It was an evening I shared with the Son.

To find out where I belonged.

Wine in my canteen instead of water, I indulged and sought guidance, then danced in the tall shadows of the early morn beneath His steadfast gaze. Frolicked in a spirit induced stupor. Exposed myself much like Noah had. Desecrated what remained of the altar and my faith.

A victory, I was told. Each one felt less than the last.

When the sun finally dared show its face I met it naked and still belligerently drunk.

I saw their faces again. Panicked. Frightened.

All but one. He looked right at me from the cover of his blindfold. Eyes pierced through the cloth, my cloth, to stare at me accusingly. Sorrowfully.

Much like the Son has ever since.

Mortar fire had blown all but one wall to rubble. The fallen stone piled before a beautifully sculpted, wooden, artist's rendition of the Crucifixion that stood on an adjoining wall that remained untouched. Sacrament, said some of the soldiers whose faith somehow remained unshaken. It was here, underneath His enduring sacrifice, I choreographed my excommunication.

The stones a testament to a structure that stood too long, I emptied many rounds from my carbine's grenade attachment into them, daring not to face the Son while I did. It collapsed, exhausted.

My days at seminary had been marked by the sort of freedom I was supposed to never see again.

My classmates and I were often encouraged to talk of this. To discuss our feelings in giving ourselves wholly to the Lord. It was not a dirty little secret amongst the Fathers that taught us our lessons. They spoke openly of temptation, desire, and loneliness. How these things were dealt with in ways that gave them more to God. Being a priest was a calling, they had reminded us. Some gave themselves so wholly to their faith that they never felt urges again. Others felt the calling at an early age and never held the desire in their heart.

I didn't have too hard of a time believing them.

I made friendships during seminary that would endure into familial bonds. The three of us were fond of pubs and women. The priests never voiced disapproval. We were the few that would work this out of our system before taking our vow of celibacy.

It was easy back then. To think about those fleeting moments of physicality, of satisfying the body's urge, and how little they meant to the overwhelming onslaught of our faith.

If only they could have warned me, back then, how spiritual it could be.

The letter arrived, sealed in an envelope addressed to him, folded in triplicate.

Nigel,

I hope this letter finds you. The return address on your last letter seemed odd. Rhy'Din" The Galactic Core" Where is this strange land you now call home?

These are strange days indeed. But I'm glad to hear from you dear brother. I fear it has been too long since I've seen the face of any of my family and remembered what it was like to be in the presence of my own flesh and blood.

I've heard no word from Caroline yet. All my best efforts lead me only to the same conclusion: She was one of the first to the fall-out zone in Africa to provide aid. I do not know what has happened to her after that.

I've found a new family now. We rebuild the ruins of our once great nation. There is little that remains now aside from rubble. The Church saw to that, and the UAFC, despite their best efforts, could not prevent it from happening.

Alderhome still stands little brother. Great-grandfather made sure it would stand against every attack when it was first built. And grandfather fortified it when the Luftwaffe dropped their bombs on London. It is no wonder that the mansion has survived. It is yours little brother, as it always should have been. I have no need for it. The fortune attached to it is worth nothing amidst the new infrastructures that are being formed.

Nathaniel has become a Sergeant now. He has founded the first chaplain division of the UAFC military. The President resigned even though the public wants to re-elect him. But he stands firm by the tenets of his country, and states that any leadership lasting more than 8 years runs the risk of growing stagnant. In the waning days of his presidency he called for a renewal of faith. More tolerant houses of worship, even if the public is cynical of this. Nathaniel has decided that becoming a chaplain was only natural after he left seminary.

He is still just a boy but he has grown so much.

I know you have never been comfortable with the role but he and those like him idolize you. You were the first to cast off his frock and take up arms against the Church. When word spread many still in seminary or raised to the cloth followed suit. I have met many who approach me and ask if I am related to the Alder spoken about in whispers amongst those of the faithful who rebelled against the church.

Three boys followed Nathaniel out of seminary when your excommunication was handed down. They all enlisted at the same time with the UAFC. They work closely with leadership in returning faith to the people.

Nathaniel always based his faith on what you taught him as an altar boy. He still does. Regardless of what the war has done to them they are still just boys, Nigel. They could use your guidance.

I do not attempt to assume what happened to make you willingly cast off your frock and work against the church. And I will not be so intrusive as to ever ask you.

But I hope you find forgiveness for it Nigel. Wherever you are.

With all my love, Liza

I fancied myself Job for a time.

That was the only reasonable explanation my mind could make for what was happening. How could He forsake the world so and lead those who were supposed to speak for Him so blindly' I couldn't rationalize it. It was vain of me to do so, but that was how I internalized. Quite simply, I was living this hellish existence so He could prove a point to Lucifer. All the while forgetting that that twisted version of Earth wasn't only my nightmare.

When I took up the brush, as selfish as it was, I was Job.

When I took up the pistol I was Azrael.

Judgment handed down with each squeeze of the trigger. My prayers ever only offered to vengeance.

This lasted till the end of the war. Most of the men in my squad knew my real name, but only ever used the call-sign. I didn't realize until my captivity that it was their way of protecting me. My existence was a thorn in the side for the Church's forces. All I ever wanted was to be a simple soldier. I knew what I had been, and what it implied in the grand scheme of things for SoGA morale. I didn't want special treatment. Or to be made a symbol.

I just wanted vengeance.

When I made my way here I didn't know what I wanted. I had it in mind to seek a fresh start.

A renewal.

A rebirth.

Instead I'm starting to find Nigel again.

Father was a devout man. Just as much, and even more so than his brother, the priest. The both of them had spent their summers as altar boys. Grandfather had wanted to be fair to them, after all. This created an ill-fated rivalry with Uncle coming out the winner when, solely based on tradition, he was the one chosen to attend seminary and continue the succession of eldest Alder males. Father had always seen the priesthood stolen from him by something as simple as birthright.

I don't blame him for treating me with a touch of envy.

Grandfather saw the fact that mother gave birth to five girls concurrently as an intended slight on behalf of my father's disobedient genetic material. When it was discovered that mother was not barren and experiencing symptoms of "the change", but pregnant with another, the entire family eagerly awaited identity of the sex. It was grandfather who rejoiced upon discovering that it would be male.

That it would be me.

Up until that point it was always thought that Victoria or Jacqueline would have to bare sons, and soon, to fill the role when Uncle Nathaniel passed or grew too feeble to perform his duties.

As a youth I always believed this fact confirmed my preordained path in the world. It had to be His grand design that chose me to be born the last and only male of six children and chosen for such a sacred station.

I can tell you why I came here. It was to be a self induced dissociative fugue. I cared too much for everything when the Almighty himself couldn't be bothered.

So I came here with the intent that I would care for nothing.

What I can't tell you is what led my steps to the Inn that night. What it was that guided me in from the cold and the snow outside to that particular spot.

And now I find my original intentions utterly ruined.

I can't forget the second option the Cowboy offered.

One step at a time.

Even if it casts me over the precipice.

I see the animal in the cage I have built.

I have tried many times to tame him. To sate his thirst for blood with whiskey and stout alike. When all was said and done I thought he would go away. But there was nothing that remained. Nothing to dull the emptiness. Necessity birthed him in the midst of war. Then goaded him to a raging hunger when I was captured.

And tortured.

The scars I have. That only you have seen. They are more similar to your own than I have let on.

The duels seem effective at times. But it's hard to pour that froth into any one match without risk of losing control on someone undeserving.

Like the other night"

I don't know what side of the bars I am on

He haunts some of those dreams now.

That non-existent lip-line twisted in a sadistic grin. Screams. Your screams. As his hand falls. Over and over again. I wasn't there for it. I have never, and will never ask you relive that to know the dream has merit. But I see it sometimes.

And when I see him"

Am I sure what side of the bars I am on?

Some have told me that women willingly enter their service.

I do not believe that is true.

At least not for you.

With all your spirit and strength, I never will.

Amen.

Small concessions.

It all started with small concessions. Asking those of different descent to pay penance for sins that were not their own. Subtly shifting their masses to segregate them, then later forcing them to attend separate. Excommunicating political figures in an attempt to force the Church's views into politics.

Uncle was the only one who thought anything of it at first. But when he spoke he was seen as a blathering old man in his waning days. Being his nephew and his apprentice for much of my life, I agreed. I was but a young priest. The Church would never listen to me.

But I could have done something.

Anything.

I could have protested. Fought them. Struggled against them. I could have thrown myself in front of their rifles. I could have struck Captain Dunbar down and done SOMETHING to stop their bullets.

Instead I stood helpless. My own flock gunned down while I watched in fear.

Doing nothing.

Damned for all time for my shameful sloth.

The vengeance I wrought was too late.

And you paid for it with your lives.

Forgive me.

Often, when I was young, when I was not as young, I cast my gaze to the sky at night. I marveled at the tiny little pinpoint bits of light. Being of the faith, I wondered what it all meant. What the stars were in God's greater plan.

Science had given an explanation that I thought was the epitome of hope. A million possibilities. A billion chances that we were not alone. That the beginning and end to everything wasn't only in our own universe.

But the stars lie.

I realized this during the war. And it was only reaffirmed during my captivity. Hope was His greatest trick. Hope was God's greatest fallacy.

The Knight walks the realm of the living again. I know such things are not impossible in this place. But where I come from those slaughtered in the name of God never got the opportunity to walk the earth again. Jonathon will never get to go to university. He will never get to experience his first love. He will never even get the chance to share a pint with his mates.

But this monster gets another chance?

This second chance will be his last.

By my hand.

Amen.

The first blasts were always the most satisfying. At least that was what I felt when bullets and blood had become my new faith. Devout I threw myself into waging war with more passion than I had ever given myself to the Lord. Not difficult to be that disciplined, the drill sergeants pushed us. Regimen and habit kept us from deterring.

But aside from that, needing to wage that war against what I had seen. I could allow myself to die for my sins or I could fight. Pay penance. Vengeance for twisting what had been my beliefs and turning them into a war. Hate would never be the words I spoke from my lips when referring to the Lord. Murder would never be justified in his name. I was almost able to turn a blind eye when they were going after non-believers, but when they went after good, Godly people just because of the color of their skin? The worst sin would be to have never stood up. Even if I was too late to protect you all. Doing nothing and allowing myself to be taken by death would never have served the same purpose.

Vengeance was empty and arctic. An arsenic I willing injected into my blood stream with every drop of white hot rage fired from my rifle.

Once the war was done I came here.

First I thought that purpose would be found in another person. Absolution in the cleansing power of what I thought was love, but you reassured me many times was infatuation. And I thank you for that. Because there was nothing clean about it. Cleansing found in the power of holy water, then blood. And then the intense and unexplainable feelings for another.

No. There was no absolution in it. Somewhere, something new to pour my rage into. What the world had done to you was worse, in my mind, than what it had done to me. Maybe atonement in the tones of your skin, helping you find what I never could.

An utter load of complete fecking bollocks.

It could never and would never have been me. Foolish and blind to believe so. My first foray with this sickness. A cancer for the calluses that had started to fade.

I am done with this graceless thing. So tonight I am going to cut it out. Severing every last callused bit, even the arteries and veins.

And in the shadows of the tall morn, right pissed until I cannot walk, I will be reborn.