Chapter 20: Penance
The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and the devil are fighting there and the battlefield is the heart of man.
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
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Crimson stains my skin, the metallic tang of blood filling my nostrils. My gaze drifts downward, settling on Igor's motionless form sprawled across the floor. His eyes, once brimming with malice, now stare vacantly at the ceiling.
Maria's ragged breathing slices through the silence. It's still quick and uneven, but no longer the panicked gasps from moments ago. I should check on her, make sure she's okay, but I can't tear my eyes away from my bloodied hands.
The sight is hauntingly familiar. Another time, another place, but the same red coating my fingers. I blink, and for a moment, I'm transported back - a scared kid in a dirty alley...
Staring at what I'd done.
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The steady beep of the heart monitor pierces the sterile hospital room. My father's once-powerful frame lies dwarfed by the bed, motionless. Hours have blurred together, time losing all meaning.
My fingers find the cross pendant around my neck, cool metal a stark contrast to feverish skin.
There he lies, the man I've always seen as invincible. A skilled mechanic, a formidable boxer, an unwavering father. Though not overtly religious like Mom, faith seemed woven into his very being. He survived escaping tyranny, left everything behind to forge a new path for us. Countless nights he toiled without rest, all for my future.
Now, he's broken.
The image before me doesn't compute, like a warped puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot. It grates against everything I know to be true, filling me with a simmering rage threatening to boil over.
A gentle touch on my shoulder snaps me from my trance. A nurse stands beside me, her eyes kind but wary.
"Alexander? There are two people asking for you in reception. A young man named Sebastian and a girl, Isabella," she says in Spanish with a Santafesino accent.
I blink, struggling to process her words. "I... thank you. Could you watch over him?"
She nods, a sad smile on her face. "Of course. It's no trouble."
As I rise to leave, she adds, "The police are working hard on the case. Try to stay hopeful."
Her words barely register as I step into the hallway.
My feet carry me through the hospital, a specter among the living. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting sickly shadows across faces I don't bother to see.
The reception area materializes. Sebastian stands near the entrance, tension etched into his features. Isabella spots me first, her eyes widening. She bolts towards me, crashing into my chest with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.
"We came as soon as we heard," Isabella's voice cracks. Her arms tighten around me. "Everyone at school is praying for your dad. God, I was so worried about you."
I hesitate, then slowly envelop her. My lips brush the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. "Thank you," I murmur, meeting Sebastian's gaze over her shoulder.
His jaw clenches. "Will he make it?"
Isabella's breath catches. I feel her body tense, ready to protest. I squeeze her tighter, silently urging her to stay quiet.
"He'll make it," I say, the words tasting like ash.
Sebastian's shoulders sag. He crosses himself, whispering a prayer to the ceiling. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, lost in thought. When he looks up, his eyes are sharp. "What happened?"
I pull away from Isabella, fishing some bills from my pocket. "Could you grab me some coffee? I haven't slept since... I'd really appreciate it."
She hesitates, searching my face. I press my lips to hers, then her forehead. "Please."
Isabella nods, taking the money. I watch her walk away, waiting until she disappears around a corner before turning back to my best friend.
"They gunned him down, Seb. I saw it all, like it was in slow motion." My voice is hollow, detached. "Nine shots. Can you believe that? Nine shots at close range with a 9mm. I watched the bullets tear through him – hand, arm, hip, both legs, chest... his cheek."
Sebastian's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.
"It's a miracle he's alive."
"Was there..." his voice cracks. He clears his throat. "Was there a motive?"
The silence stretches between us, heavy and oppressive.
"Unlikely," I finally say. "They saw us as easy targets. Robbed us, then shot us just because. Even after my father gave them everything he had on him."
My hands curl into fists at my sides. "I won't forgive them. If the police don't find them, I will. I don't care. I've made up my mind."
Sebastian's eyes widen. "Dude, calm down. I know you're hurting, but—"
Before he can finish his thought, Isabella returns, coffee in hand.
"Here you go, Alex," she says, her voice soft and gentle. She hands me the steaming cup, her fingers brushing against mine.
I nod in thanks, grateful for the interruption. Sebastian's eyes meet mine, a silent understanding passing between us. This conversation isn't over, but it's not one we can have in front of Isabella.
"Thanks, Bella," I murmur, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. It burns my tongue, but I welcome the pain.
The days that follow blur together, a haze of hospital visits, police interviews, and sleepless nights. The investigation drags on, but leads are scarce. I watch the detectives' faces grow more frustrated with each passing day, their eyes avoiding mine as they deliver yet another non-update.
It's not until months later that I learn the truth. Whispers in dark corners, hushed conversations overheard in seedy bars. Some of the cops working the case are on the take, pockets lined with dirty money from the gangs that rule Rosario's underworld. The revelation sickens me, but it doesn't surprise me. Not really.
I throw myself into my own investigation, neglecting school and friendships in my relentless pursuit of justice. The ghettos and favelas become my hunting grounds. I learn to blend in, to speak their language, to move through their world like a ghost. I make "friends" with people who live there, each connection a potential lead.
The faces of the men who shot my father are seared into my memory. Their names echo in my dreams. I chase every whisper, every rumor, desperate for anything that might lead me to them.
I find myself in places I never thought I'd go, doing things I never thought I'd do. The first time I take a hit off a joint in a smoke-filled room, surrounded by the lowest of the low, I tell myself it's necessary. It's all part of the game, part of fitting in. But deep down, I know I'm crossing a line I can never uncross.
It's around this time that I break things off with Isabella. The guilt eats at me, knowing what I'm becoming. She deserves better than this, better than me. I push her away, along with everyone else. At school, I become a ghost, avoiding old friends and keeping everyone at arm's length.
People start to talk. They think I've gotten too big for my britches, that I think I'm better than them now. I don't bother correcting them. Let them think what they want. It's easier this way.
The fights start not long after. Sometimes it's one guy, sometimes it's three or four. I handle the ones I can on my own, my fists speaking the only language these idiots seem to understand, the one my father had coached me in since very little. When it's more than I can handle, Sebastian always seems to show up, like some guardian angel in a denim jacket.
As my father slowly heals, I take on the burden of bringing in money. I discover the world of arbitrage, buying low and selling high. It's not glamorous work, but it puts food on the table and keeps a roof over our heads. I make sure to work closest to where I know the shooters live. Every delivery, every sale is a chance to gather more information.
And then, one day, I get my lead. A name: Joaquín. The moment I lay eyes on him, I know. This is the man who pulled the trigger, who put nine bullets into my father without a second thought.
I follow him home that night, my heart pounding in my chest. I've prepared for this moment for months, stealing a pair of brass knuckles from a gang member who never even noticed they were missing. With a mask to hide my identity, I make my move.
The first blow catches him by surprise. He doesn't even have time to cry out before I'm on him, fists flying in a blur of rage and vengeance. I don't speak, don't make a sound. There's no need for words. This is justice, pure and simple.
Blood spatters across the floor, across my hands. I keep hitting, even as he falls, even as he stops moving. Red fills my vision, and all I can think about is making him pay for what he's done. For the pain he's caused, for the lives he's ruined.
And then I hear it. A small voice, filled with terror and confusion. "Daddy...?"
I look up, and my world shatters. A little girl stands in the doorway, her eyes wide with fear as she looks from me to the broken man on the floor. In that moment, I see myself reflected in her eyes.
I see the monster I've become.
Shame washes over me in waves, threatening to drown me. I run, fleeing into the night, my legs carrying me through alleys and shadows until I reach the safety of my room. I collapse onto my bed, clutching my Bible to my chest as if it could somehow cleanse me of what I've done.
Tears stream down my face as I pray, begging for forgiveness, for understanding, for anything that might ease the weight of my sins. But no matter how hard I pray, I can't shake the image of that little girl's face from my mind.
Life goes on. No one suspects me. How could they? I'm just a kid, after all. I put on a mask at school, pretending to be struggling with my dad's recovery. Slowly, I let people back in, piece by piece rebuilding the life I'd almost thrown away.
I never sought to learn if Joaquín survived my assault.
Weeks after the incident, whispers of violence ripple through the neighborhood. A series of retaliatory killings erupts, blood staining the streets I once walked. I overhear fragments of conversation, hushed voices speaking of gang warfare and mistaken identities.
Did they think it was a rival gang? Some long-standing feud come to a head? I'll never know for certain.
What I do know chills me to the bone. Deaths. Plural. Not just Joaquín, if he even perished that night, but others. Innocents caught in the crossfire of a war I ignited.
We move away eventually, my family and I while Sebastian manages to leave for the States. A fresh start in a new city. I throw myself into my studies, determined to make something of myself. An engineering degree, an exchange program in the U.S., a job offer that promises a better life for all of us.
But sometimes, in the dark of night, I still see their faces. Joaquín, broken and bleeding on the floor. His daughter, eyes wide with terror and confusion.
I wonder if I robbed that little girl of her father that night. Part of me hopes I didn't.
But another part, a darker part that I try to keep buried, hopes that I did.
It's a weight I'll carry for the rest of my life.
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"Are... are you okay?" Maria's trembling voice yanks me back to reality.
I clench my fists, willing the memories to retreat. "I'm fine," I lie, finally turning to face her. "How about you? Did he hurt you?"
She shakes her head, eyes darting between me and Igor's corpse. "N-no. You got here just in time."
I nod, relieved. But as I move towards her, she flinches. I freeze, suddenly aware of my appearance - blood-soaked, looming over a dead man.
My tattered coat vanishes into the dimensional pouch in sparks of light. The blood-stained garment disappears, leaving me in my shirt and vest. I wipe my hands on my pants, then lower myself to the ground, meeting Maria's frightened gaze.
"I know you're afraid," I say softly, barely above a whisper. "But I'm here to help you, okay?"
I inch closer, hands raised in surrender. My eyes lock onto hers, willing every ounce of sincerity I possess into that connection.
"You don't have to be scared anymore."
Maria hesitates, her gaze dropping. For a moment, only our ragged breathing breaks the silence. Then, slowly, she looks back up.
I open my arms, a silent invitation. She doesn't move at first, but I remain still, patient. Finally, she takes a tentative step forward.
I encircle her gently, creating a protective cocoon. She's so small, so fragile. Her trembling reverberates through me.
"Let's get you home to your brother," I whisper into her hair.
The words unleash something within her. Suddenly, she's clinging to me, her small frame wracked with sobs. My heart constricts painfully.
I guide her head to the crook of my neck. She burrows in, seeking shelter from the horrors she's witnessed.
"I was so afraid," she chokes out between sobs.
"Shh, it's okay," I murmur, lips brushing her hair. "You're safe now. Nothing's going to happen to you."
I rise, cradling Maria in my arms. Her face remains hidden, tears soaking my shirt. Turning, my gaze falls on Igor's lifeless form.
The reality of what I've done crashes over me.
I killed him. Not some past version of myself I can't remember. Not in self-defense. Somewhere between entering the temple and reaching this room, it stopped being about protecting Maria. It became about indulging that rage within me, that twisted part that never learned if I'd killed Joaquín. It craved confirmation, craved blood, and I willingly obliged.
My hand traces soothing circles on Maria's back as I stare at the corpse. I don't flinch or look away.
I can't take it back. He's dead by my hand, by my wrath, and I have to live with that. With the consequences. I have to seek God's forgiveness.
But God also placed me here, in this moment. With this new body and these abilities. To help people. To help children just like her.
"No wallowing, Alexander," I whisper to myself, tightening my hold on the girl in my arms.
From here on out, I know exactly how everything will unfold. The Vagrants will most likely retaliate. People down here in the Underworld will get hurt. It's a mirror of that time so many years ago.
While people are in danger, I need to set aside my fears and pain. I have to be better. Prove myself. Push through and do what needs to be done. The only thing that matters is keeping them safe.
I step out of the room, Maria cradled against my chest, her face hidden. Her small frame trembles, fingers digging into my shirt.
"Keep your eyes closed, okay?" I murmur, lips brushing her hair. "Just a little longer."
She nods, burrowing deeper. I tighten my hold, shielding her from the horrors that surround us. The stench of blood and worse clings to the air as I navigate the desecrated temple, careful not to disturb the broken statues of Qlipoth littering our path.
At the bottom of the stairs, I find Bronya. Her face is ashen, eyes wide with horror as she takes in the debasement. When her gaze lands on me, she opens her mouth to speak, but the words die on her lips. Her eyes flick to Maria, then to the blood staining my cheeks and pants.
"Are you... are you hurt?" Bronya's voice wavers, barely audible.
I meet her gaze unflinchingly. "It's not my blood."
Silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken implications. My muscles coil, instinctively tightening around the girl in my arms. A familiar warmth builds behind my eyes as the Stellaron's power stirs, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice.
Bronya's next words come out muted, choked. "Is she...?" She can't finish the sentence, her eyes locked on Maria's small form.
"I made it in time," I say simply.
Pain flashes across Bronya's face. She pulls out a handkerchief and steps closer, her movements slow and deliberate. I stand perfectly still as she dabs at my cheek, wiping away the blood. The gentleness of her touch is surreal, a stark contrast to the hatred that burned in her eyes just yesterday.
I don't deserve this, I think, biting back the words that threaten to spill out. Some part of her had been right about me after all. I really am a demon.
We exit the temple together, emerging into the dim light of the Underworld. Seele stands guard over a group of bound Vagrants, some naked and cowering on the ground. Her eyes widen as she spots us.
"Maria?" Seele whispers, rushing forward.
I glance at her, surprised. "You know her?"
"She's visited Natasha's clinic in secret sometimes." Seele's voice drops lower. "Did they...?"
I shake my head quickly. Maria tenses in my arms, and I resume my quiet murmurs of comfort, stroking her back.
Seele leans in, her voice barely audible. "What happened? I caught some of these bastards trying to flee. They said Igor runs this place, uses it to... to have his way with women. Any age." Her face twists with disgust. "Did he escape?"
"He's dead," I state flatly.
Dread fills Seele's eyes. She begins to pace, one hand pressed to her forehead. "Okay… Okay. We've got a mess on our hands. The Vagrants will retaliate. We need to get back to Boulder Town ASAP, warn Wildfire. And you—" She fixes me with an intense stare. "You have to help us. I won't judge you... I can't. But you just landed us in deep shit. We need to go, now."
I shake my head. "You're going to Boulder Town. I'm not. I need to get Maria's brother somewhere safe. He's still waiting for her in Vagrant territory."
Seele steps closer, her voice urgent. "Xander, the Vagrants will unleash hell across the Underworld for this. You killed one of their top guys, the one running their drug trade. You don't get to decide what happens next. Wildfire needs you to follow our lead."
My eyes flare with sudden, golden light. Seele flinches back instinctively.
"I know every innocent death in the next few hours is on me," I growl. "I told you the consequences were mine to bear, and I meant it. I knew exactly what I was doing when I stepped into that temple." My voice hardens. "Don't treat me like some reckless idiot who didn't think things through. I chose this path, and I'll make it right on my own. I'll hit the Vagrants so hard they'll have no choice but to surrender."
I turn to Bronya, gently lowering Maria to the ground. "I'm going to find your brother," I tell her softly. "I swear I'll keep him safe. But I need you to stay with Bronya and Seele for now, okay? They'll take you to Natasha."
The girl hesitates, her arms still wrapped around my neck. I meet her eyes, willing her to see the determination in mine. Finally, she nods, releasing her grip.
"Bronya and Seele will protect you," I promise. "You're safe now."
Seele starts forward. "Xander, wait—"
I don't give her a chance to finish. In a heartbeat, I tap into the Stellaron's power. The world slows to a crawl around me as Chronosurge activates. I sprint away, leaving Seele's outstretched hand and startled expression frozen in time behind me.
I know what I have to do.
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Atop a crumbling edifice, a man surveys the squalid streets below. Emaciated figures scurry between dilapidated structures, hollow eyes darting nervously.
A palpable shift ripples through the air. People scatter, ducking into ramshackle dwellings and dark alleyways. The acrid stench of fear mingles with the ever-present reek of decay. Whispers become frantic murmurs, then panicked shouts.
"Igor's dead! The Vagrants are coming!"
"Run! Hide! They'll kill us all!"
Xander's eyes gleam in the shadows, twin points of otherworldly light. He closes them, focusing his senses on the pulse of the underground city. The Underworld speaks to him, its streets like veins carrying a torrent of information:
IGOR'S DEAD AND THE VAGRANTS ARE OUT FOR BLOOD WATCH YOUR BACK IN THE TUNNELS THEY'LL GUT YOU FOR A MORSEL OF FOOD I TELL YA
THE CAVERN STREETS ARE A WARZONE NOW WHAT'S BECOME OF OUR UNDERWORLD IT USED TO BE MANAGEABLE BUT NOW IT'S PURE CHAOS
DAMN YOU VAGRANTS DAMN YOU COCOLIA
CAN'T EVEN VENTURE TO THE WATER POOLS WITHOUT RISKING YOUR NECK HEARD ABOUT THE MASSACRE IN THE EASTERN CAVES IGOR'S DEATH HAS MADE THE VAGRANTS RABID THEY'RE TEARING THROUGH EVERY CREVICE LOOKING FOR REVENGE
SAW A PACK OF THEM SWARMING NEAR THE LUMINOUS MUSHROOM FIELDS EARLIER SHOULD WE CALL THE WILDFIRE OR IS IT ALREADY TOO LATE IGOR'S ABSENCE HAS LEFT A POWER VACUUM AND NOW EVERY VAGRANT WANTS TO BE THE NEW KING OF THE UNDERWORLD
WE NEED A MIRACLE TO SURVIVE THIS HELLSCAPE BENEATH THE EARTH DAMN COCOLIA FOR WHAT SHE DID TO US
HELP SOMEBODY HELP ME!
The cacophony fades as Xander's eyes snap open. He spots his target – a woman calling for help amidst a group of Vagrants emerging from a nearby tunnel, their weapons glinting in the dim light of bioluminescent fungi. Without hesitation, he launches himself from the rooftop.
Xander's form blurs as he moves, a silent shadow against the cavern's gloom. Unbeknownst to him, keen eyes might catch a glimpse of his silhouette against the Underworld's ceiling. For the briefest moment,
He lands in a crouch behind discarded machinery, mere meters from the advancing Vagrants. Their leader, a hulking brute with a patchwork of scars across his face, barks orders as he tightens his grip on the woman's arms. His companions loom around them, clutching lifeless bodies like macabre trophies. Xander's jaw clenches, a bitter taste flooding his mouth.
Too late.
The world slows to a crawl as Chronosurge activates. Xander materializes beside the leader, his fist already in motion. It connects with devastating force, sinking deep into the man's liver. The brute crumples, gasping like a fish out of water.
Shouts of confusion erupt from the other Vagrants.
"What the fuck?"
"Where'd he come from?"
Xander's senses heighten as adrenaline courses through his veins. He spots a burly Vagrant lunging towards him, face contorted with rage and confusion.
Without hesitation, Xander pivots, his body moving with fluid precision. He ducks under the wild swing, feeling the rush of air as the fist passes mere centimeters from his face. In one smooth motion, Xander rises, his open palm connecting with devastating force against the attacker's jaw.
The impact reverberates through Xander's arm, a satisfying crack echoing in the cavern. The Vagrant's eyes roll back as he crumples, unconscious before he hits the dirt.
Xander doesn't pause to savor the victory. His eyes dart between the remaining Vagrants, muscles coiled and ready. He can smell their fear now, mingling with the ever-present stench of decay and unwashed bodies.
One steps forward, puffing out his chest. "You don't understand the shit you just got into."
The others find their courage, voices rising in a cacophony of threats. Xander ignores them, turning to the woman. Tears streak her dirt-smudged face.
"Are you okay?"
She shakes her head violently. "They killed my cousins!"
The words twist like a knife in Xander's gut. This was the result of his actions. Another person, once more, burdened with the consequences of his sins.
A voice, his own but colder, echoes in his mind.
Subdue the regret. Dust yourself off, proceed. You'll get it in the next life, where you don't make mistakes. Do what you can with this one, while you're alive.
His eyes begin to glow, an otherworldly light emanating from within.
"I'm sorry," Xander's voice is low, thick with emotion. "I'm sorry for not arriving sooner. I can't bring back your cousins, but I swear, nothing will happen to you."
A Vagrant, emboldened by liquid courage or sheer stupidity, swaggers forward. "Look at the big hero—"
Xander's foot connects with the man's chest, sending him flying. He slams into a nearby wall with a sickening crunch. Howls of pain fill the air.
Fear ripples through the remaining Vagrants. One finds his voice, though it quavers. "You don't want a problem with us."
Xander's reply is ice. "I'm not even going to talk to you. Put your hands up."
"I'm telling you, you— What do you... What..."
"Are you deaf? I said put your hands up."
Disbelief colors the Vagrant's tone. "This man... this man is really saying this shit? Is he really fucking with us right now?"
Xander's patience wears thin. "I'm going to say it one more time, for your sake. Put your hands up, or I'm going to cave your chest through your back. That goes for each and every one of you."
It happens in a matter of seconds. Bones crack, bodies crumple. He leaves a trail of groaning, broken men in his wake. When the dust settles, he turns to the woman.
"Let's get you home."
The journey through the winding tunnels is tense, every shadow a potential threat. They reach a ramshackle dwelling, barely more than a few sheets of corrugated metal held together by hope and rust.
Two small faces peer out from behind a tattered curtain. The woman's composure crumbles at the sight of her children. She rushes forward, gathering them in her arms. Tears flow freely as relief and grief war for dominance.
"Mama!"
"Shh, it's okay. I'm here now."
The woman looks up at Xander, gratitude shining in her tear-filled eyes. "My cousins... their bodies..."
Xander shakes his head. "Wait until the Vagrant attack has passed. It'll be over in a few hours."
He turns to leave, but the woman's voice stops him. "Wait! How can we ever repay you?"
Xander pauses, one foot already out the door. He doesn't look back. "Stay hidden. Stay alive. That's payment enough."
Without another word, he steps into the shadows. By the time the family peers out after him, Xander has vanished, leaving no trace of his presence save for the lingering warmth of hope in a cold, unforgiving world.
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I sprint through the underworld's maze-like corridors, my heart pounding in sync with the rapid footfalls of fleeing vagrants. The acrid stench of fear permeates the air as I close in on my targets. My newfound powers surge through me, time slowing to a crawl as I weave between panicked civilians and debris.
A vagrant leader, his face twisted in a snarl, swings a makeshift club at my head. I duck under the blow, time resuming its normal flow as I drive my fist into his solar plexus. He crumples, gasping for air. I snatch the weapon from his grasp and toss it aside.
"Where are the others?" I growl, hauling him up by his collar.
His eyes dart wildly, searching for an escape. I tighten my grip.
"Talk, or I'll make you wish you had."
He sputters, pointing down a dimly lit passage. I drop him and race onwards, leaving him wheezing in my wake.
The next confrontation unfolds in a cavernous chamber. Three vagrant leaders, surrounded by their lackeys, bark orders amidst the chaos. I activate my power once more, the world fading to grayscale as I move at impossible speeds.
In the blink of an eye, I'm among them. My fists connect with flesh and bone, each impact reverberating through my body. Time snaps back to normal, and bodies hit the ground. The leaders, caught off guard, stumble backwards.
"What the hell are you?" one of them spits, blood trickling from his split lip.
I don't answer. Instead, I launch into a flurry of strikes, my training melding seamlessly with my enhanced abilities. Bones crack beneath my knuckles. Faces contort in agony. When I finally step back, the once-proud leaders lie broken at my feet.
I grab the nearest one by his hair, forcing him to look at me. "Call off your people. Now."
He whimpers, fumbling for a communicator. With trembling hands, he issues the order: a full surrender, coupled with a chilling warning. Any vagrant found responsible for an underworlder's demise would face a fate worse than death itself.
As the message echoes through the underworld, I survey the carnage around me. My chest heaves with exertion, sweat mingling with specks of blood on my skin. The weight of what I've done – what I've become – settles over me like a shroud.
Hours blur together as I continue my ruthless campaign. Each confrontation leaves a trail of broken bodies and shattered spirits in its wake. I lose count of how many I've "saved" – fifty? More? The number feels hollow in the face of those I couldn't reach in time.
Exhaustion threatens to overwhelm me as I stumble into a quiet alcove. I slump against the wall, my hand instinctively reaching for the cross pendant hanging from my neck. My mother's gift.
I want to rip it off, to cast it aside like the hypocrite I am. But I can't bring myself to do it.
A child's lifeless eyes stare accusingly from my memories. One of a dozen souls lost in the wake of Igor's death. My doing. My failure.
"Some savior," I mutter, bitter laughter bubbling up in my throat.
The pendant feels heavy against my chest, a constant reminder of a faith I no longer deserve. God's love? What a cruel joke.
I push myself to my feet, ignoring the protest of my aching muscles. There's still work to be done. Atonement to seek, even if I don't believe it's possible.
As I step back into the fray, the cross swings gently against my skin. A memento of a life that feels increasingly distant with each passing moment.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone