Once, a long time ago, the galaxy found itself in an era of war. Good men found themselves turned to evil purposes, and even the faithful devout pointed their blades to each other.
"Y is the supreme administrator of this world," the Children of the Superb said earnestly. "He is a being to be admired and contacted. All else is blasphemy."
"Y is a state of being to be achieved," the Children of the Humble roared. "Through simple lives and virtuous souls, we may all become as Y. All else is blasphemy."
"Y is the kingdom that awaits us," sneered the Children of Paradise. "A garden yet to be built, free of all suffering and loss. It is the duty of the faithful to bring Y into this world. All else is blasphemy."
Their perspectives were irreconcilable, and for a grim time it seemed their feud might bring an end to the faith, but this was not the conclusion Y had devised. When all seemed lost, the Pontifex Maximilian stepped down from his throne, brought the three Apexbishops to their knees, and demanded of them the following.
"None of us yet know what Y is, save that Y is perfection, and so to claim further knowledge of this is foolishness."
"Thus, I command you each to go your separate ways, and to worship Y as you know it, and to learn more of its true nature."
"And so, you shall be Superb, Humble, and Paradisian, but even then you shall also be friends in the same house."
"And so, you will come back together every decade and speak of what you have learned. This way, the faith shall slowly become perfected, and the truth shall slowly be revealed.”
"And so, this shall be the final church required by mankind."
Aelin’s Fables, “On the Truemeet”
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Giovanni Sigma Testament, Apexbishop of the Superbian branch of the Final Church, opened his eyes.
Immediately, his mind was running at full capacity. No fatigue or malaise was permitted to plague him. He rose from his massive bed -- big enough to fit ten of him -- threw the embroidered red quilt off of his body, and began his day.
His chambers were just as massive as the furniture, intricate woodwork laced with gold winding around the room. Giovanni opened his wardrobe with mechanical efficiency, pulling out his ceremonial assemblage robe and beginning the complicated process of putting it on. Straps were tightened, buttons were clipped, laces were intricately threaded. He completed the process by pulling on the black gloves, fingers tipped with golden thimbles.
All of this fit him perfectly. That was no surprise: he had been created for his position, spawned to serve as Apexbishop of the Superbians. It was a duty he took very seriously.
A single glance at the mirror was enough to confirm he was ready. His pale face, eyes glinting red, looked back at him. His long black hair, smooth and shadowed as the night, was such that it almost ran along the floor behind him, but that was the furthest it would grow.
The black-and-red garb of the Superbian Apexbishop hung magnificently off his frame, all his body save his shoulders covered by the flowing dignity. The symbol of the Superbian branch, a simple golden ring, lay over his collar.
He reached out and adjusted it, but it had been perfect to begin with.
It was no surprise that he would be anxious, though. This was going to be a very special day, after all.
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He strode through the sanctified halls of the Deus Nobiscum, his face grim. A window spanned the hallway, giving a grand view of the cathedral-fleet amassing around the Superbian flagship, preparing for the journey ahead. A red carpet softened his step, and statues of Saints and martyrs past looked down at him impassively.
Giovanni was flanked on either side by his dear companions.
There were countless warriors of the Final Church who would have killed to serve Giovanni, but he trusted none but these two for that task. They were loyal to him directly, not to the pomp and circumstance of the Church.
"The Vox Dei are with us, then?" Giovanni asked, glancing up to his taller compatriot.
Pablo nodded, his binder of cards tucked under his arm. With his free hand, he adjusted his glasses, a soft smile on his face. "The Captain of the Vox Dei has a dear nephew on Polis. He's eager to ensure the boy's safety. He will support us -- without question."
"As are we all," Giovanni replied dutifully.
In contrast to Giovanni's ceremonial garb, Pablo wore a simple black sweater and blue jeans, his worn sneakers slapping against the wooden floor. Even with the inevitable tension of this situation, his composed aspect went unmarred -- as ever, his face seemed so relaxed that his eyes looked permanently closed.
Occasionally Giovanni would wonder if his friend slept while walking and talking.
But the Vox Dei were with them, well and truly. That was the last piece of news Giovanni had needed to be assured in what happened next. The Vox Dei were the elite guard of the Superbian faith, serving at the sides of the Cardinals and aboard ships like this one. Without their support, today would not be possible.
"You remember your role as well?" Giovanni asked, glancing down at his other bodyguard.
Jamie nodded excitedly, his golden pigtails bouncing behind him as he walked. He wore the snow-white uniform of the Quiet Choir, the hem swishing as he walked. Giovanni often thought those clothes looked like pyjamas more than anything else, but they were traditional.
The twin shotguns slung over Jamie's back, however, were anything but.
A fanged grin that was more than a little crazed opened his lips. "I just follow your lead, right, Gio? You move first and we go from there." There was a deadly passion to him, but Giovanni knew he could follow orders.
"Not a step or a word until then," Giovanni confirmed. "The party cannot commence until the music starts."
There was an hour, twenty-three minutes and nineteen seconds until the ordained time. Giovanni found himself running through the possible scenarios in his head, over and over again, trying to cut off any complications before they could even arise. No matter how many simulations he ran, however, his eventual victory went unaltered.
God was with him.
They passed through a truly massive set of sliding doors -- that whole section of the ship was considered his personal quarters, after all -- and entered the vessel proper. Tranquillity came to an inevitable end.
The quiet the trio had used to speak in was a very rare thing aboard the Deus Nobiscum. Before long, their group was surrounded by visitors and sycophants, all eager to pay their respects on the eve of the Truemeet -- and gain the favour of the Apexbishop, no doubt.
The Vox Dei, wearing red robes over their black armour, plasma rifles clutched ready in their hands. A squad joined Giovanni's procession as he made his way through the ship. Their bright red spherical hats might have seemed a bit comical, but the killer instinct in their experienced eyes was anything but.
The Warband Nyxia, massive hulking Pugnanta with heavy axes and clubs slung over their shoulders, kneeling in respect as Giovanni passed. One thumped their bare chest with a fist, grunting. In accordance with their traditional station, they had never learned to speak.
The Quiet Choir, their 'singers' smiling beatifically and shaking Giovanni's hand with careful fingers more suited to strangling than diplomacy. One of their eyes flicked to Jamie, a sliver of professional disgust running through their gaze before fading.
The Fifth Klavenian Hentopex of the Shivering Pulariovice, their masked priests holding ceremonial tanks of fish and insects between their armoured gauntlets. They merely stared silently.
They weren't even the strangest that joined their procession. The Grey Dawn, the Durdish Hamphad, the Knights of Reason, the Representative Gathering of the Little Children, the Cauleen Sisterhood, the Believers-on-Horseback, the Silent Embrace. Chivalric and esoteric orders, cults and holy gatherings, players big and small… they all wanted to walk alongside their bespoke Apexbishop.
And finally…
Isabelle Pi Testament, sworn sister speaker of the Higher Advisory of the Superbian sect of the Final Church, bowed respectfully as her younger 'brother' approached. Just from looking at the two of them, you could have believed them to be twins: save for a slightly thinner nose and a defective right eye -- blue rather than red in colouration -- she was his spitting image.
"Esteemed Apexbishop," she said, her voice sweet and clear as a bell. "If we might speak privately?"
Giovanni stopped walking. The crowd that had accumulated jostled for position around them, their voices hushed as they muttered to each other. To halt the Apexbishop during his daily duties was unorthodox in the extreme. Giovanni knew more than one killer glare would be aimed at his genetic sibling for this.
"Of course," he said, smiling humbly, bowing back. "The shepherd must make time for his flock always."
"As the flock must seek out the wisdom of the shepherd," Isabelle answered dutifully. With a hand, she gestured towards the nearby observation chamber. "Shall we?"
Giovanni nodded, detaching himself from his entourage and accompanying her into the chamber. The stately doors, metal engraved with images of Saints past, opened to receive them.
Beyond, the dark void of space awaited -- populated in this case by the ships gathering for the Truemeet. From this position, they had a perfect view of the New Millennium, a long and stretching war cruiser. As was traditional for ships built during that era, the front of the vessel had been sculpted into the visage of a prominent Saint -- Saint Timothy in this case, patron of shipbuilders and peacemakers.
His metal eyes looked dutifully out to the stars, forever blind and so forever perfect. Giovanni looked out at him, hands clasped in front of his body. Normally these chambers were used for meditation, but he got the feeling that wasn't what Isabella intended.
The doors slid shut, and Giovanni was immediately proven correct. Isabelle's serene smile was replaced with a scowl, and she stepped forward confrontationally.
"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.
Giovanni raised an eyebrow. "I'm unsure of what you mean. I was walking, if I remember correctly, before you accosted me. Is that the issue?"
"You know damn fucking well what the issue is," she glared, her language utterly unsuited for the habit she wore. "What's this I'm hearing about you calling an assembly of the Cardinals?"
Giovanni smiled. "Well, I'm calling an assembly of the Cardinals. I'm not sure what part of that confuses you?"
Isabelle ran weary hands over her weary face. "Gio --"
"Apexbishop, if you please," Giovanni's eye twitched in annoyance. "As usual, you seem to have forgotten, but there is a rank difference between us. A certain level of respect is expected."
She snorted. "I was there when you were still in a test tube. It'll be a cold day in hell before I acknowledge a 'rank difference' between you and me."
It didn't seem so difficult for you back in the hallway. Giovanni allowed those words to go unspoken: no doubt all they would accomplish was extending this unwelcome interaction. Instead, he cut to the heart of the matter.
"What exactly is it that you want, Isabella?" he asked, frowning in annoyance. "I have a very busy day ahead of me."
"Oh, yes, you've made sure of that," she said, waving her arms farcially. "The Apexbishop serves at the pleasure of the Cardinals. You do realise you don't have the power to call them to assembly, don't you?"
A smug smile crept across Giovanni's lips. "I've commanded them to meet with me, and they are meeting with me. It seems to me that I do have the power, then. Unless you have opposing evidence?"
Needless to say, she didn't. Her body stiffened, and she looked away from him, her gaze instead fixed on the void outside, as empty as her argument.
"This is about Polis, isn't it?" she finally asked.
No point in hiding it. Giovanni strode forward, hands clasped statesman-like behind his back, his head held nobly high. As he stood side-by-side with her, he couldn't help but take the slightest joy in noticing that he was an inch or so taller.
"Of course it's about Polis," he replied. "Am I meant to simply ignore the suffering of our people?"
"Cardinal Sera has that situation well in hand," Isabella spoke through gritted teeth.
"So he keeps saying. And yet, every time I look, it seems to me that the situation is very much not in hand. The people of Polis continue to be humiliated under the grip of a foreign and unworthy power."
Isabella glanced sideways at him. "The Humilists aren't a foreign power. We're all part of the same Final Church."
For now.
"And yet they refuse to return custody of Polis to us. What can this be but an act of aggression? We must show the Humilists we won't tolerate such insults. We must show our people that we won't hesitate to protect them. Otherwise, what are we Superbians but a mass of stories and traditions and empty air?"
Her eyes narrowed. "How? How do you… intend to respond, then?"
Giovanni reached out and placed a hand against the cool glass of the window, his palm covering the face of the watching Saint.
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"That's what I will discuss with the Cardinals," he muttered. "Don't forget: I was created to lead our faith, sister. If I don't act in situations such as this, what is the purpose of my existence?"
I would be like you -- a defective reject, jealous of the success that followed my failure.
Again, the honest insult went unspoken. Giovanni turned to leave, the cloak of faithful humility already settling once again over his body and tongue. His shoes clicked against the polished floor.
"Giovanni!" Isabella called after him.
He turned to look back at her.
For once, she seemed unable to find words, her mouth opening and closing once before she worked up the nerve: "Just… don't do anything rash. The unity of the Church is more important than anything."
Giovanni's eyes narrowed hatefully, and he struck the wall behind him with such unenhanced force that it left a visible dent. Isabella took a careful step back.
"If Brinkmann has something to say to me," he snarled. "Tell him to use his own mouth, not yours. Good day to you."
No more words passed between them. He swung back around, robe flapping in the air like a flag, and marched out of the chamber.
The unity of the Church was more important than anything?
Oh, Brinkmann. I couldn't agree more.
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"And with this," Cardinal Williams said, rolling back up the scroll from which he'd just read his list of names. "I declare this assembly of the Cardinals and the Apexbishop official -- and all matters discussed within to be of the deepest confidentiality."
With those last words, Williams gave a derisive glance to Pablo and Jamie, standing on either side of Giovanni's throne. No doubt he resented the fact that this meeting had been called at all.
Like every other chamber on the Deus Nobiscum, this meeting room was steeped in history. It was here that the Yuren Accords had been signed, where the Fell Beast Extermination Commission had been approved, where the execution of Apexbishop Sunder had been decided.
The aura of days past seemed to bleed through the red carpet, the antique long table, the ten tall chairs gathered around it and the resplendent throne that looked down from above. As Giovanni sat in it, chin resting on his fist, he felt as though he could feel the will of Apexbishops gone by.
Williams sat down, his bodyguards in black suits standing behind him protectively. During occasions like this, the Vox Dei maintained a protective perimeter around the inside of the chamber itself, but the Cardinal's own staff handled their personal security.
Curious. When Giovanni brought those loyal to him alone here, they were looked upon as trespassers, but there was no issue when a Cardinal did the very same thing. The hypocrisy was almost visible in the air.
Williams steepled his hands before him. The white, braided beard of the old man was a stark contrast to his red robes, accentuated with gold lining.
In the Superbian faith, any dictation by the Apexbishop required the majority approval of the Council of Cardinals -- the representatives of their mass denominations. It had been that way since Apexbishop Sunder, who had overstepped his bounds and shamed the sect as a result. But the resultant overcorrection had turned the balance of power all wrong.
If the Apexbishop required the approval of his lessers to act, he was no leader at all -- at best he was a figurehead. At worst, a puppet.
The Cardinals looked to Williams, the most senior among them, for direction -- and so the majority always went for what that man wanted. As things were now, he might as well have been sitting on Giovanni's throne.
"The Council is very interested," Williams began, the new irritation in his tone an utter contrast to his previous official reading. "To know why you have called us here. You do not have the authority to call an assembly of the Cardinals."
And yet you have come.
"My apologies for my willfulness," Giovanni replied, with none of the humility his words would imply. "I am still young, and adjusting to my position. All the same, there is a great deal for us to discuss, honoured cardinals. With the Truemeet imminent, I thought it best for us to establish our positions beforehand."
"Indeed, the Truemeet is imminent," Williams raised an eyebrow. "The meeting of the three branches only occurs once a decade -- and that is because it takes so very long to organise and plan. It is that very planning which, I am sad to say, this meeting is interrupting."
"All the same, there are matters we must reach consensus on."
Giovanni could feel the eyes of the other Cardinals flicking between himself and Williams as they spoke, the tension in the air thick enough that a knife would break rather than cut through it.
"And what matters would those be?" Williams asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.
"Polis."
A low groan reverberated through the gathered Cardinals, and Giovanni's eye twitched in annoyance from the clear disregard. It was only Pablo's reassuring hand on his shoulder that stopped him from losing his temper then and there.
A thin, insincere smile spread across Williams' lips. "Polis is well in hand."
"I disagree," Giovanni said, his voice calm and even.
"Whether you agree is irrelevant. I am telling you that Polis is well in hand. Cardinal Sera?"
The Cardinal in charge of the Polis situation straightened up in his seat, clearing his throat. Sera was the youngest among the Cardinals, but still decades older than Giovanni, the lines on his face betraying his decrepity. He slid a finger across the script in front of him, and a holographic model of the winter world Polis appeared hovering over the table.
"Thus far," Sera said, one hand stroking his little black beard. "The Humilist quarantine has continued without violent incident. A few incoming ships have been turned away, but as I understand, that was accomplished peacefully."
Giovanni snorted. "I see. So we should be grateful to these trespassers for not being too rough with our people?"
Kingston, a weaselly little man, spoke up. "The Parduma is a dangerous disease, my Apexbishop. I'm afraid, with such a substantial infection on Polis, quarantine is required."
"A quarantine we are well equipped to enact ourselves," Giovanni snapped. "The Humilists have no right to establish themselves over our people."
"Well," Kingston continued, wringing his hands. "As I understand it, there was concern we were not acting swiftly enough, and a great deal of traffic from Polis does cross over into Humilist space, thus --"
Williams opened his mouth to speak, and Kingston dutifully shut his.
"Gertrude Hearth wants to see the measure of you, Apexbishop," he said, his deep voice reverberating through the room. "You are still relatively new to your position -- an unknown variable. The cat is testing boundaries, seeing what she can get away with."
Giovanni's anger reached his peak -- and as he squeezed the arms of the throne he sat in, they noticeably cracked and splintered.
"Well, according to this council," he spat. "She can get away with anything. Why don't I just stand up and hand over this throne to her, too? That's where this path ends, after all."
Cardinal Alestrio, a balding man with droopy eyes, leaned forward -- his hands held out placatingly. "I understand the passion of youth, my Apexbishop -- believe me, I do -- but on this occasion, cooler heads will prevail. We are all children of Y. Compromise is not just possible, but inevitable."
The temperature seemed to drop substantially.
"Children of Y?" Giovanni whispered, his voice deathly quiet.
Slowly, he stood up from his throne. As he did, his eyes met those of Captain Jon Peak of the Vox Dei, standing guard by the doors. There was the slightest nod from the soldier.
"The Superbian faith alone honours the greatness of Y," Giovanni said, his voice cold. "The Humilists masturbate over their own supposed virtue, call the seed by God's name, and think it worship."
"Watch yourself, boy," Williams said, eyes furious, his own voice just as quiet.
Giovanni's voice boomed as he too made his rage known, spreading his arms wide so that his form may be beheld by the gathered councillors.
"You prayed for me," he declared, eyes narrowing into the most hateful glare of his life. "You paid for me, and now that I am here to do my good work, suddenly you protest? Cowardice. Incompetence."
Sera's eyes flicked throughout the room before returning to Giovanni's face. He, at least, seemed to have the good grace to look cautious.
"Your words are… extreme, Apexbishop," he said carefully. "What exactly is it you propose?"
Giovanni looked down his nose at the tiny, pasty man. "All that I have said, and you must really ask? We take action against the Humilists. We protect our people. We show that we are not afraid to fight for what is rightfully ours."
At the far end of the table, Williams leaned back in his seat, and Giovanni could have sworn he saw a wry smirk of amusement on his smug face. Fury bubbled in his veins.
"I don't think we really need to place this to a vote, Apexbishop," Williams said, placing his hands on his stomach. "Needless to say, the council denies this motion. Was this all you wanted?"
Giovanni sighed, his fists balled at his sides, and the words he knew he must speak next stuck in his throat. They couldn't be taken back, after all.
"I…"
He looked up, up at the ceiling. There was the stained glass artwork that had been installed with this venerable room, dome-shaped and all-encompassing. An image of Y in his galactic form, astral tentacles stretching out into every corner of creation, blessing every form of matter with the privilege of existence. A single great eye, half-lidded, looked back down at Giovanni.
An indescribable warmth spread through Giovanni's soul, as though it were being cupped in caring hands.
God was with him.
Giovanni looked back down to the gathered Cardinals, and this time the words came from his lips easily. "I believe you've misunderstood, gentlemen. I am not asking for your permission… I am telling you what is going to happen."
The room trailed into silence. Williams' face visibly paled, and several of the other Cardinals began to look to each other in worry. On either side of him, Giovanni saw Pablo and Jamie adjust their stances slightly -- not enough to be spotted by mundane eyes, but enough to be ready for whatever might happen next.
"You intend to ignore us?" Williams hissed, outrage burning through every syllable. "To ignore the decision of this council?"
Giovanni nodded. "I do."
The old man stood up from his seat, the legs of his chair screeching against the ground. "You think you can control the sect by yourself, boy?! You are a fool! Any control you have passes through us! Do you seriously think our constituents will just do as you say when we tell them how you flaunt our traditions, how you mock our history?!"
Giovanni blinked.
"Personally," he said. "I think it will be difficult for corpses to say anything at all."
The silence that followed that was much shorter. It quickly ended when Sera sprung to his feet, no doubt intending to make a run for it -- only to go flying backwards, his chest exploding into red, when Jamie blasted him with one of his shotguns. He'd pulled it out and pointed it without anyone even noticing: he might have been eccentric, but the Quiet Choir had taught him well.
The room exploded into violence. The Cardinals made a run for the door -- being shot down by Jamie as they ran -- and their bodyguards launched attacks at Giovanni's group, Aether surging around all their bodies.
They had miscalculated, however.
Third Verse.
Strings of red Aether coalesced around Giovanni's form -- and as countless projectiles zoomed towards him, his body automatically moved to dodge each and every one. The throne was utterly annihilated, crumbling into stone, and Pablo raised his reinforced card binder to deflect the few projectiles that went for him instead.
The bodyguards didn't get the chance to launch another attack. The plasmafire from the Vox Dei, who had raised their guns and begun to fire, slammed into their backs -- and caught between Giovanni's group and the elite guard, they quickly succumbed into piles of melted flesh and bone.
Giovanni stepped down from his elevated platform, making his way past the scorched human refuse, and looked at the pile of bodies that had very nearly reached the door. All ten of the Cardinals lay there, red robes effectively concealing the blood, faces frozen into expressions of utter and eternal idiocy.
One of them twitched, just slightly.
"Make him kneel, Jamie," Giovanni commanded -- and at his call, nine of the dead bodies began to move, limbs twisting in jerking motions as Jamie's Aether ability took hold. Chalk-grey Aether crackled around the walking corpses as they pulled Williams up, the dying man forced onto his knees before Giovanni.
One of the shots had brushed right past his face, scraping away his right eye, and his laboured breathing suggested he was not long for this world -- but for the moment, he was still alive, and he could still listen.
"You've… lost your mind…" he wheezed. "They won't follow you…"
Giovanni went down on one knee, coming face to face with the dying decrepit. He stared, red eyes cold, right into that pale face.
"Captain Peak," he called out to the commander of the Vox Dei, not breaking eye contact with Williams. "The council have elected to enter seclusion as they deliberate the Polis matter. As dictated by historical precedent, the Apexbishop will assume direct control of operations until such a time that they decide to return. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Peak saluted, smoke still pouring from the barrel of his rifle.
The commander of the Vox Dei had a nervous-looking face, his thin little moustache looking more than slightly ridiculous, but Giovanni knew now that it was no indicator of his true nature. He was a true warrior of the faith.
Blood dribbled from Williams' mouth as he slowly shook his head. "Mad…" he gurgled. "You've all gone mad…"
"If I am mad, Cardinal," Giovanni said softly. "Then it is a madness of your making. You can keep a man in a cage for only so long before he learns the weakness of the bars."
Williams moved, lunging towards Giovanni.
It was unnecessary. Even as Giovanni responded, he knew there was no need -- Williams was dying, and the grip of his fellow corpses was tight. Even if it wasn't, there was nothing he could have done to Giovanni anyway.
But Giovanni's body sensed a threat, and so he reacted.
First Verse.
Williams' movement ceased immediately, as did his life. In the span of a single second, Giovanni's blood-red Aether had coalesced into a long crystalline spear of the same colour. The weapon was clutched in Giovanni's hand, the blade stabbing through Williams' eye socket and protruding from the back of his skull.
Jamie's zombies released Williams, but the man did not fall. It was only when Giovanni reverted the spear to Aether that the corpse crumpled to the floor.
His gaze still fixed on Williams' body, Giovanni put a hand to his face, feeling the wetness there that he'd expected. Thin, watery blood was streaming from his eyes like tears. An unusual and unsightly Aether tic.
He looked up at Peak, nose wrinkled in disgust. He nodded towards the piles of bodies.
"Get this out of my sight," he said.
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It had been a long and historical day.
The second the door to Giovanni's chambers closed behind him, he let out a breath it felt like he'd been holding in for hours. The repercussions of the things he had just done would doubtless echo on for generations -- and he was still not done yet. The pressure was enough to make it feel as though his head was caught in a vice.
He shrugged off his robes, the freedom of it making him feel like a lizard shedding his skin, and stepped forward as the cleaning automatics dutifully collected his clothing. He stepped towards the mirror, inspecting his reflection carefully.
Was that a confident face? A face that had made the right decisions?
He couldn't tell. He had learnt long ago not to allow his emotions to show in his face or in his voice unless necessary, and now he couldn't even spot them himself if he didn’t want to. He believed that he had done the right thing, but could he be sure? If Isabella and Williams had been right, his rash actions could bring ruin, but…
…then again, they may simply lack his vision.
Staring into mirrors was an inefficient way of spending his time, at any rate. Giovanni had learnt a long time ago the proper response to such anxieties. He walked over to the bedside table, opened the drawer there, and pulled out the implement.
It was an antique punchpoint revolver, its wooden grip accentuated by gold trimming. The dark metal of the barrel gleamed dimly in the light.
Over the course of thirty minutes, he disassembled the weapon utterly, polished and oiled each component, and peered into it closely to make sure there were no signs of malfunction or erosion. He had repaired this weapon many times, and so by this point these movements were as practised and efficient as his morning routine.
Finally, he was satisfied. Reassembling the revolver, he reloaded it with six silver bullets. Then, carefully and slowly, he aimed it toward the mirror -- and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
Needless to say, the glass shattered, the cobweb of splinters confirming the weapons efficacy. Giovanni's reflection was warped by the gunshot, too, but he took no mind of it. The mirror would be replaced by morning, anyway.
Satisfied, Giovanni nodded to himself. The weapon was utterly without fault.
Then, he put the pistol to his own head and pulled the trigger.
Click.
As always, the gun jammed. A serene smile slowly spread over Giovanni's face. The light glinted off the 'sigma' tattoo on the back of his hand.
God was with him.