It was fortunate that Harold Square was barely a stone’s throw away from the Rousas mansion. Verune doubted they would have been able to make the trek if it hadn’t been. Lizzie and the Lassedite could still walk without any trouble, but the same could not be said of the others. Along with Lizzie, Simon and Steyphan ended up accompanying Verune on the journey to Harold Square.

Of the changelings who could no longer walk properly, Steyphan had regained the most of his lost mobility. He slithered now, rather than walked, and had gotten quite adept at it. As he’d explained, he’d been practicing slithering up and down the Rousas mansion’s grand staircase. When traveling on the sidewalk, he lifted his forepart up above the ground, which had his still-human upper body raised several feet above Verune, and the Lassedite was not a short man by any measure. The rest of Steyphan’s serpent-body trailed behind him, rich, maroon scales that gleamed like garnets.

Simon had feasted on one of the corpses before they’d left the mansion. Unlike Steyphan, Simon’s torso had reached monstrous lengths, even if it still held some human proportions. As a result, the location of his center of gravity made it difficult for him to copy Steyphan’s movements. Instead, he undulated along the ground, sprawling his arms and stubby, rotting legs to his sides, and pushing himself forward, like a lizard, though his neck was long enough that he easily kept his head up, nearly at Verune’s eye level.

Simon and Steyphan flanked Verune and Lizzie on either side, guarding against any dangers. Verune went over some of the secret Lasseditic prayers as they walked. Simon and Steyphan were already familiar with several of the ones he explained, but it was for Lizzie’s benefit more so than theirs.

It was a cold morning. The streets were hauntingly bare. Sirens echoed in the distance—a near constant throughout the city. Many cars were left out in the open, either abandoned, or with their owners entombed within them.

Catherine had stayed behind. The current state of her changes kept her from ambulating easily.

“I don’t want to slow you down,” she’d said.

Anne chose to stay behind, both to keep Catherine company, and for the sake of the souls in her care—her husband and children most of all. She did not want them to have to witness any more violence.

Where is everyone? Lizzie asked. The dragon-headed girl filled the streets with her voice’s somber music.

“The military was setting up cordons across the city yesterday. I imagine most people would have tried to flee before that happened.” He crossed his arms as he slithered. “Maybe they’re at the cordon, trying to get through.” He looked up at the buildings. “Or maybe they sealed themselves inside, hoping they could wait it out.”

Verune lowered his head as he made the Bond-sign. “May the Angel carry them to Paradise.”

“We should almost be there, right?” Simon asked.

“Yes,” Verune said, “I—” but then he paused. “—Wait. Listen.”

Voices could be heard up ahead, tinny and magnified, echoing off the stone.

Verune pressed forward and the others followed. Turning a corner brought them to a grand, spacious plaza.

Harold Square.

Nearly everything that had been in Harold Square in Verune’s day was still there: the islands of grass and trees scattered symmetrically across the pavement; the old, stone street that wrapped all the way around the square; the four walls of tightly packed townhouses that turned Harold Square into an urban courtyard. But much was new. Monuments and sculptures—many large and ungainly—had been built in the square. In Verune’s day, billboards and posters jutted out from or had been plastered over the walls of the handful of old, multi-story brick buildings. The Elpeck of the future still had advertisements, there, but they were those glittering blue holo-gram projections, showing revving hovercars flying down Expressways and leering geishas smiling behind fluttering hand fans.

Steyphan took charge and slithered ahead, his underbelly scales scraping across the pavement as he curled around Verune and Lizzie in a defensive posture. Steyphan pointed at a group of people marching through the center of the square, beyond a grove of sickly-looking trees. The protestors held signs and holo-gram generators, which they waved through the air as they chanted.

That’s them, Lizzie said. I recognize the white robes. Dad would wear them when he prayed.

“It seems Catherine’s information was accurate,” Verune said. “Fleoganin stan,” he added, muttering under his breath.

Lizzie let out a musical, green-wisped gasp as Verune hovered up and over Steyphan’s snake body, landing on the ground in front of him.

The Lassedite glanced back at his followers. “Come,” he said. “It is time to show your courage.”

He approached the protestors, and the others followed, crossing sickly patches of landscaping. On the other side of the trees, Verune could finally read the what was written protestors’ signs and holo-grams. He could finally make out the words they were speaking. What he saw and heard made his breath catch in his throat.

They weren’t protesters.

“They’re preaching,” Verune whispered, awestruck.

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What? Lizzie asked, approaching him from behind. What do you mean?

The Lassedite pointed. “See for yourself.”

The marchers’ potent chants resolved into a single word, repeated again and again: “Repent! Repent! Repent!”

They seemed as out of place in the Elpeck of the future as Verune was. They were dressed modestly, in the robes of the Dove, just as Lizzie had said. The figures at the head of the crowd had more feather-shapes stitched into their robes than any of the two or three dozen people behind them, who barely had any feather in their robes at all.

Neophytes, the lot of them.

Fresh converts.

The crowd gathered around a monument built into the plaza: a series of concentric daises stacked one atop another. Two of the figures at the head of the group stepped up to the topmost dais. One of them raised a tapered, funnel-shaped object to their face, and the next thing Verune knew, the speaker’s voice was magnified, echoing off the stony walls of the buildings that framed the plaza.

“People of Elpeck: you must repent! Our sins have doomed us all! The Last Days have come! Confess your sins and accept the Angel as your savior. It is your only hope! The Godhead has brought the Green Death upon us. The damned will die, and in their deaths, they will face the Moonlight’s judgment!”

“They’re preaching the coming of the Last Days…” Verune said, softly.

As the speaker continued to preach, the copse of trees at Verune’s back rustled. Dead, rotting leaves fell to the ground as the branches shook. Verune turned to look back, only to see Simon struggling a bit to squeeze himself through between two trees, too eager to find another way around. He spied Steyphan behind him, lurking in the glow of Simon’s golden scales and aura.

Verune waved his hand. “Wait a moment, Simon. Find another way around.”

“But those might be Lizzie’s asshole parents!”

Verune shook his head. “No, these are righteous souls. They are preaching the Angel’s truth. Please,” he implored, “keep your distance for now. Let me talk to them. I do not want to startle them.”

Simon nodded begrudgingly. “Alright.”

“You too, Steyphan,” Verune said.

“Gotcha,” Steyphan replied, from behind the trees. The grass rustled as he turned around on his coils.

“Come, Lizzie,” Verune said, turning to face the girl. “We shall greet them together.”

Lizzie gave Verune a wary look with all four of her eyes as the Lassedite grabbed her by the hand, stepped out from the shadows of the trees, and walked toward the preachers.

Verune raised his other hand, ready to call out in fellowship when a spotlight shined from off to the side. The gathered Innocents winced at the bright light. Others raised their hands to their hooded faces, blocking the brightness with their sleeves.

Then a metallic screech bit the air, and a grainy voice bellowed.

“Attention interlopers, you are in defiance of the health safety curfew. Disperse, now!”

The words were spoken at a booming volume, with a tinny echo, as if the speaker was shouting through their hands. Verune was not alone in turning toward the source of the sound.

Oh no… Lizzie muttered, as an angular metal vehicle rolled out of the street at Verune’s right and onto the square. The spotlight was mounted onto the vehicle’s roof. A handful of heavily armored Trenton soldiers emerged from a door that appeared in the vehicle’s side, like a jaw opening.

Verune stayed mindful of everyone’s relative positions. From where he stood, the protestors were gathered a short sprint away, directly ahead. Meanwhile the military vehicle and its company of soldiers were located ahead and to the right, at one of the edges of Harold Square. Together, the three locations formed the corners of a right triangle.

The soldiers maintained a tight formation as they stepped forward. Verune gasped along with many of the robed Innocents as the soldier pulled out rifles and aimed them squarely at the crowd.

Shit, Lizzie said, are they going to fire at them?

Verune noted that neither group seemed to have noticed him or Lizzie yet.

“This is your final warning!” one of the soldiers said. He spoke into the same kind of voice-magnifying device as the preacher had. “Disperse now, or we will use force.”

They did not disperse. If anything, the head preacher redoubled his efforts.

Truly, the Beast’s courage is with him, Verune thought.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Verune turned around and bellowed. “Simon! Steyphan! The time is now!”

Heads in the crowd turned toward Verune’s yell, and gasps and shouts shot up as they caught sight of Lizzie, but everyone’s attention soon turned back to the dais. The crowd clamored as the other preacher on the dais lifted a bulky device into the air. The man’s robe-sleeves drooped as he raised his arms high, revealing bolts of the Green Death’s black lightning on his skin.

The giant holo-gram advertisements projected above the townhouses from the old brick buildings began to flicker.

“Lass, they’ve hacked into the holo-projectors!”

Verune whipped around to see Steyphan slithering up behind him. Simon crawled, lizard-like, at his side.

“Whoa…” Simon said.

Turning, Verune was astonished to see the projections move. They changed location, shifting toward the center of the Square, where they merged into a single, grand shade of the Holy Angel Himself. The head of the ethereal, blue holo-gram peaked over the townhouses’ rooftops.

“They’re hacking the network!” one of the soldiers yelled. “Gas them!”

“Incoming!” shouted another.

Several of the soldiers pulled out guns with thick, tubular barrels, which they fired, launching metal canisters at the crowd. Thick, pungent clouds of white smoke started pouring from the canisters before they even hit the ground. As the canisters hit the pavement, they bounced back up and rolled and tumbled, seeding smoky trails all over the Harold Square.

Shouts of alarm came up from the crowd, but other voices rose up even higher. “Do not give in!” they yelled. “They are the enemy!”

Coughs broke out among the crowd. People raised their robes, trying to block the smoke.

“What is this!?” Verune yelled.

“Tear gas!” Steyphan said. “It’s non-lethal. It irritates the eyes and mucous membranes, getting people disperse.”

Then, within the smoke, the Innocents began to fall. The holo-gram of the Angel vanished as the device generating it cracked apart on the pavement.

Verune watched in horror as the gathered crowd fell to their knees and coughed up fluid—a mix of red blood and black ooze. Amidst the clouds of gas, Verune saw eyes roll up into heads and bodies fall still.

Panic flashed in all four of Lizzie eyes. What the hell is happening to them?! she yelled.

“By the Angel!” Simon said. “The infection has damaged their lungs too much. They can’t handle the tear gas.”

The holy whispers in Verune’s mind grew loud as his rage peaked. These people were bringing the Truth to the world. They were trying to save souls.

They were barbarians, the lot of them. They didn’t need for the Green Death to turn them into demons; they were agents of Hell already, wantonly killing proselytizers of the faith.

“Murderers!” Verune screamed. “Scum!”

It was Hilleman all over again. It was the same as the people who wanted to take Orrin away from him. People who valued themselves over God.

Lizzie rushed forward, yelling, We have to do something! Her cry split the air.

If Verune and his group hadn’t been noticed, they were now.