Splitting headache aside, Logan’s excursion had yielded results. In the months since his first attack of the mysterious condition, he had learned to recover quickly - to forget those vivid images of a Behemoth most foul. Why he had been stricken with this curse was unbeknownst to him, as he was certain he had never seen the beast. Walking on its fours with no eyes and tentacular growths from its chest and abdomen; the monster seemed to snatch people floating in the still air and bring them into its body - a most unusual mode of consumption for a Behemoth, but not unheard of.
He cracked his neck and looked at the tall bundles of hollow cut tubes on his back and on either side of Zeke’s back, packed neatly with the sap-soaked bark of some smaller trees - masterfully skinned by the help of the hound’s teeth. Zeke threw another worried glance up at the rider, only to have a gloved hand gently stroke the back of his ear with an assurance of: “It’s fine, boy. Just get us home and I’ll have those boys help me smoke mea-” The unmistakable sound of bells ringing echoed throughout the mountain’s many valleys and indentation. It was difficult to place the direction, at least to Logan’s ears, but there could only be one source of the loud, attracting noise of the metallic clangs.
After a rugged ride, the gates opened to a most unusual, unwelcomed sight. The sun had set and the blood-red skies had washed away for the first stars to twinkle their brilliant radiance down upon a curious spectacle. From the moment he walked in, he could feel the tension in the smoky, torchlit hair. Shouts of protest were directed up at the tall granite wall, where three distinct torches lit four forms.
Logan descended the hound and the two took their place at the back of the congregation, just in time for the last of the bells’ echoes to die down.
Atop the wall, Abraham and Michael stood frozen next to the beaten and bruised Ethel - her usually finely brushed hair a tangled mess of blood and knots. Her dress’ shoulder had been torn to reveal her pale, freckled skin - the two could only imagine what cruelties the Ghast had wrought upon her inside his office.
Michael felt sick to his stomach - sick that he couldn’t move, object or protest. The man’s mystic powers were too powerful - irresistible. He could not even shift his attention away from the woman and onto the dust-and-gravel battlement; his shame too great to stomach the sight of her. This man had beaten his brother to the point Isaac hoped he could repair some of the injuries, he had beaten this woman to a pulp and burnt all her belongings and there had been nothing he could do about it. Bear had warned him about these men - Logan had warned him about these monsters. And to think that he had viewed them as heroes.
In his peripheral view, he could see the Ghast stand behind the woman, with his black boot pressing heavily on her shoulder. Abraham stood opposite to Michael, his robes wet with tears. He had been tasked with tying the rope around her neck and would saddle himself with more of the guilt for this atrocity than Michael would… Marcel, blessed by all, acted before the stranger’s voice had deprived them of their capabilities. If he were to express any guilt, the two would be sure to protest.
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Down below, the entire town had gathered to roar obscenities and objections up at them with such malice in their eyes, as if they were as hated as the Ghast, himself. “This is a misunderstanding!” “We didn’t want any part of this!” He wanted to shout, but as with the rest of his body, his mouth would not move. The town soon felt those very same effects, as the Ghast roared: “Kneel and be silent!”
All, even Bear fell to a knee and found that their jaws had locked in place; all staring up at their Master to hear his scripture: “Behold this Sinner! She has confessed to the most horrific crimes. Thievery, production of sanctioned Drinks without His approval and copulation outside of Promise! With the help of these young men - these warriors, we have brought her before you to serve her a sentence worthy of her crimes.” Screams of pain sounded from below, indicating several attempted to break from the spell. The Ghast ignored their feeble attempts and continued: “Had it not been for the promise your warriors have shown, I would have ordered a Purge on this town, already. You are lazy, unproductive, sinful - a waste of space… But the Governor will have reparations for your crimes. Starting tomorrow, I expect to see all of you - in the farms - between sunrise and sundown. Pregnancies or ill health is not of the Governor’s concern - you will obey.”
The Ghast then turned towards Abraham and scoffed at the sight. Tears stood in streams down his cheeks and long tendrils of snot hung from his nose. With quivering lips, he attempted to form words of objections, only to choke on them.
“Exact the Governor’s will, Abraham!” The voice boomed in his head. The young man screamed with a mind-shattering, head-piercing pain - as if Bear had finally made true on his promise to bash his skull in. Despite the pain, despite the hellish torment, the boy resisted - he stood still on the wall; screaming and roaring.
After a demonstrative moment of the display, the Ghast waved his hand and the command disappeared from the forefront of the priest’s mind - instead, he felt nothing but endless, dreadful torture with no reprieve; no promise of rescue, even if he were to comply with the order.
“Pathetic, corrupted wretch. I’ll deal with you secondly. Michael! Exact his will!” The twin steeled himself to resist, only to retch as the pain struck him in full. He begged Lord Bravelle for the strength to hold, he thought of all he had done and would do, swearing on his life he would not move… but he did.
With every step forward, the pain lessened. Standing behind the disheveled, bruised woman on her knees, he felt heavenly respite - as if blessed by the Lord he had been taught to obey. His boot came up and pressed on the torn back of her dressed.
“No! No, please - I don’t want to! Please!” Michael screamed. At that moment, the Ghast’s mystical ability increased a thousandfold. Pain he hadn’t thought possible for a human mind to endure folded over itself; flooding his mind with a single promise. That a slight movement of his boot would set him free.
Ethel screamed as Michael pushed her off the ledge, sending her soaring down towards the paved stones and the horrified congregation - the rope around her neck tightened.
Three sounds in rapid succession shook the people of Anza. A shouted, cold “Zeke!”, a bark and an ear-piercing, gut-churning explosion. The few who still had their eyes open, only saw a flash of red and vicious rain of shattered granite where the woman’s neck would have come to a sudden, cracking halt.
Some knew the smell of gunpowder, even fewer knew of the smoke that followed the discharge of a Ghast’s gun. But Bear knew that sound, taste and smell well. Pale as he was, he turned to look over his shoulder to see Logan stand before Zeke, his gun trained on the severed rope on the wall. His bullet had cut right through it; a shot only a true monster could be capable of.
Behind him, Zeke held Ethel in his mouth and as cautiously as the massive beast could, he set her down with a thump.