John stepped out of the shadows, his boots scuffing against the warped wooden floor. The cultists turned toward him in unison, their hoods concealing everything but their twisted grins and hollow devotion. The golden-eyed man in the suit remained still, his gaze locked onto John, studying him like a curiosity.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man said, his voice calm, almost pitying. “These women need salvation. They will find it through my golden vision.”

John tilted his head, rolling his shoulders as he took another step forward. “Yeah? Guess I’ll just have to make sure you can’t open your eyes anymore.”

The Messiah frowned, but before he could speak, the cultists charged.

They came from all sides, lunging at John with knives, fists, and raw fanaticism. He moved fast. A blade scraped across his arm, but it barely phased him—scars from past wounds had made him tougher. A punch to the ribs? He barely felt it. But he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t get hit by those goddamn lasers.

The burns from the night before still throbbed beneath his coat. He wasn’t able to take damage from something like that. Not yet.

John grabbed one of the cultists, using the man as a human shield just as another slashed wildly at him. Blood sprayed, but not John's. He shoved the dying man forward, buying himself a second to duck behind an old wooden pew. A golden beam of light cut through the air, blasting the wood apart.

Too close.

John kept moving, weaving between pillars, knocking cultists down as they tried to block his path. Another laser fired, singeing his shoulder as he barely twisted away in time. It hurt like hell. But the pain was nothing compared to what happened next.

A scream. A real one. Not from him.

One of the women—Marie—collapsed, lifeless. A hole burned straight through her chest.

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

John froze. The Messiah didn’t even blink.

“A sacrifice,” he murmured. “Salvation comes at a cost.”

Something inside John snapped.

He surged forward, slamming his fist into a cultist’s jaw so hard the man hit the ground instantly. He didn’t stop moving. Another laser fired, but this time John was already on the Messiah, closing the distance before he could react.

The first punch knocked him off balance. The second sent him sprawling. John didn’t stop. He rained down blows, fists like hammers breaking bone and shattering arrogance.

The Messiah gasped, his golden eyes flickering with power, desperate to fire again. John didn’t give him the chance.

He grabbed the man’s head, forcing it down, and with a guttural growl, drove both of his thumbs into those glowing sockets.

The Messiah screamed as golden light erupted from his burning eyes, searing John's thumbs. John pushed harder. The skin beneath his hands burned, the stench of cooked flesh filling the air. The screams turned to gurgles, then silence.

The golden glow faded.

John exhaled, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. It was over.

The remaining cultists stood frozen, their god reduced to nothing but a blind, whimpering heap on the floor. Without him, they were just lost fools.

John turned toward the women, still bound, still terrified. He knelt, pulling a knife from one of the fallen cultists and started cutting them free.

His hand hesitated when he looked down.

Marie’s lifeless eyes stared back at him. The hole in her chest was still glowing faintly from the heat. John sighed and reached for her wrist, unclasping the small silver bracelet she always wore.

“Damn shame,” he muttered under his breath.

The other women were still in shock, some crying softly as he finished cutting them loose. “Come on,” he muttered. “We’re getting out of here.”

After getting the girls out safely, John pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

A gruff voice answered. “Harkin.”

John smirked. “Hey, got a present for you. Cult freak, glowing eyes, calls himself the Messiah. Killed a bunch of people. You might want to bring a mop.”

The cop on the other end grumbled. “Goddammit, John. You know I can’t keep cleaning up your messes.”

“Not asking you to. Just making sure someone bags the bastard before he bleeds out. Or worse, someone actually thinks he’s worth saving.”

A long pause. Then, a sigh. “Where?”

“Old church, three miles west of Centipede’s turf. You’ll know it when you see the bodies.”

He hung up before the cop could argue. His job was done here.

---

The walk back to Danny's apartment was quieter than usual. The city buzzed around him, but John barely heard it. His hand still clutched the bracelet.

When Danny opened the door, his face immediately fell. He didn’t have to ask. He already knew.

John held out the bracelet. Danny took it with shaking hands, staring at the charms, his fingers brushing over them as if Marie were still wearing it.

“She didn’t make it.” John’s voice was blunt, but not unkind. “But the others did.”

Danny swallowed, eyes glossy but no tears fell. “She… she would’ve wanted that.”

John gave a small nod. “She would’ve.”

Danny exhaled a trembling breath, gripping the bracelet tight. “Thank you.”

John didn’t respond. He just turned and left, blending back into the city that didn’t care who lived or died.