For several days, Cyrus fell into a downright mundane routine with Tuesday. When she wasn't in school, they roamed the city, avoiding both of their own homes. She didn't explain why hers was off-limits, and he didn't mind. It took his mind off all the responsibilities and chaos he normally had to shoulder.

He kind of liked feeling normal.

Of course, that didn't mean much. Cyrus still had the inclination to take the girl apart like a toy and see how the gears turned inside...but something always held him back.

They'd been talking about something inconsequential - well, she had been talking, and he had not really listened. Cyrus didn't remember what the one-sided conversation entailed, but it still set him up for a culture shock when he was confronted by Moloch upon getting home.

Thanks to his human background, Moloch resembled a normal man well enough. His trademark grin always set Cyrus on edge, though, and the appearance of the reaper in his kitchen didn't help.

He was debating whether he could slip past undetected when Moloch turned to face him, the jagged smile already slashing a slit across his face. "Well? How was it?"

Cyrus just looked at him.

"I hear you've had your second time," Moloch elaborated, arching his eyebrows suggestively. "I still remember mine. Lord, did she scream and scream." He threw his head back, laughing.

"Mine didn't," Cyrus said just above a whisper, pretty much above that day's quota for social interaction. Really, he just didn't have the same taste for theatrics as Moloch did.

"Pity. And another thing--" Moloch paused, craning his head to peer down the hall. He said the next part in a hushed tone. "That old bat should pull the stick out of his ass. In my day, we could take anyone we wanted."

Cyrus just nodded at this, edging into the hall. He had begun his retreat when Acheron appeared in his path.

Acheron regarded him for a brief moment before saying, "There is a group discussion tonight. Do not miss it," before gliding into the kitchen. Cyrus heard the sound of Acheron's voice continue, smoother and darker than Moloch's but couldn't tell what they were saying. He retreated into his room until outside his bedroom window, the darkness rose and swallowed the last remnants of daytime.

Cyrus trekked to the compound alone, seeing as the house was empty again when he came out. As was more often than not those days, blood was on his mind. The branches breaking underfoot resembled snapping bones; faint bird calls in the distance were a cacophony of screams. He found he had much more control over himself now that his need had been so recently sated, but how long would it last?

Was he only a slave to his urges?

The room he'd killed the priest in was cleared of all evidence, left bare but populated by all of Second Advent's members. They sat cross-legged, packed in tight and shoulder to shoulder. He took a seat next to Delilah, who shivered but offered him a small smile.

The only one not sitting was Acheron, who stood in the center of the gathering, watching as a few last-minute stragglers came in the door. Then he clasped his hands together and said, "Tonight we have an important discussion on our hands. Many of you have heard it before, but we have some newer members that have not had the privilege." At this, he inclined his head in Delilah's direction.

Acheron took a moment to meet each member's eyes. It took several minutes, and the room stayed dead silent until he spoke again.

"The God you once worshipped," he began, pausing for the briefest of seconds, "was created to keep you in line. Step out of line and burn for eternity."

Cyrus noticed Acheron's gaze flickered to him on that last line. Then he was gazing upon the others again; clearing his throat, he said in a lighter tone, "Convenient incentive, but the truth is nothing waits for you on the other side."

Glancing to his side, Cyrus saw Delilah was completely entranced in the speech, leaning her entire body forward slightly as if to get as close as possible to Acheron.

"Souls cannot be created or destroyed. They are, however, recycled." Acheron spread his arms to either side, gesturing to the entire room. "What you perceive as your own consciousness fails to exist upon your death. The slate is cleared. This does not have to mean all hope is lost."

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Kneeling until he was eye-level with everyone, Acheron continued, "Make your mark on this world while you still can. Man created God: What is stopping Man from recreating this world in his own image?"

Acheron let everyone absorb this, again meeting Cyrus's eyes. Still watching him, he said, "The process of letting go of these deeply ingrained beliefs is not easy, I know. It is all you have ever known. Let us open the floor now and share what made you first question your faith."

Delilah half-rose a timid hand. After Acheron nodded at her, she said, "He took my child. He let him die alone in agony."

More hands shot in the air and more stories ensued. Any tragedy under the sun was suspect. The last speaker of the night was another of the newer recruits, a slender woman with mousy hair. Jane, Josie--Cyrus couldn't quite remember her name. "Children are supposed to be God's most precious gift. My husband and I tried for many years until we discovered I was infertile. He left me."

Acheron's eyes stayed on the woman for several seconds, and Cyrus felt a strange coldness seep into the room. It seemed to drill deep into his being, and he felt the members on either side of him shudder.

Then it was gone, replaced by an easy-going smile. "Well, that will do for tonight. Everyone back to your quarters."

As Cyrus rose and everyone began trickling out of the room, Acheron gestured for him to stay back. When the room had emptied, he ushered him out as well and they began the hike back. "Take a moment to steady yourself. Ten minutes of meditation, and then we must resume your training."

Already his eyelids had begun to droop, and the idea of staying awake any longer was less than appealing. They never trained so late at night. The peak of alertness for any given person was around noon, give or take several hours, and they took use of the high mental clarity.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that when you were off running about with the human," Acheron said icily.

Cyrus did not dare respond. All week, he'd been allowed to come and go as he pleased with not so much as a bitter look from his mentor; then again, he hadn't seen him much at all. Cyrus had figured his freedom was a given.

He did as he was told, clearing his mind and allowing his breaths to slow and deepen. Thoughts poked at him, begging for his attention, but Cyrus did not let them through. He met with Acheron on the floor of the den.

"I noted the White woman was more comfortable near you," he said upon Cyrus's arrival. "Well done."

Cyrus thought about the flickering and shattering lights.

"That's a mere stain on the plethora of things you are capable of. The power released solely upon your birth, for example--" Acheron allowed the smallest of smiles to dance on his lips as if this were a fond memory. "You shook the whole damn world."

Whatever pride was in his voice left then.

"You are capable of making your own decisions now. But be aware of what you've been working towards. Keep sight of our mission."

After that, Acheron did much less talking. For several hours he coached Cyrus on affecting the physical world consciously. By the end, he'd broken out in sweat and hadn't even managed to break a measly pencil.

"Control. That's your problem," Acheron commented after calling it quits for the night. "You feel as though you must maintain it at all times and costs. But have you ever thought about what would be so terrible if you lost it?"

He left Cyrus alone to ponder this. He fell under sleep's comforting, dreamless embrace, but had a rather rude awakening.

For the second time in the past twelve hours, Moloch was in his home--this time standing over his mattress. "Get up," he said grimly.

As Cyrus scrambled into clean clothes, Moloch tapped his foot and glanced between him and the door. As soon as Cyrus had gotten his shirt over his head, Moloch took him by the arm and ushered him into the kitchen.

Acheron stood there, blacker than night itself. He seemed to be made of shadows; they hung under and in his eyes, and the very air around him seemed heavier. With Moloch still holding onto Cyrus, the demon spoke. "Did you leave your room last night?" In response Cyrus projected back his confusion, which only spurred Acheron's anger. "Answer the question, boy."

Cyrus shook his head, unable to string together coherent thought.

Acheron released a deep breath, leaning against the counter; the vise-like grip on Cyrus's arm lifted. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Acheron muttered, "I did not mean to doubt your integrity, but something has happened."

Looking between Moloch and Acheron, Cyrus couldn't read either of their expressions. His frustration was about to boil over when Acheron said, "One of the members disappeared sometime in the night. Her bunkmates explained she went to bed as usual, but when they awoke, she was gone."

Gone. Gone, as in, left? No one had left before. They didn't have a reason to want to. What did the outside world hold for any of them? They'd been drawn to this place for a purpose, and abandoning the community was the equivalent of turning your back on humanity.

The heaviness still in the air alerted him to the idea there was something even darker at play. It took Cyrus a moment to connect the thoughts: had Acheron really thought he had something to do with it? That he had killed her?

It didn't make any sense. For the most part, Cyrus was open with his thoughts and feelings. Beyond the Tuesday incident, Cyrus had never deliberately hidden anything, Acheron was aware of his every impulse.

"Who?" he finally asked.

"Not that it matters," Acheron said coldly, "but Janice Gladwin."

Jane, Julie--Janice. That was the name he couldn't recall earlier for the infertile girl. A sourness settled in Cyrus's stomach as he remembered the look Acheron had given her. Had he been imagining it?

When he was able to tamp down those thoughts securely, Cyrus met Acheron's eyes. "Has anyone looked for her?"

With a flourish of his hand, Acheron replied, "She's long gone. Make yourself acceptable; I will be making an announcement at the compound shortly."

Then he did the thing he seemed to be best at lately: leave.