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But all of them were bleeding, bruised, or injured somehow.

It was a distressing sight – many seemed psychotic and were cutting themselves with rocks, blades, or even their nails. Some were cutting others. Some were asking to be cut, and some were taking turns cutting each other.

"They're all muttering the same thing the guy from last night was," Naomi stated sheepishly. She looked like she was ready to vomit at any moment.

The ground was being stained by their blood. Beneath the fresh blood, I could see what remained of old blood that had dried long ago. This wasn't the first time this had happened.

These people were going to die.

I rushed over to them.

"Stop! What are you doing," I exclaimed.

Most paid me no attention.

One of the people looked and me and smiled. The inside of their mouth was raw.

"Join us," they said. "His light will reach you."

Others started to take notice of me and stopped muttering themselves. Someone whispered, "New follower," and another, "She has no cuts."

One of them grabbed me by the wrist and said, "Let me cut you!"

The guy didn't wait for a response as he pulled me closer and slashed at my face with his rusted pocket knife.

My mind was too distracted by the reawakened pain in my bandaged arms to react fast enough.

Thankfully, Tymon appeared and slapped the blade out of the guy's hand before it could cut me. Tymon grabbed the wrist of the guy's hand that was clasped around mine.

"Let go," Tymon ordered.

The guy released my wrist and pulled out another knife, but before he could do anything with it, Tymon crushed the guy's wrist with his grip.

The guy didn't wail or so much as grunt from the pain. Instead, he slowly sank to his knees and then held his wrist up to show the others. He smiled as if enjoying the sensation of a new pain.

"Thanks," I said to Tymon.

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"No problem," he responded, taking up the rear to watch our backs.

We steered clear of the people for the rest of the way to the church.

Finally, after walking past everyone, we made it to the church, where a middle-aged priest welcomed us in a purple and white robe with the church's symbol across his chest.

"Newcomers! Welcome to Zakopane. Are you here to join The Church of Light and announce Michael as your god?" the priest asked, delighted to see new faces.

"No," we all answered.

The priest was taken aback.

"You do understand that Michael is real. We've seen him," the priest stated.

"I take it you're a leader of the church?" I asked him.

"Yes, I am part of The Phoenix Order – a group of abled devotees who worships the true god, Michael," he answered proudly.

"He doesn't seem to be here," Trik announced after scanning for him. "Or anywhere within a thousand miles of here."

"I'm not sure how you would know that, but he will be here today, rest assured," the priest said, a little confused. "You will see his glory for yourself. Then, you will know that he is the only god."

"My dream led us here, so he must be coming here soon," I reminded the others.

"Guess we're waiting," Tymon inputted.

"The architecture of the church is astonishing. It looks Roman," Trik commented as he admired the building behind the priest.

"While we wait, do you mind telling us what your church's emblem means?" I asked the priest as I eyed the church.

"Oh, I'd be happy to! It's the symbol of our god, Michael. He wears that mark on his forehead, almost like a crown," the priest explained.

That's probably what his ascension mark looks like, I thought.

"Why is the mark branded everywhere?" I asked next.

"For over 135 years, this city has only been for those who acknowledge our savior, Michael as their god. Its citizens revere him so much they often have his symbol engraved on their homes and businesses."

"Does The Church of Light have other cities like this?" Trik inquired.

"I'm afraid not. We are the only location for The Church of Light," the priest replied honestly. "We require that we be the only religion present, and since we have no intention of forcing anyone under our indoctrinations, moving to another town is impossible."

Thank God. I was starting to think this was a cult enslaving the town. Sadly, it seems the people are willingly behaving this way. But why?

I took a good look at the people still injuring themselves.

"Why does everyone hurt themselves like that?" I asked him, gesturing toward the crowd of bleeding, deranged citizens.

The priest smiled and picked up a knife I hadn't seen there.

"It's a show of faith," he said, cutting his forearm as if to demonstrate. "We've seen him. We believe in him. And he always returns to heal us."

He raised his now bloodied arm to the crowd and yelled into a loudspeaker, "Our savior will heal us regardless of what is done to our body. May his light reach you!"

There was a sudden uproar as the crowd shouted, "May his light reach us!"

Then, just as suddenly as the uproar grew, it faded, but the people seemed reenergized as they continued admiring each other's bruises and cuts. Some were on their knees praying and brandishing their wounds to the sky.

I caught Trik staring at them.

What was that expression on his face? Was that envy?

I placed my hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, you okay, Trik? You look a little envious. You wanna join them?" I asked, teasing him.

He shrugged me off.

"Why would I be envious of that? That wasn't envy you saw. It was disgust at their actions and depravity," he clarified.

I knew he was lying, but before I could press him, the priest gasped. It was heard through the speaker, so it also caught the crowd's attention.

He was staring at Tymon in horror.