tampered | Log; Complete

Current Location: The Underground

Log; Complete

When; Nov 25
Rating; PG-13? R? Whichever rating suits character death.
Characters; Enrico Maxwell [

chief_judas] and Father Vincent [

snarky_padre_v]
Summary; "As Chief Director of the Vatican Section XIII Iscariot, I sentence you, Father Vincent, to eternal damnation."
Log;

It had been a long time since he'd killed something with his own hands. Enrico sighted down the barrel of one of his twin Glocks, savoring the explosion and the recoil of every gunshot, and the death groans of every disgusting demon.

He had ventured into the Underground for target practice, for he'd grown bored of the slow and dull-witted turkeys. At least the monsters lurking in the dark knew how to fight back. Enrico kept an eye open, however, for the section of the Underground where the Red One reigned. As tempting as it was to barge in and cause havoc, the archbishop was not going to take action just yet. He knew too little.

Enrico sauntered through the black alleys, keeping eyes and ears tuned to the shufflings of beasts.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Vincent had been Underground for awhile now; he had wandered down feeling guilt ridden again. What he had done to Scarab. and how Alessa seemed unlikely to forgive him this; worse, seemed to think he had wanted to.
Henry understood it had had to be done, and looked down on Vincent for his guilt about it.

Scarab was supposed to be watching him, but he'd been scared by a monster and run off.

Noise. There, to the left. Enrico swung his guns in that direction, waiting for the usual grotesque and twisted monster. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. He'd forgotten what the rush felt like, the anticipation of facing his victim for about five seconds before plowing them down with bullets.

But no, what rounded the corner was not the animalistic demon he was expecting. It was a man, scrawny and tired and lost. ...Where had Enrico seen this man before?

He kept his guns trained on the stranger.

Vincent couldn't see very well in the dark, in spite of the eyes his Lord had given him. Perhaps it was his stubborn insistence on still using his reading glasses.

He had been relieved to see light when he saw it...until he realized he was staring down the business end of two guns.

He stepped back, as if thinking somehow he was not going to be noticed if he slipped back into the dark again...

"And where are you going?" Enrico asked, eyes narrowing. It clicked, somewhere deep in the back of his head. Of course. Here was the other priest. The traitor to the Faith, the heretic, a mongrel of the Red One.

He lowered one of his guns, keeping the other aimed at the man's chest.

"Step out into the light where I can see you. It's only more suspicious if one tries to hide in the shadows."

Vincent swallowed hard and came out withhis hands up. Trying to hide the fact that he was shaky, feeling the rush of adrenaline that came with such fear and self consciousness.
Busted, he thought, I am ~so~ busted...

What this guy does to me won't be half as bad as what the Master will do when I promised I was going to try and behave...

"Hiding," Vincent called out, a little cockily, "I'd hardly consider walking around the borders of our part of the Underground 'hiding'. YOU're the one should be explaining yourself, really. What is this. some kind of 'spy' thing?"

Enrico smirked. "Maybe you should check your map. This is nowhere near the borders of your territory, heathen. I know quite well to stay away from your master's domain, so you have no right to accuse me of spying."

He had to be careful. One wrong word and he could fail the mission.

With his free hand, Enrico gestured to a pile of battered crates stacked against what was once a building. "Have a seat, Father."

Vincent's face fell at that.
had he really been wandering the tunnels that long?
he tried sensing for Scarab, even for any of the nightmare creatures- better to be torn apart by one of his own than this, but it was true.
He was out of his element.

He sat down as casually as he could on the crates; they were unwieldy, and he almost slipped- eyes on the other lest the sudden move be misconstrued.

After all. Good and bad were pretty moot. What it came down to was who had the guns.

His energy was pretty spent from wandering. He might have just enough energy to pull one parlor trick on this guy...he'd best time it right.

He sat as tho this was the man's living room, and he a guest. Smiled darkly, and looked at him over the top of his glasses; rims.

"So. I take it from the get up you're from the 'other church'. So what gives? Run out of witches to burn? Protestants to prey on? Little teenage girls to prevent from having abortions, all that?

I thought you guys usually got your jollies off doing bingo, and bake sales or...am I wrong?"

Enrico followed the man's movements with his pistol, his finger tightening on the trigger when the other priest nearly fell off his seat. But when that's all it was -- a slip -- Enrico eased the pressure on the trigger. He didn't want to kill his enemy. Yet.

"The witches don't interest us, and our business with the Protestants is none of yours. As for the girls, they can do as they please."

Watch his eyes, he told himself. The eyes tell everything.

"I'm afraid you're awfully uneducated, Father. While it's expected that the Church performs acts of charity -- acts that I believe your faith knows not of -- we are also exorcists, hunters of demons... Inquisitors."

Off to the right there was a shuffle, and the jerking form of a true Underground beast slunk into the light. Enrico lifted his other gun and shot it in the head, twice, without looking. The creature squealed its death cries.

"I'm sure you'll forgive a Crusader for practicing his shot," Enrico said to the man seated on the crates.

Vincent winced at the sound of the shot. damn... he thought, hoping that wasn't one of theirs.

"But of course," he lilted, keeping his voice pitched to a calm tone. "there's some dangerous things down here...." he smiled, slightly. more of a grimace really. Still. In spite of his situation he hoped the look implied what he wanted it to- that he wasn't -completely- fangless yet.

"As for all that, I think you're the one seeking enlightenment here- or you'd have shot me long before this. You see I know about Christianity- our town had a few followers of the dead god-king for a few years. But the Order of the Halo of the Sun? I suspect you're missing a few pieces.

You called me a heathen, and accuse me of knowing nothing of charity- a typical Christian ploy when faced with the unknown. Easier to demonize than to find out the truth, lest the truth sway you from your flimsy seating upon the rock of St.Peter...right. So.

When do the questions come? Because I have to tell you," here he smiled again, "I'm really looking forward to not answering any of them so I can see how good you are with the torture."

"I do not sit upon Saint Peter's rock. I am just as damned as you are, and neither do I seek redemption through my acts. I act only through justice."

Enrico holstered one of his guns and withdrew a cigarette pack from his pocket. "Since you are so eager," he said as he lit one stick, "I'll get started."

Without warning, he shot one of the traitor's feet with his other gun. "One wound, five more to go," he noted calmly, pocketing the lighter. He drew the pistol he'd put away and aimed that at the priest's head, the other still aimed at his foot.

Vincent hadn't expected that, and of course he doubled over, hissed, and nearly fell off the crates. His every urge told him to go ahead, topple over; he needed to be down there and holding the wound so it would stop burning so very much....
he stayed as he was for awhile, hyperventilating through clenched teeth. Still. He had to know what that had meant, and he asked with difficulty. "Five? You got a game plan, do you?
Anyway, who gave YOU the right to speak for justice. If you're as damned as I am...why don't you let someone shoot YOU instead?"

Enrico smirked. His hand moved ever so slightly; he fired at the man's other foot.

"Two. Four more. Though," he added, "if you'd like more, I'd be glad to inflict them. Because unlike you, Father, I am already dead. Lucky for me I did not end up in Hell."

He bit down on his cigarette. "As for justice -- it is God's will. The lambs may enjoy their eternal lives under His doting love, but those tainted by wolves' fangs must be slaughtered. Mercilessly and completely. And what better instrument than God's own? I'll let you know, Father, that we are damned not for our beliefs but for our acts. Sayeth He, 'Thou shalt not kill,' and yet we kill, we who are graced with the name of the Christ's own traitor. That is our sin."

This time he did fall, and instinctively curled up; trying to reach for his feet and stop the flow of blood.
It both hurt to touch the new wounds, and he didn't like what he felt, either; this close, and with that type of gun meant he was NOT going to be running out of here anytime too soon.

A groan managed to escape his lips as his hands explored the ruined flesh and nub of bone they had encountered.

He coughed, fighting the urge in his stomach to be ill and managed to uncurl himself. Lying on his stomach on the ground, holding himself up by his elbows to look at the man who had shot him.

His hands were bloody, and they shot out now, to grab Enrico's pants cuffs. "My blood is on YOU, and that's your sin as well." he growled. "I don't BUY your religion. Jesus doed for somebody's sins. But not mine." it was a line he'd heard in a song once.
He'd always vaguely wanted to use it somewhere.

"anyway. you haven't asked me anything yet. Some recon mission this is."

((doed? d00d! someday I haveta get the vowel keys painted back in. *L*))

"I don't care whose blood is on me. I've killed many people, Father. It's stopped mattering exactly who."

He shook one leg free and kicked the man's face, then stepped out of reach. "And you asked for torture, didn't you? And I'm giving it. And now that you're asking for questions, you shall receive. I'm sure they won't be too hard for you to answer."

Enrico again holstered a gun, freeing his hand so he could take a drag from his cigarette. "Firstly, about your master -- he is the Red God, correct? What sort of... relationship, shall we say, does one so pitiful as yourself have with the Devil? I can't think of a reason why any god would want a man who can't defend himself against a couple of guns."

Vincent spit blood, and snickered at that. "Oh. so you want to know about our...relationship. I see. You want me to confess to you? That's it, huh? So when I tell you how hard...and deep...and rough he gives it to me," Vincent thrust his hips in a decidedly obscene gesture, "it'll get you all hot, & sweaty.
Well. I'm sorry. I won't be masturbatory material for you and your...brethren.
We're friends, that's all. Good friends."

What once was a smirk turned fast to a snarl of the utmost digust. "You know exactly what I meant, heretic," he spat. "I don't care about whatever unholy things you do after hours. Go on and fuck your god all you want, if you find that's a way to gain his favor."

Enrico shot at one of the man's hands. "I'm talking about your skills. One of your cohorts controls the demons here, does she not? And you are a priest, you should have knowledge of... whatever archaic myths your god desires. But if sodomy is all you're good for, then you're not worth my time."

And there went the traitor's other hand.

Vincent's head arced back, and he squinted his eyes closed. Stubborn and unwanted tears streamed down his face, breaking on the dusty floor with the sweat droplets.
He'd have grabbed for the wound, but now he could not.
There was a sobbing hitch to his heavy breaths but to his credit he still had not cried out aloud.

"My skills...," he grunted,"that's for me to know and--" he hissed. Tried to straighten out.
He idly noticed one of his fingers on the floor, and his stomach lurched again. Just remember this is nothing to what Xuchilbara will do when he finds you've run off, he reminded himself, and he prayed the god would know that if he was to die here he was doing it as valiantly as he could.
The pain was causing pressure on his face and at once his glasses felt too tight on the bridge of his nose.
He whipped his head around, letting them fall off.

If his body was taken, maybe they'd be found.
He rolled over onto his back, as lying on his stomach felt too much like crawling on his belly. "for you to find out." he finished. and laughed. it was a crazy laugh, the laugh of a man definitely off his rocker, but an amused laugh nonetheless. "You've got two shots left and I've presented you with nothing. You fool. What are you going to do?"

Unfazed, Enrico shot another bullet into the man's abdomen, taking care not to hit a vital organ.

"A gunman," he said calmly, loading a new magazine into his now-empty gun, "always carries extra bullets. Now enlighten me, Father, do you know your wounds? The feet, the hands, the side..." He indicated these places on his own body as he spoke them.

"You, Father, are presenting me with the satisfaction that I have not rusted over time, that I certainly am still capable of inflicting pain onto others. You are also telling me," he smirked this time, "that you are a worthless, undeserving, trivial little pawn in one person's great scheme. Sodomy is all you're good for, is it not? The fulfilling of a demon's carnal desires. But oh, that's right, he has others also terribly willing, who can do much more than you ever could. Isn't that right, Father? And even if you try to help, you only botch it up. Isn't that a shame, that an insect like you is allowed to live? Might as well kill you now."

Enrico fired a new bullet into Vincent's chest, not particularly caring if it hit his heart or not.

The next shot winded him badly, and he lay convulsing, gasping like a fish out of water.
He shuddered with a soundless sob, then coughed until he barfed up the blood that had welled in, clogged his throat.
Lying on his side to get it all out. some of it still drooled from his mouth as he straightened up, and there was some in his hair as well. "So," he grunted. "you admit it. Not justice. not even...." hiss, flinch, gasp "retribution. You...you're the one who's...who's nothing. You're just a bloodthirsty," pantpant "bully, is all you are..."

The next shot struck his chest and THAT shut him up.

So I guess I did kill him, Enrico mused, putting out his cigarette with his boot.

"Father Vincent, heathen and traitor," the archbishop commented as if taking notes, "priest of the Order of the Halo of the Sun, slave of Xulchibara. Seemingly useless except for certain demonic activities, and not shutting up. Cannot defend himself. Certainly contains knowledge useful to Xulchibara, though currently unknown."

Enrico kicked the body so that it was face-down in the grime. "This'll bleed you faster, ex-Father," he said to the dead man. "And it is divine justice. This is God's realm, and those who oppose it through worship of idols are to be killed without remorse. Torture, blackmail... all are tools to be used at our disposal."

He turned his back to the corpse. "And as Chief Director of the Vatican Section Thirteen, Iscariot, I hereby sentence you, Father Vincent, to eternal damnation." He began to cross himself, the feral grin never leaving his face. "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Log; Complete

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject