Thursday, August 25, 2011

Interlude 2: Marquis Sabnock

The sound of the Bishop's fading heartbeat could be heard echoing the length of the Church of the New Order. The Bishop choked on his own blood that filled the cup of his holy communion and run down the side of the alter, once the chalice was full, where it pooled at the feet of the Assassin. He held the bishop as he slowly died, by his bloodstained clerical, clutched within a powerful fist that held his weight effortlessly in one hand. Satisfied that the Bishop was fully drained, he tossed the body to the side, which plodded against the wooden stage with a thud, echoing throughout the nave of the church. The Assassin stood before his peers, each of them united by an oath and vow of silence only the pontiff's ears could listen to, glistening in the pale candlelight of the vigil behind him. Those who watched from the pews winced and knee-jerked at the brutality before them, their stomachs wretched and twisted at the gore. The Assassin remained quiet and still as the blood of the Bishop slowly dried on his olive-skinned hands. He wore the tunic of the Templar Knights, the unmistakable red cross blazoned on the shoulder of his cloak, along with a second symbol that only a few among them recognized. Had it not been for the piercing red glow of his eyes, he would have been considered merely a madman with a thirst for blood on his tongue by the Priest, a random act of violence that their beloved bishop had stepped blindly in front of...but this being was clearly more than a mortal man.

The unsettling gaze skimmed over each one of the Priest, sitting among the pews closest to the sanctuary. There were a total of ten, with a dozen nuns witnessing from both the east and west transepts, mourning, praying, weeping, fearful for their lives and for the lives of the fathers. One nun in particular, sat and moved her hands slowly beneath her habit. The cold steel at her feet soothed the fires of battle within her as her fingers coiled around the end of the blade. She felt the warning hand of Mother Strange at her leg, shaking her head as cautiously and surreptitiously as possible. If the Assassin were to notice the young woman, all would be lost.

Among the Fathers, only four mattered. The voice of the Assassin, resonating the consciousness of the four Fathers, growled angrily. Eyes like those of a Eagle zeroed in on those four who shuttered frightfully as it spoke. "Ah, the sheep." The voice said.

    "Do not fear me, for those who deserve to die have already been carted to the underbelly of the world. Your chosen leader has failed all of you, among his church. The sins of the Father have gone on for far too long without judgment. I am simply the executioner. There are those of you (the four of among you who have eluded detection are no longer sheltered by His grace) in need of forgiveness of which there is none to give. Those you confide in are no longer your friends, but your enemies. The world outside these doors is no longer the world of man...or the living. Your pontiff is no longer the champion of your LORD and your Priest no longer the purest among man. Your blessed mothers are but whores with dark secrets." the Assassin turned his attention to the west transept. His sight perverse and inhumane, molesting each of them with his demented stare, their blood warming, their skin crawling with guilty pleasure, even as they tried to resist him.

The Assassin leaped down from the alter and approached the first line of pews.

     "Know this. Brother Death sits beside each of you. It is only a matter of time before he shakes your diseased filled hands. (To the four, Marquis Sabnock request your presence. I will await you outside.) Oh," The Assassin said turning for the altar. "One last thing-" He moved his hand in front of him, producing the chalice from the alter in the palm of his hand. "The blood of sin shall rain down upon you, my brothers, my legion of the living and brethren of the Dark Father."

He threw the cup high into the air. The blood spilled out from the cup into the air and spread among the pews, and then hesitated for a few long seconds, as though the blood sought out a desired target, raining down in a crimson drizzle over four Priest, caking them in the blood of the bishop without a single drop touching anyone else. The four were spread out among their peers making this more than just a freak coincidence. The Assassin smiled and turned for the large wooden doors that lead through to the vestibule. The body of the bishop caught flame and burned with an intense fire that only burned the body and the trail of blood leading up the altar, removing the evidence as though all they had witnessed had never taken place. Once Mother Strange was convinced the demon had left, she took the young woman by the arm and whisked her out through a side door beside the sanctuary that lead to the sacristy. Here, she would pull back the shag rug, revealing a trapdoor. She knelt down and took a key from her habit, unlocking it. She then motioned for the young woman to climb down inside. "No matter what you hear, do not come out from here until the 6th day!" The door shut and the young woman was immersed inside the darkness.

Moments later, she could hear faint cries and shouts of tremendous grief echoing above.

The four piled inside the waiting limo outside, saying nothing to the Assassin across from them. The death of their Bishop meant that he had once again failed to produce his end of the bargain, and his arrangement with the Dark Father was not one of second chances. The limo sped off into the night as the church erupted in a series of explosions in its rear-view mirror that leveled the home of the once proud and honorable Bishop, Antonio Verrelli.


  1. Ooo... Loved the bit with the cup being thrown in the air. Pure genius. Your imagery is powerful and moving. Fair gave me the wobbles, it did.

  2. So, what's the deal with the young nun? Who is she?

    My veri word- "jallide". A branch of warrior nuns who hide among the Carmelites.