With a yelp, Kite realized what he'd touched.

Blood and heat rose into his head, then washed through his entire body, making even his fingers-especially, his fingers, tingle. He could only view Aprils' crimson cheeks from the corner of his eye, but he could make out the drop of sweat trailing down her pale and blushed face. The contrast only helped to make her resemble a doll, a brave, beautiful, gorgeous doll.

His heart beat upon his ribcage like a lion in a cage, roaring to be let out. But no-Kite would never do that. He had his code of honor as a gamer to uphold-he would never throw that away, even if April looked helpless, vulnerable, beautiful, ravishing-

"K-kite, don't-"

He hurriedly tried to shift her weight in his arms, but the moment he did her skirt began to rise, forcing him to lower her fast, and jerkily-not on purpose. His finger began to melt. "Oh, God I'm sorry April-I'll just-if you could-"

A finger came down on his lips, stopping the flow of his words. He slowly rose his eyes from the pale thighs, up her slender waist, avoiding the angle of her shirt, and up into her eyes. Her frantic, nervous, fearful, teasing eyes-

...teasing?

Her breath misted, making her lips stand out, her chest heaving up and down while her sweat soaked into her shirt further distracting him. "...please, Kite, just don't..."

His ears strained to ignore the frantic beating of the beast inside, yearning to hear her voice. "...stop."

Here, in the middle of the camp? Captured and at risk? With her injured? Yet all of those eyes that he could imagine on his back...

Either his heart exploded, or his morals did, because he let his hand slip.

And, by God, it was worth it.

--

Huh. I seem to be going back in time. Ah well, screw the space time continuum. I have rabies.

I hope I gave you some ideas, Zeny...hue hue hue. :3

And, a short blurb I thought up while on the toilet. Don't read it-trust me, it's shit.

Spoiler :

A lawyer sits, assembling several documents. A coworker walks up, and asks what he's doing.

"Hm? Me? Oh, I'm just getting ready for some cases. The MPL's are really taking off."

The coworker asks what MPL's are.

"Hm? Well, the Multiple Personality Lawsuits."

The coworker asks what in Satan that is.

The lawyer swivels his chair around, it, being a swivel chair. Very fancy, too. Nice inlay, comfortable padding, shock-absorbing springs, well-oiled wheels, and even armrests.

"Moving away from my fabulous chair, MPL's are what we-of the lawyer class, a highly valued and rigidly exclusive group of elites that provide a valuable and necessary service-came up with when people stopped suing each other for anything less than murder-mostly because all arguments these days end with someone dead-and because those cases also end with the courtroom shot up, we-of the lawyer class, a highly valued and rigidly exclusive group of elites that provide a valuable and necessary service-managed to have the Council of Morons pass a new law, allowing distinct, medically validated personalities to sue each other. There have been hundreds of infractions regarding restraining orders, robbery, assault, and copyright claims already-but, since the person is only a criminal 50% of the time, jails have had to be reconstructed to house regular people too. A real inconvenience for everyone involved, except us lawyers."

The coworker says that's idiotic. The lawyer laughs.

"Of course it is! How else do you think we got it passed through the Council of Morons?"

----------------------------------------

I slowly tear my spear-a lovely six-foot affair-out of yet another throat. I kick my foot out in a vain attempt to shake the blood out of my boots. Its' useless-they're too soaked-and I don't want to take them off in case there are still hooligans sneaking about. I'm practically stepping in a pond everywhere I go, but that isn't why I feel filthy while tracking their blood around. Rather, I feel like the men this blood belonged to were maggot-ridden with sin.

I need a bath.

Still, it's not all bad. Although my journey through that rat-infested arena was unsanitary, deadly, and humiliating, after facing foes that tested not only my skill, strength, or mind, but all at once, I felt a certain...rise, in myself. Indeed, my faith felt less shakable than before, and my prayers could be further chained, and give greater effects. Truly, trials and tribulations are the quickest way to increasing a mans' faith, as scripture states.

"Oi Boss-! We're all clear up here!" Ren's smiling face poked out, conspicuously missing a left-front tooth. I felt pride just seeing that-the mark of a boys' conversion from a cowardly sinner to a faithful man. If not for pride being I sin, I would tell him so-but for now, education is more important than praise.

"Did you make certain they're all dead?" Gruff. Toneless. Like my father teaching me how to pull a plow. Even then, his eyes had seemed to sparkle with a light that told me I could do more. Did he feel this same swelling in my chest?

The rest of Ren followed, heels snapping together and hand coming up in a salute. "Aye aye, Boss! I poked lots of holes in all of their important bits! Though, some of them twitched while I did it. Should I double-check?" Ren seemed ready to jump back into it. I hid a smile.

"No, you've done you're job well-that was just the devil leaving the mens' bodies. You've rescued them from a worser fate."

Ren looked confused as we walked out of the dirty gambling den. "What could be worser than dying?"

I patted his head, and made sure I put weight into my steps to squeeze as much blood out as possible. I don't want to make the innkeeper have to clean that up-he could get tainted, and then I'd have more work. "That's, 'worse,' and what, you ask? Living with their sin, never to accept the word of God." I felt myself shiver in horror. Yes, death would be better. I envy those who must do nothing but die on my blade to meet God. But, my work will be rewarded. I don't want God to look upon me and see a quitter. Hell would be preferable.

Ren sighed, and shook his head. "I jus' don't see how words can be righter or wronger, depending on whether there's an E R on the end. Doesn't make a wit of sense."

I smile, and give his head another pat. "To be honester, neither do I."

---

The smell of beer, dirt, dried blood, and stale food is like a large wooden stick shoved up my nose. I think there's a dead rat in the corner. It probably isn't helping with the smell, although I'm sure if it could it would get back up and get out of here.

Maybe if I touch it, I'll catch a fatal disease...?

"Hey boss, leave the dead rat alone, and come over here!" Ren seemed right at home in this den of filth, and spilled food, and...and...

Grant me the will to persevere through this hardship, O' Lord!

Taking a seat at the table that was either very sturdy, due to it having survived what looked like a decade of daily abuse, or perhaps extremely fragile for the same reason. Ren sat opposite me, letting me stay in the corner and look out with a full view of the whole of this...place.

Ren is still smiling. If not for that missing tooth, I'd think he was making fun of me. Mm, maybe that's why I always wanted to punch in the teeth of people who smirk at me. Yes, that relieves my mind. I've been having doubts with myself, but thankfully I've cleared it up. I'm not a violent person after all!

"So boss, what do we hit next?" Ren looked excited. Eager, even. Such a good kid.

I waved over a waitress, and between asking for anything, as long as it isn't covered in dirt, answered Ren. "While we're eating, you can just call me Cys. And, I'll have to review a little to see who's causing the most trouble. Speaking of, did we get anyone important this time?"

Ren nodded, then took out a sheaf of paper. He couldn't read, of course, but these were drawings with numbers. After shuffling through the pile and selecting six, he placed them on the table and put the rest in his pack. "Well, Cys, quite a good group this time. Three were some petty thieves that were caught often enough to warrant a bounty, two murderers, and this guy. Caught in bed with the governors daughter."

I took the paper from Ren, and checked the drawing. Hmm, he seems familiar...

Right! He was the guy that pissed himself in the corner when I came in and ripped one of their skulls' out along with their spine. What a pussy.

I checked over the reward, then resisted the urge to spit. "Never mind this one. Did you get proof for the others?"

Ren shook his head. "You're looking at the most valuable guy right now. I figured you'd not be bothered if I forwent the others."

Troubling, how well Ren knows me already...still, I let out a sigh. Ren looks a me quizzically, and I lean forward. "Well, if we keep this up, we'll run out of poison and wine."

It's comical, how easy it is to pretend to be robbed and give away a poison, and how quickly they will forget caution and drink it. Of course, only a couple will be taken down by it, the distraction helps me to take care of them more quickly.

Ren doesn't look worried. "You don't have to worry, I'm sure Cys doesn't really need it."

The food arrives, some sort of cheese and a bread that looked to have only been half eaten by rats. And, according to my order, there was no dirt. Just a little mold. "If I were to simply walk in and fight, yes, I could win. But without a distraction the chances of one getting away or escaping increases. I just wish we were more than two..."

A group of guards came in, sat at a table nearby, and began to loudly complain. Just what I needed to go with my moldy cheese and chewed on bread. Whining.

Guard A eloquently expressed his relief at finding a seat. "Ah fuck, my damn feet are bloody shit-bags. The hell with all this patrolling?"

Guard B politely ordered for the group. "Hey! Tavern-wench, get the damn beer out!"

Guard C replied to Guard A with friendly courtesy. "Shut your damn mouth, you bloody bastard. You only stood up to walk your blubber here because I'm paying."

Their banter continued, obviously not disturbing the peace. I, for one, had tuned them out since they walked in. I'd gotten an idea.

Ren was watching the guards and me, switching pensively. He claimed to know how I react, and truth be told, I'd have shut them up if I'd been less trapped in thought. Eventually, I abruptly stood up. Ren turned a pale shade of white, then stood up too. "Hey, Cys, they're just having fun, you don't have to..."

I ignored him as I glided over to the guards, and smiled at them all. I asked a single question. "Hello, my good men, have any of you heard of the last time the governor went to church?"

Guard A,B, and C all looked at me, then laughed. "Hah! Church!" "Yeah, right, I heard about that along with a story of a pig that could fly." "A good joke."

Ren was twitching and jumping up and down, sweat running down his face. "Come on, Cys, this is my favorite place! Just let them go..."

I nodded my head to the guards, leaving them laughing to themselves. Ren seemed to relax, and ran up to me, a new shine in his eye. "You know, that was awfully tolerant of you. Usually people that make fun of religion in front of you get to know for certain what god is waiting for them. I'm impressed."

I kept walking in a particular direction, nodding absentmindedly. "Yes...hey, Ren. When a flock of sheep is driven off a cliff, who do you blame?"

Ren looked confused. "The...cliff?"

I nodded again, a small smile spreading across my face, genuine, sincere, unlike what I'd offered the guards. "You are close, Ren, but you don't arrest alcohol when a drunk man kills somebody. Who, then, do you blame?"

Ren thought for several minutes, all the time we walked. "The sheep, right? It's their own fault they jumped off a cliff, right?"

I nodded again. "Yes, once again, a good answer. A near miss, you could say. But do you blame a child when it kills a dog? No, you blame the parent. They were, after all, in charge of teaching the child right from wrong. They're failure is inexcusable. They need to be punished."

"Uh...Cys, do you have issues with your parents?"

"Huh? What makes you think that? I love and respect my father and mother who raised me into this world with all my heart. They are the only reason I've grown to be the man I am today."

"...I'd like to say I want to meet them, but considering how you are..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, just mumbling to myself. So, who do you blame for driving the flock off a cliff?"

We stopped in front of an iron gate, a large house loomed behind it. Ren took one look at it, then went the shade of white a ghost might be.

"Why, the shephard, who was in charge of leading them." I raised a booted foot, dyed red with the blood of sinners.

"God whom I love and fear above all else, grant me the strength to carry thy burdens."

Iron screeched and fell.

---

Ignatious Rembhetion Domineus III. Indeed, my name is quite fitting, for one as impressive as I.

Standing at a height of 5'6", I graciously allow those that kneel before me to not give themselves neck cramps, unlike those buffoons that stand like they're sitting atop a mountain. How much I wish there was someone able to carry me up behind that person to push them off.

"O-ho-ho-ho!"

"Would you care to enlighten me as to what is so funny as to make you laugh out loud like a madman, my lord?"

Ah, Zelvin. That cheeky bastard, he's so greasy I barely registered his presence! I have a habit of ignoring trash until I step in it, of course. I, as the witty, handsome, and dignified work of art that I am, replied pithily, as is my custom when dealing with, bleh, 'commoners.' Such a disgusting word.

Taking a pastry caked with white from the slave holding a platter up to me, I spoke throw the confectioners' sugar. "Well, my good man, the simple thought of accepting your deal was enough to send peals of amusement through me! Your outrageous prices exceed my tolerance for foolishness, you feebleminded imbecile."

Zelvin, his considerable height brought low before me, his greasy black hair a mess and in no way fit for an audience with the uncle of a king! At least his shirt barely covers his ribs. Hmpf, the only good commoner is an enslaved, laboring, starving, beaten half-to-death kind. Pah! I should send for my guards to give this nincompoop a good whacking!

"...My lord Ignatious, I'm offering you a deal that could quite possibly make yours the fief richer than many countries, and all I'm asking is a pittance to make my journey back to carry a message. Are you certain that is too expensive for you?"

I thought back to what we had been talking about. Hmm...he mentioned a road to the south, something something commoner something something please beat me something blah blah that hat is just lovely with that coat blah blah I'm not worthy...well, whatever. I just have him beaten anyway.

"Guards!"

Zelvin froze, sweat beginning to form on his brow, his finger inching towards his coat. Hm? Gonna take one more pull from a flask before I have him strung up and flayed? Just what you'd expect from a filthy commoner. Drunks, everyone of them!

Washing down my delicious pastry with some aged wine, I snorted. Oops, I'm dizzy now, I should have the servant fetch the pan, I don't want my throne to smell like the inside of me. I turned to give the slave an order, but the piece of shit had stood up, and dropped my platter! Reaching out with my fully-fleshed hands, I sought to strangle the life from him!...or hold him until someone with stronger hands could!

I glanced towards Zelvin, to see if I could have him help me out with this unruly slave. He seems to be looking away from me. That goat-fucker! How dare he turn his back on one such as me! A king!s' uncle.

Looking past Zelvin, a red-clothed man stood. Hmm, strange paint on his face. Whoever did those streaks was a complete amateur! No professional would ever layer the color on that thick, it seems like its' practically dripping down his face!

...that's, not, paint, huh?

Something hit me in the belly, then picked me up and threw me over the back of the throne, and into the wall. Pain flashed through my back as my spine collided with the wall. I gasped, bile rising in my throat, another liquid I'd never felt before rushing upwards.

With a hurl, the green-yellow of my own puke flew up into the air, flecks of red joining it. As it came down and splattered onto the floor, spreading into a multicolored flower on the ground. Striking, that green-yellow star spreading out on that white marble, red dots highlighting the contrast. I feel like composing a poem, which is unusual for me. Usually the arts are too taxing for my body. My doctor himself told me that thinking too much could possibly develop into a tumor, and end in my death. The blasted man had then handed me a word puzzle, saying it was an early birthday present.

The box wasn't wrapped in gold leaf! The nerve, of some people. Oup, something is running down my belly. Ah, yes, it's dribbling down my chin and soaking into my collar. Mmm, quite a bit is red now, I wonder why? Ah, but there's something stuck in my belly, and it's currently supporting my weight while pinning me to the wall.

I must applaud the crafter of that pole. I have known several chairs that have shattered under my...dignified form. Ah, but there's another stain appearing around that pole. Hmm, that one appears all red, though some yellow and green have made their way out of the fabric.

Ah, I can't see anything except that one stain. Was my vision always this bad? I should fire that blasted doctor! Telling me to, "stop stuffing your face like obesity is going out of style." As if I'd know a commoner word like obesity!

Hmm, why has the ceiling started to curve? Did I always have a domed roof? And a floor shaped like a tube? The open door at the end of this tunnel seems to be letting in an awful amount of light.

I should probably fire the man who told me light doesn't curve, so it was impossible for me to get sunburn this deep into my manor. I have delicate skin...

I burn easily...

---

I stepped into the large audience room, and marveled at the wonders of nature.

Who knew pigs grew to be such a gigantic size?

Stepping up to the two that stood beside the throne, one trembling, the other calm but with a hand in his coat. The recognizable shape of a dagger that was used to being unsheathed lay just behind the fabric. I stepped up towards the braver of the two, as I had little patience with cowards. His grip around the knife tightened.

I showed off Fake Smile #2. The one I used when I got ready to disarm potentially dangerous individuals. It's purpose was to lower their guard, and put them at ease.

Unfortunately, #2s' effectiveness was somewhat lowered by my appearance. Namely, that I was covered from head to toe in blood and viscera. I see it as a human failing that the first thing people judge you on is how you're dressed. I could be a vegetarian, and he won't know until I tell him!

"I'm not a vegetarian, but if I was, I'd tell you."

The tall, dark haired mans' grip loosened, and I stepped forward and extended a hand. "Hello there, nice to meet you. I'm Cyscon, but you can just call me Cys. What's your name?"

He absentmindedly pulled his hand out of his coat, and gave my hand a good, firm shake, then let go. Mm, alright. His eyes traced a snaking path down my front. "G...good to meet you, Cyscon. I have several names, but I believe it would be easiest for you to pronounce the one I am known by within this realm. Call me Zelvin. Just, Zelvin."

I nodded. Upfront. Honest. Confident. I like him. I looked past him, and gestured to the man shivering by the pig-podium. "And who would our fine fellow be?"

Zelvin looked over at him, then shook his head. "The man is a slave. His tongue was cut out, so he cannot speak."

I nodded, understanding, then looked back towards Zelvin. "So, what are you going to do with him?"

Zelvin seemed taken aback. "Me?"

"Yes. His previous owner seems to have left him here, so what are you gonna do?"

Zelvin was baffled, but sighed. "I'll have to take him with me...he won't be good for much, but until I get back home, I guess I can take care of him. Maybe teach him how to use his hands to do more than serve someone."

I felt #2 shift into #5. The smile that expressed my pride. I think I made a good choice. Turning around, I started walking away. I heard a step behind me. "Wait! Where are you going?"

I looked over my shoulder. Shrugging, I turned back around. Calling out to Ren, "Hey! I'm done in here, did you find the captain?"

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Ren appeared around the corner, and waved. "Sure thing, Boss. One of the clerks told me where he lived, we can head over and surprise him!"

I barely remembered to put away #5. Wouldn't be good if I used that one too much. I began walking away again. I heard an intake of breath behind me. Throwing the words over my shoulder, "I trust you'll make a good Baron, Zelvin. Find yourself a last name, put on some fancy clothes, and I'm sure you'll fit in great! Might wanna practice your backstabbing, though."

He stopped speaking, and I stepped down the steps outside of Ignatious Rembhation Domineous IIIs' house. Thank the Lord I'll never have to say his name again, I felt like I was choking on a table leg.

---

I fingered the exquisitely carved silver on the handle of my dagger. What to make of him, that man who wore blood like a bird wore feathers?

I'd taken a seat on the throne. Indeed, I can see why that Relkfig had been so condescending. From this height, with a hundred men kneeling before me, just imagining it...

I pulled the dagger from its' curved sheath, and fingered the tip. A bead of red popped up from my finger. I wonder if I'd have been able to sink this into that mans' heart before he killed me...I'm confident in my speed, but the force it would take to throw a spear and have it pick a large man up off the ground and pin him to the wall?

Fearful. But he was mad, of that I am sure. But not the type that sits in a corner and mutters to himself, no, nor the type that went off on mad rages, nor the kind that did things for no reason. He was of the worst type.

He knew his own madness. He understood it. He'd taken it and leashed it. He had channeled it. So in control of himself, in fact, that I believe he might be able to fool those that didn't know what to look for.

I'd seen this type of madness before, in a cult I'd briefly joined as a youth. The leader had been so certain of himself, so in control, so measured, so sane, even, that he could be nothing but.

I stroked my chin, and idly thought, I will have an interesting couple of years to look forward to...

I haven't tried being a baron yet.

---

The captains' house was a humble affair. For all of its' humility, however, the home gave me a near-uncontrollable urge to see it torn down and burned.

Hmm, that's strange. Usually I only feel like burning things on Tuesdays. Today is a Saturday, so I should really be in the mood for impaling, but I guess I already did that today...

Well, this is obviously a message from God. Oh, lord that blesseth me with thine love and justice, allow me to fulfill thy will! ...and roast a few pigs in the meantime.

Ren was fidgeting beside me, probably hoping I wouldn't do anything extreme.

Oh, Ren, I envy that naïveté.

I strode up to the door, and gave it three firm knocks.

---

Being a candidate for kingship is difficult. All of the pressure, responsibility, and honor lies totally with me. Sure, I'm 346th in line, behind the kings' third cousin twice-removed on the mothers side, but that number gets' lower all the time.

I hummed a happy tone, taking a pen and marking off another of the faces on my wall of possibility. I'd recently heard from my uncles' doctor that he would probably pass away within the month, his heart unable to bear the weight of his...weight. Either way, I wold soon be 345th in line, and that was reason for celebration!

After picking up a bottle of wine I'd been saving for just such an occasion, labeled, "Grief for uncle," which I thought ironic. I don't like to brag, but I'm a funny man.

A knock came at my door. I thought about dropping the bottle off at my table, but that would require me to double the distance of my walking, and I'm getting on in years, I should really look after my own health. Whatever, whoever is knocking at my door is being disrespectful to my station, not preparing an appointment! They'll overlook the rudeness of my holding a bottle of wine while answering the door.

Though it might hurt my image...hah! As if anyone in this city cares about reputation.

I opened the door, and saw two boys waiting on my doorstep. The shorter was noticeably nervous, while the tall one, annoyingly taller than me, seemed eager, perhaps a bit unhinged, what with his face dripping with blood.

...maybe they're thirsty?

I get the feeling number 347 will be happy. They're about to jump up 2 spots.

---

The previous day, a rumor had circulated. Apparently an assassin had strode into the governors manor and torn him into six pieces, then nailed the pieces to the roof, before setting the whole thing on fire! ...the rumors failed to mention why the manor wasn't burnt down, but when can you believe rumors? Some people are saying the captain of the guard was killed too!

...still, it was strange that an edict was passed down, one that required every member of the guard to meet at the training field behind the captains' house. Not that it was ever used...but, the edict had both the governors and the captains seal stamped on it, so no doubt it was official. Besides, when had simple guardsmen ever worried about anything beyond their next paycheck?

In a strange show of strictness, this gathering was to be ignored on pain of being convicted with treason. But, it was probably just the captain trying to throw his weight around. God forbid the governor ever threw his weight anywhere, otherwise not even the city walls' would be able to withstand it!

Conversation was loud, crude, and disgruntled. The gathering was supposed to meet at noon, and the guard had been waiting for a half-hour. However, someone strode from a nearby shadow, and gave a short whistle to gain their attention. Only after five more minutes did all of them become silent, except for the occasional coughs and grunts. The boy that couldn't be more than eighteen looked over them with eyes that seemed filled to the brim with loathing.

Short, black hair. A tall, lean, solid body. A stance that was resting and alert all at once, and green eyes that reflected garbage. He did not look happy.

Striding in front of the guards, in a sloppy line, uniforms dirty or falling apart, weapons covered with rust or not even carried, armor streaked and unpolished, faces decorated with beards that were either roughly cut or not cut at all. Calling them guards was a bit of a stretch, calling them bandits might be too far, but only because you'd probably be robbed by bandits for the insult you just offered to their occupation. Banditry is a respectable career choice, and very popular with the last generation, so don't take them lightly.

The man took a step forward, to address this sorry group of roughians. He took a deep breath.

"Good God of Justice, but sometimes I hate my job. All right, first, strip."

Now, if a boy, admittedly attractive in a wild, beast-on-a-chain way, asked you to strip, you would probably call the guards. Seeing as the guards were the ones being commanded to strip, a bit of confusion took place.

First, disbelief. The men began to yell loudly, and shift around. Next, anger. thinking they'd been pranked, they got rowdy and started to advance on the boy. Third, dismissal. They began to head towards the door, to leave. The boy continued.

"Stop."

For a reason none of them understood, they stopped. And turned around. The boy walked forward, and addressed a guardsmen who stood alone.

Pointing towards his armor. "Look at this! You wear the gear of war as if it were a ribbon you use to separate yourself from other men." Lowering the finger towards his tabard. "Look at your uniform! You disgrace the symbol of your authority in the same breath you spit upon your own power! You take the gift of responsibility that your lord has handed down, and you rip it up to let your dog shit on." Pointing towards the weapon. "Look! Look!! Look at how you treat the companion that could be responsible for protecting your life at any moment, how you take the faithful friend that offers you their trust, and you throw it in the trash. See how you mistreat it, how you throw aside all of that, and for what?"

The finger came to rest on the mans' face.

"Look at yourself! You, who would save the lives of your people with the sacrifice of your own, you, that should offer peace and comfort to the children under your protection, you, who takes what is given you, and flushes it down the toilet! Look at yourself!"

The man backed down before the boy, but the tirade was not yet complete. The boy now took a step back, and addressed all of the group gathered before him. "Can't you see what it is you are all missing? Can't you see the one thing you all fail to realize?"

Birds twittered, and insects skittered across the ground. The wind whipped up, blowing across the training field, yet none of those present seemed to notice. All present seemed frozen, hooked on the words of a boy years younger than them. He whispered a single word, so softly it was impossible any could hear, and yet all understood.

RESPECT

It twittered from the sky, it slithered along the ground, it whispered in the wind, and they heard. And they were ashamed.

But when has shame ever been enough to change the hearts of men?

"Bah! I don't need to listen to a boy."

"I don't care, I don't care..."

"Why should I? I don't have to."

Once more, they began to trickle towards the doors. Until they closed shut, locked from the outside. The boy chuckled.

"...do you think I'll let you leave?"

Shame cannot break a man down and leave him with only weakness. Shame alone cannot take opinion and turn it into belief. Shame cannot turn a man into something he is not.

...at least, not alone.

The boy walked towards the back wall, where several of the tarps used to keep rain from ruining the equipment had been left hanging over nine-foot poles. One by one, the boy ripped them off, to reveal what was behind them.

Sixteen men, all naked, all struggling, all bound with oil-soaked rope, all soaked with water. The boy took a piece of flint from his pocket, and sent a spark into the wood piled beneath them. The spark became a flame, the flame a roaring fire, the fire a raging inferno. Yes, the men did not catch fire themselves. They were burned, they were choked by smoke, their eyes were blinded and their skin turned black, but the water soaked into their bodies kept them alive, for the moment.

The boy turned around, arms spread wide, his silhouette illuminated by the starving flames behind him. The only light brighter than the fire the brightness of his smile. The identity of the men behind him belonged to the guard captain, and fifteen guards convicted of treason.

Yes, shame could not change a man.

But fear, and pain, can.

The guards attempted to resist, but soon they had been defeated, beaten and broken, all while listening to the screaming the gags couldn't block out.

Twenty-six men died that day, a fifth of the total guard. The remaining hundred or so were broken down, their spirit and body reforged by a single man, their identity and body taken from them, and then given back, along with a new faith.

For two months, not a single guard walked the streets.

---

I am a minor crime boss. These last two months have been good for business. I've not had to pay out any bribes whatsoever this whole time, meaning my pockets and stomach were nice and full. I guess the governor stopped caring about appearances, and just fired the whole guard. Oh well, it doesn't matter to me, I should just enjoy myself!

The door banged open, a panicked thief stepping into my room. I looked up from counting all the money I'd saved from not giving bribes.

"Hm? What is it?"

"Chief, it's bad! The guard are back!"

My spirit fell, and that gut wrench I always got when I knew I was losing money came in. "How much are they asking for this time?"

The thief looked confused. "Chief, they're not asking for money! They've gone crazy, they're just-"

A long, thin piece of metal sprouted from his belly. He slowly fell to the ground, a pool of liquid forming beneath him, as a man stepped over his body. But a strange man.

Eyes with shattered pupils, body covered with fresh and old wounds, all of which bleeding. Words written in blood scrawled across the entirety of his body. His lower half was barely covered, but instead of wearing a uniform, the symbol of the guard had been branded with a hot iron into his chest. As the man stepped over the body, a hair-raising howl ripped itself out of his throat, before he licked several words written in his own blood off of his forearm. The crazy man stepped towards me, my death already a certainty in his mind, and suddenly I realized something.

I'm going to be losing a whole lot more than money this time.

Funny, the thought that I won't be getting any poorer didn't help the wrench in my gut get any better.

---

Ren stood beside me, hands clasped behind his back. I feel like clapping him on the shoulder, after these two months.

After the first three days of breaking down all rebellion and will, I began to build the guard back up, starting with what made them human.

First, I had them eat food from the ground. Then, I had them dig holes, shit in them, and then sleep on those same holes. For a week, I forced all hundred to live like beasts, to teach them what it is to be men. I made them kill cattle and sheep with their hands and teeth, and eat the raw meat. I had them lick water from the dirt. I made them give me their everything, and soon they gave me everything because it was all they could think to do. I stopped them from thinking. I made them see things in terms of here, and now, and whether they would live for another hour. Randomly, I would pick one of the weakest, and set him on a stick, and burn him, and let the guards sit, and watch, and listen.

This came to be their favorite time, as they didn't have to worry about their own life while they watched another die. By the end of the first month, they were animals. They forgot their names, their families, their knowledge of living like people.

And then I taught them.

Like children they came to me, like a parent I disciplined them. I gave them names, knowledge, and skills. I taught them how to fight, how to cook, how to speak, to write, to read, and most importantly, how to worship god.

By the end of the first month, they worshipped me like a god. By the end of the second, they worshipped god like no other. And on the night of the final day, I had them form up before me.

Fifty men. For after this, I can truly call them men. Before, they were cracked, but thought themselves whole. During, they were broken, and could not think. Now, they are whole, and they think only of bettering themselves. On that night, they lined up in a straight line, with straight backs, with eyes forward, not looking at anything but seeing everything. I addressed them, not as garbage, because they were no longer trash. Not as beasts, for they had lived as such, and come beyond, but as men, because they had earned this right.

"WHAT ARE WE?!"

As one, without hesitation. "SINNERS IN THE EYES AND MIND OF GOD!"

"WHAT CAN WE BECOME?!"

With certainty and devotion. "REPENTANT SOLDIERS IN GODS' ARMY!"

"AND WHAT DO WE DO?!"

With a fanatical joy I knew intimately. "KILL THE HERETICS! KILL! KILL! KILL!"

Their shouts rolled over me, and I closed my eyes and let the faith wash over me. When I opened my eyes, they looked at me. I addressed them, not as a commander, but as one among them.

"Tomorrow, we go forth and purify this city. But before that, we must acknowledge our own sin. I ask you to do a terrible thing, this night, but I do not ask it lightly.

Remember! Look back, and know your own sin! Big or small, trivial or disastrous, know your own impurity!

Take this night, cut yourself for each sin, and imprint your crime onto your body! Paint yourselves with sin! Clad your bodies with filth! Expel the dirt from your blood, and wear it gladly!

And tomorrow, for every heretic you slay, for every innocent your protect, for every righteous deed you do, let your own hands wash away the sin you have willingly shown for all to see!

FOR GOD!"

"""FOR GOD!"""

All that first month, Ren had stood at my side, and helped to discipline them. All that second month, he had stood side-by-side with the beasts-made-men, and learned all that I taught. Now, I could confidently say he was every bit as strong as any one of the others. Even without going through the process of being broken down, he had still let me build him up.

Still, he'd never taken off his clothes. I guess he's just shy. Still, standing on the street where, the first day I came I was attacked, looking out over a city alight with faith and flame, I felt glorious. Ren poked my arm. He'd gotten much more brave after the training.

"Hey Cys, how did you do that? I mean, I respect your ability and all, but how did you make a hundred men forget their names?"

I looked out on the horizon, where the sun was beginning to climb. "What do you know of Faith, Ren?"

Ren thought for a moment. "It's that disease that people contract from going to church, right? Sitting on old benches and listening to old people yell at you weakens the mind, and th-"

I put my fist back behind my back. "No, I'm not talking about common belief, though it is important, and not a disease. I'm talking about God-given ability."

Ren tilted his head, then seemed to remember something. "There was this kid I knew a few years back what could whistle through his nose. He got captured once, and when our gang was looking for him, we heard that whistle and came run-"

I didn't put my fist away, instead keeping it ready, just incase. "Not that kind of talent. I'm speaking of the ability that allows me to go beyond what common men can. Haven't you ever wondered how I could kick a half-ton demon-dog several feet?"

Ren looked up at me, slightly confused. "I always thought you was just a weirdo."

I resisted the urge to use my fist again. "...well, the reason I can do those things is because of Faith."

"...that's damn vague, Cys."

"Faith, is what separates men of god from men of the world. Any man can use a measure of magic, but only those selected by God himself can use Faith. It strengthens us, it quickens us, it protects us, it heals us, and, if use correctly, can even...encourage belief."

"...you mean you brainwashed them?"

I shrugged. "Not really. No more than a man skilled in rhetoric could, if given time. Faith just...hastens the process. Though, I myself am somewhat strange."

My men began to filter out from alleys, and assemble before me, their section of the city cleansed. I tapped my chin. "At the place where I received my training as an acolyte, we were introduced to using Faith as a tool in conversion. Instead of being able to influence a roomful of people like a true bishop would, we instead practiced on individual criminals that had been handed over to the church. Many of the acolytes found it difficult to persuade the men to give up on their crimes, but for me, the problem was...a bit of the opposite."

"I was...too good at converting the men. So good, in fact, that the process usually drove them insane. They would try to kill everyone they thought showed signs of sin, or unbelief in God. Unfortunately, many of the men I ministered to had to be executed..."

Ren looked at me. "...you mean you just set fifty psychopaths loose on a city?"

"...I've gotten better..."

Still, I was quite proud of myself. The process of separating Faith from my own body, and letting it sink into others, had always been difficult for others, but I'd found the action to be natural, almost like breathing. The hardest part had been doing so gradually, not moving so quickly that the mind lost all reason, but moving just fast enough to...warp it.

When all fifty had gathered before me, not a single one missing, the stones beneath them looked as if they had been painted crimson. But they all stood straight, eyes forward, not looking at anything, but seeing everything. I took a deep breath.

"WHAT ARE WE?!"

With strength, though every one of them must be exhausted from no sleep and hours of slaughter. "SINNERS IN THE EYES AND MIND OF GOD!"

"WHAT HAVE WE TAKEN THE FIRST STEP IN BECOMING!?"

With a thunderous force that maybe, just maybe, reached heaven. "SOLDIERS IN THE ARMY OF GOD!"

"AND WHAT WILL WE DO!?"

"KILL THE HERETICS! KILL! KILL! KILL!"

I bowed my head, all fifty and Ren copying my movement. "Now, let us offer thanks to god. Then, begin the work of gathering his lost sheep."

"""Let us do the work of God!"""

I smiled. I will take this city that would throw a man into a pit to die, and turn it into a bastion of faith in God.

Let Every man Live in faith.