“Fight the good fight of the Lord, lay hold onto the eternal life thy hath been given, whereunto thou art also called, and hast professed a righteous profession before thy shepherd.”
–Father Abraham, “The Holy Word”. 22 Months After.
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“Brother Ezekiel, you may now open your eyes.”
He did as told. The blurs of rehollowing clung to the edge of his vision, but somehow, he no longer seemed concerned. Not when there were so many fresh revelations floating through his mind.
The environment seemed to have changed as well. The sky had been cast in a layer of mantle of royal blue, the leaves of the many cypress trees around fluttered in the wind, shifting from green to yellow before disappearing in the tufts of grey that fell below. Even the lake where the baptism occurred had transformed into a crystalline sheet, reflecting the cerulean beauty that lay above. To think that he had thought this bayou was the pinnacle of ugliness when he first laid eyes upon it.
Father Abraham stood above. Calm. Serene. A bastion of justice against a world of Sin. The light fell onto him, casting rays besides his pious form. “What say you of the Lord?”
“Praise be His name,” Zeke repeated. No, not Zeke anymore. That was a different name. A sinner’s name. He was Ezekiel now. Brother Ezekiel. “God is great.”
The Father smiled. “He is indeed, my son. You have done so well to reach this point.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Do you know why God chose you, Ezekiel?”
He did not. Ezekiel had been wondering why this duty was thrust upon him since the moment this decision was made. At first, it seemed little more than an ill twist of fate. One job that’d pulled a Hunter too far from home, with nothing but despair upon reaching his destination. Though his crew perished before this point, somehow, some way, he had survived to reach this end. Could fate have been so cruel to drag his death out further?
But then he tasted a fraction of the truth for what it was, and though he now understood so much more, his Rez remained scattered by the new questions that each answer created. Why had he been given this charge? What purpose could a lowly mercenary such as he inflict in a land so pure?
Father Abraham grinned wide. “God saved you because of the power that you wield, Ezekiel.”
He blinked. “My power?”
“Yes, my son. It is this strength that you bear upon yourself that God has recognized. Not just your height or weight, but the sheer aura of tenacity that your soul radiates.” He chuckled. “Why, you managed to bring harm to so many in this congregation all by yourself, in spite of the dangers that it brought. Don’t you see how that is simply amazing?”
He supposed he did, in a sense. Though it did make him wonder… “Why did you save me after how many of your Enclave I purged?”
“But I didn’t, Brother Ezekiel,” the Father explained, his violet eyes bright in the light of the sun. “There is a weak part in my soul that would have preferred nothing more than to see you stoned to death for your crimes. It was not my decision to make, however. I trusted in the power of the Lord, and this was His answer, not mine. I was merely His vessel when He chose you to do His work. You owe me nothing, but you do owe everything to Him. Don’t you understand that? Don’t you see how how much His light shines on you?”
An answer and a non-answer, both roped together. Ezekiel’s head hurt. He didn’t like to think like this. He’d always preferred details that he could get in writing. But as he dove deep and reached into the depths of his Rez, he could find nothing else that bore substance.
Ezekiel could no longer remember what this Hunt had been about, or why it sent him all the way to Asscrack, Louisiana. Shit, he couldn’t even remember the name of the boss who’d given him this job. Boom. Gone. No more than a passing thought to be replaced by whatever floated through his mind next. What a joke.
And yet, here this new guy stood, smiling in front. Offering a promise of a different life. A better life. One that didn’t have him fight against this everlasting curse all alone. Why question any of this? These guys sure as hell never hollowed on their own.
As if he could read his mind, Father Abraham held out his hand. “Are you ready, Brother Ezekiel. Are you prepared to become God’s soldier?”
He gripped his hand. Ezekiel could find no greater path than this.
* * *
There was no room for failure here.
The heretic stood in front. Green scrubs as a uniform, automatic shotgun in hand, with the barrel aimed to kill. Brother Ezekiel whirled his bo staff around, striking the guard’s skull before he could fire. The unholy weapon dropped to the ground, and the heretic fell with it.
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Another ran down the hall, peppering the area with submachine gun fire. Ezekiel dove low and drew his hand crossbow from within his long, black cloak, reflexively launching a bolt against his attacker. The Lord blessed the shot, for the shaft landed between the heretic’s eyes before he could land a killing blow.
Ezekiel wrenched the crank of his crossbow with one hand, and drew a replacement bolt with the other, but a heretic took advantage of the pause and charged. The bones in Ezekiel’s arm crunched under the butt of a rifle intended for his face, but donned in Inquisitor battle armor, the damage was nullified.
Ezekiel redirected, ramming the extra crossbow bolt into this new aggressor’s throat. The tip slid up through the base of the jaw, and the heretic’s eyes curled inward.
Ezekiel shoved him aside and finished loading his crossbow.
Brother Isaac grimaced. “Brother, there are too many heretics! We are getting overwhelmed.” He wrenched the lever on his repeater crossbow up and down, a flurry of bolts launching into their enemies behind.
Ezekiel studied the halls in front. This place… “Mother’s Grace,” as they called it… Bore so much familiarity without any memories to back it up. He’d walked through these pristine white halls before, laid in a hospital bed here more than once, yet he couldn’t identify a single moment.
He closed his eyes. Brother Ezekiel need not know the path forward. He need only follow that which the Lord had placed out in front. So long as he trusted in the visions given to him, it did not matter where they came from.
“Follow me,” Ezekiel ordered, drawing his staff again and rushing down the hall. The survivors of his team followed behind.
Already, they had lost Brothers Jason and Luke breaching the front door. Though the Inquisitors wore boiled leather armor beneath their black cloaks, this equipment only functioned to tilt melee weapons and little else. The heretics’ bullets tore through them with ease, making close-quarter-combat their only strength.
It was far from over. They still had Brothers Isaac, Gabriel, Lucius, and Malachi left, along with Ezekiel himself. Just as God created the Earth in seven days, and the Beholding would be resolved when the seven bowls of judgment were poured, so too were seven Inquisitors sent here. Seven soldiers of God, up against a hospital protected by hundreds, with nothing to guide them but the Lord above.
Brother Ezekiel slammed another heretic’s skull into the wall with a smirk.
Could their enemy have faced worse odds?
* * *
“There is no choice,” Father Abraham said, his hardened visage examining the Unholy City from the distance of their camp. “If our reports are true, then the Lord is testing our devotion now. We must rescue Leah Fenix from the heretics before she succumbs to this illness.”
“That would break the peace you’ve established,” Ezekiel pointed out. “We’d be risking a war.”
But the Father did not blink. “The Beholding is nothing more than a state of war, Brother Ezekiel. The Lord is combating the Devil inside the Chosen One’s soul, and the Whore of Babylon rallies more heretics as we speak. Where do you plan to be as the battle rages onward?”
He fell to his knees. “Wherever I am commanded.”
Father Abraham’s eyes twinkled with the Light of the Lord as he uttered his final command. “Save Leah Fenix. Save the Lord whom has saved your soul. Do not return without Her. The fate of the world depends on it!”
* * *
So it was that this divine duty fell to Ezekiel and his most trusted men. They would either secure the Chosen One, or they would all perish as traitors who defied the agreed upon terms of peace. Father Abraham had been explicit about where they stood. The moment they drew blood, he would have no choice but to disown them publicly. Any other route would incur the full wrath of Pandemonium and its people, at a time when they needed to baptize every Beholder they could get.
More scrub-clad heretics held formation at the end of a ward, the entire space open from the hallway they needed to pass. Tables and counters worked as makeshift cover as they turned this area into a killing field. Too tight to surpass with the Inquisitor’s current armament. Brother Gabriel charged forth, only to be cut down before he had traveled even a third of the way across.
Ezekiel grunted and doubled back, then pulled a grenade from one of the dead heretics behind, along with an automatic rifle. He yanked the pin and tossed the unholy weapon into the ward. Plaster and metal burst out.
With a roar, Ezekiel drew the rifle and fired into the shell-shocked heretics. His movements were quick and shots precise, the Lord guiding his hands as he smote His enemies. What few bullets the heretics managed to land in retaliation only struck Ezekiel’s midsection and shoulder, tearing holes through his leather armor. He shrugged off each with ease.
His other Brothers watched in shock at Ezekiel’s use of such a vile tool, but he merely nodded back. “Failure is not an option, Brothers. Press on while I cover you!”
There was no middle-ground here. Brother Ezekiel would see this task through to the end. No matter how difficult the path forward. No matter how blackened his soul became.
The sortie continued, with Ezekiel laying more firepower into the ward. Enemy reinforcements pressed in from behind, but buoyed by Ezekiel’s resolve, his Brothers claimed firearms of their own. Within moments of his group converging as one, the path forth became clear of hostilities.
Brother Ezekiel grinned. Blessed be the Lord’s guidance.
Brother Malachi grabbed Ezekiel on the shoulder. “This place is the best location to defend, and we will need to consider how to escape once the Chosen One is claimed. Go forth, Brother Ezekiel, and we will oppose the heretics here.”
He bowed in honor, then dashed onward.
This invasion had not been executed without thought. Ezekiel scouted the location in advance, and developed a general understanding of where the Fenix family was hidden within this complex, along with the most effective routes out. Were it not for the soldiers who had spotted Ezekiel and his Brothers attempting to sneak in, they would have already extracted the Chosen One by now.
Brother Ezekiel reached his destination. A single door in front, leading into an operating room. The leader of this place, Stein, had been seen going in and out of this place many times. And there was talk of vials filled with red, uncorrupted blood coming out…
Ezekiel shot the lock and thrust the door open.