cover to get closer."
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"Be still before the Lord, and wait patiently for him;
do not fret over those who prosper in their way,
over those who carry out evil devices,"Father murphy states before exiting the building.
Faster than fast, yet unhurried, the priest grabs Herb's arms and drags him back into shelter.
Laying the man in state, he makes small crosses on his head, heart, and abdomen. "The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all."
= 8!
Upon this day, the archangel Raphael, guardian of the healing pool of Bethesda and Healer of Tobit himself is looking down upon the righteous heart of Herb, and life returns quickly to the man.
"Rest easy son, you've had a busy day," Fr. Murphy quips.
As Herbert goes down, Constance bites her cold, bloodless lips. Can my words truly turn a sheep into a lion?, her first thought as she glances down to see the wound, yet notices it's not fatal. "The path you'll walk on is a difficult one, but your soul will thank you for it.", she adds, as her eyes lock onto the man standing in the hotel.
Her hotel.
Loading a bullet into her carbine, she slowly loads a bullet into the receiver, and with an aching arm, raises the weapon slowly at her own salon. "Get the hell off my damn property.", she hisses with spite. The gun barks, and the bullet quickly finds its mark with surprising accuracy, even for Constance herself.
As the posse assesses that another fight is upon them, a plan is quickly hatched. Haruto seeks to get in close, and Kristophe appears to feel the same. That leaves the other three to provide what cover they can, and as Father Murphy presses his hands to Herbert's chest, Constance and Drake oblige that need. The woman steps out and fires at the tall man standing on her balcony, and despite the distance, the shot is true. The man's head swings back and to one side and he staggers, clearly more than winged by the bullet. A moment later, he steps back again when Drake fires, his shot catching the man mid-torso. Both shooters are able to find their own cover, and Kristophe and Haruto dart out up the street, dashing to slide behind crates, barrels, or simply the edge of the stables.
And then, from the balcony of the hotel, comes a hideous roar. It is at once the shriek of loss and pain, the screaming of a newborn child and the senseless rage of a wild beast; it is also a wordless shout heavy with meaning, a primal sound that promises a slow, painful death for any who are too close to whatever ungodly creature has issued that sound. It echoes louder than the gunshots, filling the minds of those unfortunates who can hear it.
Most of the men at the hotel are stunned, both from the fearsome cry and the sudden gunfire. The standing man himself, however, barrels forward, his roaring far louder than the crunch of the wooden bannister as he crashes through it. His body slams into the dusty road below, but he's up in a moment, charging forward and shrieking bloody vengeance in what might be words, but which none present can understand.
Parry 5, Toughness 5
Demonic Leader (Wild Card)
Parry 6, Toughness 9
Total 10
Broken, -1 Agility die
Berserk!
ACTION CARDS
Constance: Queen of Spades
Drake: 9 of Diamonds, 6 of Spades
Father Murphy: 5 of Clubs, 10 of Clubs
Haruto: 10 of Diamonds
Kristophe: 8 of Diamonds
Herb: 3 of Hearts
Bandit Leader: 7 of Clubs
Banditos: 3 of Spades
Haruto cringes as he hears the thoroughly unholy scream echo from the man. His body trembles and he finds himself reflexively drawing back for a moment, his body moving into a defensive position more on instinct than anything else. He breaks cover as he rushes toward the large man, his fists lashing out but not managing to hit him properly.
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Father Murphy merely raises his head at the unholy sound.
He pats Herb once and raises, knowing what he must do.
He walks peaceably amidst the chaos, unheeding of the other gunmen--they can not hurt him, and so they are beneath his notice.
"Yea I walk through the valley," he begins, staring intently at the demon mad manifest, "I...shall make you fear ME!" he spits, bringing up his pistol and firing at he horned thing.
= 22
Like a thunderbolt from the Archangel Michael himself, the bullet is propelled by a holy force and will not be denied by any strength known by this Earth.
"And so, you know who your true enemy is. Ignore the chaff around you and FACE ME...if you are not.......afraid?
And you do fear me.
Demon."
With that Connor presents his silver cross, taking the stance of a man facing an avalanche head-on.
Kris fears no man, and no demon either.
Kris will fire both barrels of the shotgun when he gets in close range to whatever unfortunate soul he can get close to...
nope
nope
Constance stares at the passion pouring out of the preacher, conflicted feelings trailing in her palid eyes for a second. The gunshots and horror on the street, however, shakes her off her contemplation, as she grits her teeth.
"There ain't no son of Hell or Heaven that's gonna walk away from my saloon without payin' what he's due!", she shouts, the LeMat barking at the horned man. "I'm sending you back to where you came from, you cattle-headed bastard!"
Bennies! Now 3/3
Despite the fearsome, inhuman charge of the horned man, our posse stands strong. Only Haruto shows the briefest of hesitations, but even he refuses to be cowed by this demonic figure--and why should any of them? They've seen the face of Hell, come back from Death itself, or so it seems. Never mind the half-wordless whispers creeping in the backs of their minds, burbling in the same senseless tongue as this demon's screams. They've put down worse before.
Constance and Father Murphy are the first into the street, nearly in step as they level their guns at the charging demon. Constance's carbine barks and a section of the man's coat is ripped free into the street behind him, but Father Murphy's shot catches the man--the thing wearing a man's shape--in the midsection. It stumbles, and for a moment it looks as though the demon is collapsing. But it keeps its feet and continues the charge. When Kristophe's shotgun blast sprays across its guts, it roars again and presses forward. When Drake slides into cover and fires a shot, it blows off one side of the demon's jaw, and still it rushes in, howling with bestial rage. Haruto throws a pair of jabs, but it knocks them aside with ease.
Using that momentum, the demon crashes into Haruto as it draws a large, wicked-looking knife from its belt. The foreigner does his best to defend, but in a flash the rusty blade plunges into his gut. Like the gunshot earlier, this wound isn't joined by a flash of pain, but when he looks down, he can see a mighty gash in his stomach, and as the blade wrenches free, some of his entrails begin to spill out. Fighting like that ain't gonna be easy, no-sir.
The horned man--clearly inhuman at this close range--screams again, and while the words are still unintelligible in the ears of those who hear them, a voice comes through. It's a voice like the baked desert sands, dry and hateful and killing by its very nature. It echoes in the back of the mind, as if a cacophony of loathing anger.
Traitors! Bottom-feeding scum! I'll send you cowards straight back to the other side!
For their part, the gunmen at the hotel seem too shocked to do more than take cover and watch. The one on the balcony wretches, bile and his lunch steaming to the dirt below. The batwing doors swing open and another couple of bandits come out clutching pistols, but they too are struck by the scene, and merely stand in the open, looking on in horror.
Battered, Vigor -1 die
Success
Total 24
Jesus, an 18
Also 18
Broken, Agility -1 die
Action Cards
Constance: Queen of Clubs
Drake: 5 of Diamonds, Jack of Spades
Father Murphy: 9 of Hearts
Haruto: 10 of Spades, 2 of Diamonds
Kristophe: King of Hearts
Herb: 4 of Diamonds
Demon: 4 of Clubs
Banditos: 5 of Spades
Haruto grits his teeth as the huge knife rams straight into his guts. "回到地狱"
Kris tosses aside the unloaded shotgun and draws his bowie knife.
He charges strait at the demon!
Total=8
damage=12
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Connor looks a bit miffed that his affections were not returned by the demon, and all his efforts to coax him over were for not.
He shrugs his shoulders and re-cocks his gun. All that he can do, he must do, and the rest is in the Lord's hands.
"The Lord is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear?" he says, shooting.
Since time goes slower for him, he puts another round into the rampaging thing. "The Lord is the stronghold of my life— of whom shall I be afraid?"
= 8
Haruto steps back from the demon as it bellows, and that leaves all the opening Father Murphy and Kristophe need. The big bull of a man charges in, not unlike the demon's own headlong rush, and likewise slams a knife into its side. It roars in anger and backpedals just in time to catch the shot from Murphy's six-gun. The other side of its skull is blown back, including the horn on that brow, and it screams in hate and pain and fearful understanding as it collapses onto the street. As its death throes continue, the shrieking echoing off the walls of the buildings and in the minds of all who hear it, the sound of gunshots joins the discordant blare. Between Drake's quick shots and Constance's steady aim, three of the gunmen at the hotel fall, one tumbling from the smashed balcony to a crunching heap on the ground below.
The remaining pair turn almost as one and run, screaming, up the side road peeling away from the hotel--to the cemetery, you all recall. Any fight they had in them disappeared as their apparent leader and comrades fell to the ground.
As the sounds of battle fade, the wordless voice of the demon lingers. It's weaker now, although no less filled with rage, and somehow more sinister as it rings in the posse's minds. Traitors. Fools. You've sprung at a chance for what? A little mayhem? Some time in this doomed world? You know nothing of what's to come. You are weaklings and idiots. Only luck gave you this victory.
Success
Already a Raise, no need to Ace
Success
Success
Raise
"You will find I care remarkably little," Haruto says to the air, not even sure the demonic creature can see them. "Considering you could not take us in a straight fight, it seems that you have nothing more than bluster. Return to hell where you belong." He calmly turns his back on the faded leader and walks back toward the rest of the group. "Murphy, if you would be so kind, I could use some healing."
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Father Murphy serenly approaches the corpse of the demon as its disembodied voice carries on. He seems to be mumbling something. The words "great armor" and "untouched by" carry on the wind.
Only as he closes the distance does he raise his voice, answering the demon's last words. "They are my bulwark against the Terror." He aims, and brings his pistol inline with the remnants of the demon's head. "They are the Defenders of Humanity."
He smiles, and looks up to the sky. "...and they shall know no fear."
He pulls the trigger, giving his answer to the thing's last challenge.
Haruto nods. "You have my thanks." He tests his range of motion and still finds it a bit painful to move, but not so much so that he is totally incapable. "I wonder if they left anything behind. I want to know why they were after us."
The demon lies mostly still on the ground as Murphy and Haruto approach. The remains of its eyes roll to regard each of them in turn. Nothing to say for yourselves? Content to let the puppets do the speaking? At the priest's religious speech, it manages a growl, but no more. A fine selection you made. Give my regards to the fool up the road.
Then the demon's head is blasted into so much more gore on the street, the dark blood seeming to steam for a moment as it splatters across the dirt. Even as the posse takes stock of themselves and their surroundings, the body seems to waste away, the horns crumbling to dust as the flesh and bone slough into the same thick soup as what poured forth from the shattered skull. The clothing it wore seems to unravel and turn to wisps of ancient fabric, disappearing into the murky ichor. Soon nothing remains but a rusty knife that looks to have seen its best years a century ago.
There is no wind. But far overhead, and some distance away--perhaps all around--comes a rumble of thunder.
"Somehow I get the feeling that he wasn't talking to us," Haruto says at the demon-man's parting words. "Now I have more questions than answers and the ones who might have them are gone. This is not a convenient situation. I wonder if this 'fool' is someone we should know, or if it was just rambling."
"It ain't all that symbolic, darlin'.", Constance replies to the voice, bitter satisfaction oozing from her voice. "You were just sittin' in my spot on my balcony. You come in, you pay." Clearing the chamber from her gun, she glances at the enemy quickly turning into thick soup on the ground. Her eyes scatter towards the destroyed facade of her establishment, as rage appears to rise in her veins once again. "There's two more customers running towards the graveyard. When they answer our questions, at least we won't have to move them all that much.", her voice dictates coldly. "And present company excepted, I don't think the dead do much talking. Let's go. Then I want to see just what a mess they left in my place."
Kris sneers at the fallen demon. He moves over to the tossed aside shotgun and reloads it, while he replaces his bowie knife.
Father. I don't know what brought us back, but I'm pretty sure it ain't the good Lord above. Kris grins a black smile at the holy man
Haruto nods in agreement as Constance points out the fleeing men. "Ah, yes. Somehow, I have a feeling that most of these other men were fools for the monster, but I don't relish letting them escape either way. Then a place to rest and recover afterwards would be most appreciated." Haruto absently cracks his knuckles. "Let's not keep them waiting."
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"The Lord works in mysterious ways!" Connor spits back at Kris' heretical comment. But then he softens. "Forgive me, my son. but the methods of the Lord are as inscrutable as a Cotton Gin to a bird of the fields.
When you show me a European swallow making good cloth from a peck'a cotton, then will I concede on our point of origin. Until...
Yes, I do not think we can catch them, but as you are bent on this path, I would not see us parted."
Having dealt with an apparent demon in the streets of Thompson Springs, our posse decides to finish their vengeance. Two of the men who helped lay them low ran off toward the cemetery, the town's own Boot Hill up a ways. As the thunderheads gather above, five figures set off up that same road, irons in hand, fury and justice in their eyes.
The approach to the cemetery is quiet and still, much like the whole day. But with each step they take, our five begin to sense something wrong. More wrong than their own return to this mortal coil, somehow. The scraggy scrub trees eking out a living here and there jut up like dried bones, their branches sharp from breaking and jagged against the gray horizon. The knots in the wood are scars, the shadows they cast leering and hateful and far, far too long and dark for the light. Some unseen animal gives a hideous shriek from somewhere in the underbrush.
The cemetery itself, however, is far, far worse. The heroes of this story are not lawmen, not saints, not naive folk from Back East. They've seen their share of violence. But not like this.
Fully two dozen or more figures are bound to poles, thrust up from the ground. Some are crucifixes, right-up or head-down, instantly recognizable as mockeries of anything seen in upstanding religious practice. Some are X-patterned crosses, the limbs splayed wide in a spread-eagle display of painful vulnerability. More than a few are just sturdy single rods, the body lashed to the wood with rope or nailed in place, hanging limply. Blood pools at the bases of each display, gore hanging from the bodies. Ribcages are cleft open, limbs hacked nearly asunder, jaws caught open in an endless, silent scream. The eyes of every one are gone, plucked out or eaten by crows. These sculptures of death line the path into the cemetery's heart, a simple statuary display of the Virgin Mother holding the Christ child.
But the polished stone is splattered with more viscera. The heads of the figures are missing, perhaps accounted for in the gravel mixed with corpses and limbs lying at the feet of the statue. Two bodies are freshly lying on the plinth: the two men who had run from the hotel. Both stare blankly at the sky, expressions of horror on their waxing faces. A large, black-bladed knife protrudes from each chest.
And behind the desecrated statue, a man in black, smiling. He's clearly a man, at least in shape: no horns to be seen, no red skin. His eyes look like black orbs, for a moment, but it must be a trick of the light, because then they're just dark, awash with sardonic bemusement. His hair is slicked back, his face clean-shaven. Were it not for the scarlet stains across his smock, you'd take him for a young preacher.
"Welcome to Hell," he croaks.
Haruto stops dead in his tracks. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest as the man, who manages to look far more wrong than the red-skinned demon did, just stares at them. "犯规精神"
(Total=5)
Kris looks around and then back at the "Preacher"
I've been. Let's send you there. and he levels the shotgun.
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mark of t3h phear
Fr. Murphy's eyes go wide and he lets out a primal scream as his mortal mind is unable to process the pure horror before him.