Chapter 122 – We shall be the Shepherd for You, my Lord
Smack!
The micro-pistol's report was crisp, and thanks to its pocket-sized appearance it looked almost like a toy. Yet what sailed out with the smoke and muzzle-flash was a bullet every bit as lethal as one from a normal side-arm.
In that instant of crisis, long combat experience and the extraordinary physique of a dreamer saved Dunn Smith's life. He twisted his body almost by instinct.
—to dodge the shot.
Thud!
The bullet missed his heart and buried itself in his arm; blood sprayed from the wound under the impact.
At the sight, every employee of the Blackthorn Security Company froze. The abruptness of the attack left them unable to understand, much less grasp, what was happening.
Captain's been shot?
Why did Al Hason open fire?
Heh…
The air stiffened and, for no discernible reason, hung suspended—until Al Hason spoke again. Seeing the shot had not found a vital spot, he merely gave a contemptuous snicker and waited, calm.
Ngh!
Moments later Dunn, clutching the wound, gave a low, muffled groan. His face contorted in agony as black veins surfaced. He hunched slightly, the hem of his black coat billowing as though some invisible thing were lifting it.
Of those present, Leonard Mitchell was the second to react.
He had been handing over Lu Ze's Beyonder artefact; the gunshot snatched his attention, and in that blink the Nighthawk opposite him suddenly yanked at the box they both held, trying to tear it away.
Startled and puzzled, Leonard naturally refused to let go. When he held on, the others behind the Nighthawk closed in, drawing dark-crimson daggers from beneath their coats.
Left with no choice, Leonard released the box and sprang back, pulling the revolver from his hip and levelling it at them.
He cocked his head to listen, then his expression turned utterly shocked; without hesitation he fired.
Bang!
Enemy attack!
He shouted the warning even as he pulled the trigger, jolting the squad from their daze. "They're the enemy!"
The enemy?
Among the crowd, Klein Moretti heard Leonard's cry and instinctively looked toward Al Hason and Borgia—together with Lota, who had just left with Cecilia. All three had once come to Tingen while hunting the Antigonus family notebook and had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with them. Why would Leonard call them foes?
Then Klein saw something unbelievable:
Al Hason's and Borgia's faces were melting, features shifting until they became two men he had never seen: a middle-aged man with a warped grin and a vicious youth whose face bore tattooed runes, both wearing fanatic fervour.
They were no Nighthawks from Backlund; they were impostors—enemies in disguise.
Bang!
Leonard fired again, dropping the nearest assailant, yet the rest rushed on, fearless, faces alight with rapture and devotion.
"The night wind calls my name…"
With the situation critical, Leonard dodged while loudly reciting a psalm; tranquil force spread from him, slowing the attackers and almost lulling them into slumber.
Just then he saw the tattooed man step forward; a black-iron gauntlet already sheathed his hand, and, pointing at Leonard, the man declared:
"Banish!"
Boom!
Invisible, overwhelming power slammed into Leonard; like a leaf in a gale he was hurled through the air and crashed at the foot of the Blackthorn steps. By now the rest of the Nighthawks had rallied—Klein, Siga, and Cohenley drew their revolvers and aimed at the intruders.
The tattooed man advanced, gauntleted arm out-stretched; with his forefinger he traced a horizontal line in the air, then intoned:
"Passing through is forbidden here!"
His voice turned solemn and vast, and a transparent wall sprang up between them and the Blackthorn squad.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The revolvers barked, but the bullets could not pierce the barrier; they struck with loud clangs and clattered to the floor.
The tattooed man gave the squad a cold glance, then used the gauntlet to raise walls on every side, boxing them in and sealing the space. Inside were only his own men—and the shackled Lu Ze.
"Get away!"
Lu Ze roared. These men, who had disguised themselves as Nighthawks, now threw off the masquerade and seized him without a word. More than fear, he felt dread for Cecilia's safety.
These were Madam M's lackeys—his sister was in peril!
"Die! You too—die!"
Fury and dread surged in him; his arms were pinned, preventing him from drawing blood for a ritual, so he could only lash out with the power of "profane utterance," battering their minds.
But with the space sealed off from the Blackthorn squad the assailants had no need for caution; they swarmed him, pinned him down and gagged him.
Riiip!
His coat was torn open, baring his chest.
Lu Ze struggled wildly—until he saw his own chest and froze, eyes bulging in shock.
It was… the Holy Scripture!
There, fused to his skin, lay the vanished tome, embedded in his flesh; the open parchment pages melded seamlessly with his body, distinguishable only by a slight difference in hue.
Bang—Lu Ze stared, feeling a lock deep in his mind suddenly burst; countless fragments of memory flooded back, forming pictures he had once seen yet somehow ignored and forgotten.
He remembered what he had done with the Holy Scripture.
Scenes unfolded in rapid succession:
He saw Madam M's arm slide from her sleeve when she handed him the book—raw, crimson muscle as if freshly flayed;
He saw himself reading the Scripture while Madam M sat beside him, her golden eyes gleaming with uncanny light; each time he finished a page it detached like a living thing, drifting onto his chest—yet he and Cecilia noticed nothing;
He saw the entire book transfer onto him, and when he fought Madam M her dying prayer had resonated with the Scripture until—
Lu Ze looked down; upon the parchment a face slowly appeared—lovely, eyes closed.
Madam M.
His heart missed a beat, then fury, terror and helplessness surged, threatening to split his skull.
Why!
Why won't you die!
How long will you keep haunting me!
The encircling men gazed in excitement at that face; the two leaders—the warped middle-aged man and the tattooed youth—began to act.
The tattooed man pulled out a dagger and walked toward his companion lying on the ground; the man had been shot by Leonard and was on the verge of death. Without the slightest hesitation, the tattooed man pressed the blade to the man's throat and sliced the artery.
Zzzt—
Blood gushed from the severed vessel, spattering across the flagstones of Zotlán Street.
Praise the Lord.
The wounded man murmured, voice slurred, and closed his eyes.
The tattooed man drained the corpse, tossed it aside, and with the blood drew a huge inverted cross—an inverted cross of blood.
Bloody, terrifying, steeped in heavy, oppressive religious symbolism.
At the same moment, the middle-aged man with the twisted grin returned to the carriage behind him and reverently lifted out a vial.
Lu Ze stared at the vial, feeling an indescribable pull from the depths of his soul. Even now, reeling from the shock of Madam M being inside him, he could not look away.
Was that…? The middle-aged man took a ring from the box Leonard had delivered—the crimson, rose-red ring Madam M had always worn.
Thud.
He dropped the ring into the bottle.
Sss—
The potion inside instantly boiled, letting out a shrill, anguished scream. A frigid, terrifying aura spilled from the bottle, as though a ravenous Monster were struggling within, hungering for every soul and scrap of flesh nearby!
What do we do now?!
Outside the wall, Tingen City's Nighthawks saw their revolvers were useless and that charms and rituals couldn't breach the wall in time; Chaos threatened.
Steady!
A calm voice rang out—Dunn, supported by Rozanne and Klein, shouted, "Civilian staff, evacuate the whole street and send for the Punishers and the Machinery Hivemind. All full members, to me!"
Pain still twisted his face, yet he forced himself upright.
Yes, sir!
They obeyed at once; Dunn's voice carried a power that stilled the panic. Because they had seen Lu Ze off, all the civilian staff were already outside—no need to re-enter the company. They split into groups: some fetched constables to clear the street, others ran to notify the official Beyonders.
Good luck!
Rozanne called back hastily before leaving.
Klein could give no confident answer; he could not even manage a smile. He, Leonard, Xiga, and Cohenly gathered beside Dunn, eyes fixed on what lay beyond the wall.
What is that thing on Lu Ze?! What are they going to do to him?
The sight of the "medicine" being brewed filled Klein with dread; the Seer's instinct screamed that something horrifying was moments away.
Captain!
Klein shouted. We have to stop that ritual—now!
…I understand.
After watching in silence, Dunn decided. Klein, Xiga, with me. I'm taking Saint Selena's ashes from behind the Chanis Gate.
Saint Selena's ashes?
Xiga started. That was the core relic behind the Chanis Gate, what kept everything else in check. Once it was removed—
Every artifact behind the Gate would run wild… Yet Dunn was ready to use his authority as captain—could things truly be that dire?
Captain, you'd best go at once.
Leonard's ear twitched; unease crossed his face. I agree with Klein.
Inside his mind, an ancient voice chuckled in delight. Heh… the boy's about to become a Shepherd.
The potion had stopped boiling, but the hunger inside grew stronger, as though a starved, blood-eyed beast were crammed into the bottle, ready to burst out and devour everyone present.
They dragged Lu Ze to the center of the inverted cross of blood, as if offering a sacrifice—or crowning a king with a wreath of thorns.
On his chest, Madam M's face still slept.
Jiggs is dead; we're one short.
The tattooed man rasped.
No matter; the Lord will watch over Madam M.
The middle-aged man spoke with pious Distortion, lifting the bottle as he stepped before Lu Ze.
They cooperatively pried Lu Ze's mouth open.
Drop dead!
The moment Lu Ze opened his mouth he roared in ancient hermes, venom thick. Blood streamed from the cultists' noses and ears, yet they smiled through it, unbothered by the damage, forcing his jaws wider.
Crunch!
Lu Ze bit like a wild beast, severing fingers; hot, reeking blood filled his mouth and throat. Still no one cried out; they chanted hymns, as though they could no longer feel pain.
His struggles were useless. He could only watch the man pour the dreadful draught down his throat.
Aaaaah!
The potion surged through him, wild and swift, claiming every cell. He felt his body rot away into unrecognizable flesh—only the face on his chest held its shape.
Lu Ze's awareness lifted, hovering above as he watched his own form collapse.
Once he drank, they released him. They spread out, each taking a place at the points of the inverted cross.
As one, they drew dark-red ritual daggers from their coats. With pious fervor they pressed the blades to their chests.
Dong—
Noon struck; across the street, the bell of Saint Selena Cathedral tolled. The holy, far-off sound seemed to come from the horizon, echoing into heart and soul.
We shall be Shepherds, for You, O Lord.
Beneath the blue sky, above the blood-stained cross, six voices spoke in unison in hermes. Their fingers traced four points on their chests—bottom to top, right to left—forming an inverted cross.
That we may inherit authority from Your hand, that we may magnify Your name and spirit.
At the cross's center, Lu Ze's body could no longer hold together; it was nearly a pool of flesh. A fierce emptiness and greed radiated from it, hungering for those souls and bodies.
Thud!
Calmly, the six drove their daggers through their hearts. Blood spurting, they walked along the crimson lines toward the center.
Still they sang the primordial hymn:
We shall fulfill Your will, with the souls of lambs swell the river that flows to You, ever-flowing…
They reached the mass of flesh and spread their arms.
…in the name of the Lord.
The writhing lump of flesh devoured them whole.