The cathedral’s doors loomed before us - tall, warped by rain and age.

  The Bishop’s arm still braced me as I leaned against him, my steps slow, my breath uneven.

  I glanced up at him. “What is it you want to show me?”

  “The answer to your questions,” he said softly. “They’re waiting inside.”

  The doors groaned as they opened on their own, pushed by a will I couldn’t see. The sound echoed like thunder down the nave.

  It was smaller than I expected. The air was thick, stale with wax and damp stone.

  Dozens of candles flickered along the walls, their flames trembling in the draft.

  Outside, the rain intensified until it sounded like gunfire hammering the roof.

  But I wasn’t looking at the candles.

  At the far end of the room, a cross had been nailed into the wall - crooked, crude. As if hand made by an ametuer.

  And on it hung a man, my eyes widening slightly in recognition.

  The Cardinal.

  His face was bare, his hair gray and matted with sweat. He was draped in the same white cloth I’d seen before, but his body looked skeletal, the skin stretched tight over bone.

  Thin black stakes impaled his wrists and ankles - each one sprouting faint purple light that pulsed like a heartbeat. Around him, the floating mechanical eyes that once followed his command were now impaled, pinned to the walls like insects. They seemed utterly lifeless.

  The shadows shifted restlessly at the edges of the room, crawling along the floor as though agitated.

  I noticed the faint movement of the cardinals chest. He was still breathing.

  Barely - but alive.

  I stopped, glancing at his crucified body strangely. “What did you do to him?”

  The Bishop’s lip curled behind his mask. “Punishment. A sinner like him doesn’t deserve a quick death.”

  “Coming from you, it sounds quite ironic.” I muttered.

  “I suppose it is,” he said easily.

  We moved closer, each step heavier than the last. The air pressed against me - thick, electric. My own shadow seemed to recoil, as if scared of the sight.

  Finally, we arrived at the pew. I glanced up at the once priest - who now seemed nothing like a priest, but more a mere beggar I'd see in the Outer Rim.

  “This is it?” I asked, my eyebrow raised. “Is this the truth you wished to show me?”

  The Bishop shook his head. “No, Damian. You’ll soon be given a choice. A choice that you can't turn back from.”

  I frowned in response.

  “What choice-”

  A ragged breath cut me off.

  The Cardinal’s head lifted. His eyelids fluttered, dry lips parting. For a second, his gaze drifted aimlessly - until it found me.

  Recognition sparked. Then horror.

  “That bastard,” he rasped. “He lied…”

  His voice broke into a hacking cough. He spat, the phlegm landing wetly against my cheek.

  I froze. Slowly wiped it away.

  The Cardinal’s trembling eyes rose toward me, filled with seething hatred. His voice cracked with venom.

  “Demon child. I should have killed you the moment you opened your eyes-!.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Before he could finish, the Bishop raised his arm and clenched his fist.

  The black stakes in the Cardinal’s limbs ignited violet. The old man screamed - a sound so raw and loud it didn’t sound human - and the flesh around the stakes charred. His body sagged as life drained from him, his chest rising only by habit.

  “Scum like him shouldn’t be allowed a tongue,” the Bishop said coldly.

  But I already heard him.

  Demon child.

  The words crawled through me like splinters.

  I looked at the Bishop. “What did he mean by that?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, drawing his sword. Its reflection danced in the candlelight, thin and perfect.

  “Before answers,” he said, “a question. One that will dictate your choice, and therefore your future.”

  His tone shifted - low, deliberate, almost poetic.

  “Would you rather live in ignorance - guarding what little humanity you have left, and perhaps finding a hollow peace within it?

  Or would you lift the veil - see the world for what it truly is, even if it costs you your soul?

  Will you cling to warmth, Damian, or embrace the cold truth that burns?”

  I stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or stay silent. My eyes locked onto his his without fear. Only exhaustion could be seen from my face. My mind thought for a bit, before I gave up.

  I was too tired for any of this. And in all honesty, I was sick of being blind. Blind to this world, and blind to myself.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But I’ve come too far not to see whatever this truth is.”

  The Bishop’s smile deepened. “Even if it destroys you?”

  I hesitated, but shook my head to dispell the doubt. “…Even then. It's too late for me, anyway.”

  “Even if I’m deceiving you?”

  I met his eye. “If you are, you’ve gone a long way to prove it.”

  He chuckled - soft, proud. “Good. That’s the kind of conviction the Empire can’t breed.”

  He turned toward the crucifix again. “The other Angel - your companion. Such an innocent, sweet child. Her soul must remain pure for as long as possible. You must remain her safeguard. I sincerely hope that when you see the truth, the seeds of doubt will bloom. Through you, she’ll come to question everything. Before she becomes tainted by this world, she has to know the truth of it.”

  I shook my head. “Mary doesn’t need someone like me. She's better off learning from this experience that broken people tend to only break those around them. I’d only destroy her.”

  The Bishop looked at me almost kindly. “Destruction will come either way, my boy. Freedom lies only in choosing who it’s with - and how hard you fight it.”

  He sounded certain. Absolute.

  “Your paths are intertwined,” he said. “Yours, hers - and the ten other Angels who have inherited the Apostles Eyes. You will all play important roles in the future of our reality.”

  “So that’s what all this was for?” I asked quietly, my eyes gazing listlessly at the decrepit body of the cardinal. “All the blood, all the bodies? Just to plant doubt in us?”

  He smiled faintly. “The Prophet foresaw it. You will turn against the Empire, Damian. This is merely the first step.”

  He lifted the sword, extending it toward me.

  “You undervalue yourself. You and the rest of the Angels have been blessed by the Veil. Your eyes - and the other children's eyes - are the key. The key to everything.”

  “The key to what?”

  He only shook his head. “You’ll see.”

  He turned the sword flat, presenting the hilt.

  “Take it.”

  I hesitated, then grasped it. The metal was cold, heavier than it looked.

  He stepped beside me, his hand closing over mine. Together, we lifted the blade, the tip hovering above the Cardinal’s chest.

  “This will show you the truth,” he murmured. “Now - wrap your shadows around it.”

  The darkness obeyed, reluctantly, creeping up my wrist and coiling around the blade like smoke.

  The Bishop’s tone softened. “You’re hesitating.”

  I managed a weak laugh. “Strange, isn’t it? I’ve killed so many for my beliefs - believing them to be for a greater cause. People I'd so readily share a comradeship with in other circumstances. Fifty odd men on the docks, who merely wanted freedom, gone in the blink of an eye. It barely touched me. But here, before an old dying priest…”

  I trailed off. “I hesitate selfishly. Afraid to see it through.”

  “The end justifies the means,” the Bishop said quietly.

  “Maybe,” I muttered, my eyes gaining a more determined light. “But I'm sure of one thing. I don't wish to remain ignorant anymore. I refuse to be a puppet.”

  He placed a hand on my shoulder. His voice was almost fatherly.

  “You’ve been lost, Damian. Confused. Manipulated by those who claim to serve the light. Let this-” he guided my hand slightly “-be the first choice that’s truly yours in this life.”

  I bit my lip until I tasted blood. My pulse thundered in my ears.

  The Cardinal wheezed once, a last shuddering breath. My shadow tightened around the hilt.

  I was ready to move - ready to end it - when the doors behind us slammed open.

  “Damian!”

  Her voice cut through the storm like lightning.

  I turned.

  Mary stood framed in the doorway, rain and fire behind her. Her hair clung to her face, her eyes bright with horror.

  "Stop!" she screamed. "He's controlling you!"

  When my eyes met hers, I froze.

  For the first time in a while, real fear cut through me.

  Not for myself. For her.

  She shouldn't be here. Whatever happened next - whatever the Cardinal's death would show me - she didn't need to see it. Didn't need to carry it.

  I wanted to tell her to leave. To get out before this pulled her down too.

  But I already knew she wouldn't.

  The Bishop sighed behind me. “I’m sorry, Damian. But the choice was made the moment you walked in.”

  He tightened his grip around my hand.

  I fought to pull back - but it was useless. His strength was absolute.

  Our joined hands drove the blade downward.

  The steel pierced flesh.

  The world went black.