((The following story, though not this first part, contains extremely harsh themes and pointed religious commentary. As a Buddhist myself, I feel that I have the right to have Avalokiteshvara as a character in my own stories and put words in his mouth))

It was cold, freezing cold. The trees were trees, swaying and rustling in the wind the way they had since the birth of the world. But to Anastas, they were infinite rows of tombstones, every one of them commending the soul below to the loving embrace of the afterlife. He'd killed enough people; it was plausible. The forest as a graveyard.

The snow came gently, blanketing the world. Perhaps the snow will cover all this up. The snow will come, and they'll all be buried and gone and leave me the hell alone. This thought comforted him for just a moment, but he returned to his senses soon enough. No amount of weather would weather the dead into dust. He was stuck with them forever. The stars above him were silent, never-changing, but he rose and screamed to them anyway.

"Fine, then! I admit it! I'm scum!" He struck one of the trees with all his vigor, tearing at the fabric of his gloves.

"Strike me down right here and now if you want and send me to hell properly! I won't fight back. Look," he said as he tossed his gun into the snow, "I'm unarmed. No gun, no knife, nothing!" His hands were held out, inviting all the gods and spirits to kill him where he stood.

"Or leave me alive, if that's your pleasure. I'll stay here until I starve, and you can torment me all you like. I have no further resistance. Scream at me, haunt me, do anything. I'm all yours, spirits of darkness." And he sunk to his knees before crawling to get back against a tree.

"Just do what you like and leave me alone . . ." The blood in his ears roared much too loudly for him to here anyone coming. His one eye was cast down and his other was long dead.

"I have come for you, Antas. Your father has come for you."