Adum nodded.

“So then, our agreement is sound? What guarantee do I have that you will keep your word?” Steigen asked.

“We are not wise like your people, but we are not animals. We will do what must be done, and we will honor the pact,” Adum said.

“Very well. Take this. It will give you access to a weapons stockpile at the checkpoint near your living area.”

Adum fought the urge to sneer. “Living area” was a euphemism for the ragtag collection of tents and plywood sheds where his people lived. He hoped that things would be different when the dust settled, that the sleepers would keep their end of the bargain.

A small drawer opened in the wall near the pedestal. Inside were an ID access card and one of the fire shooters that the Mendraga carried.

“Good luck, Adum.”

“Thank you, Steigen. May Je-Ha watch over all of us.”

“Yes, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

TWELVE - Money Changers

Letho and Deacon fell in with a line of people entering the temple. Awful music played in the background, and the people’s footsteps matched the tempo of the song’s dismal andante.

Like the exterior of the temple, the inside was ornate, full of statues and tapestries that detailed the great deeds of god-king Abraxas. Again Letho wondered who had created these artisanal masterpieces. Were there former Fulcrum citizens who possessed these talents? Letho thought it unlikely, but at the same time he couldn’t imagine that the hammerheads he had seen were capable of creating such fine art.

“Lively place, eh, Letho?” Deacon said.

“Shhh. Let’s try to keep a low profile, okay?” Letho replied.

“Okay, fine. Sorry,” Deacon said, none too quietly.

“Shut up already!” Letho whisper-hissed. A person in front of them turned and placed a finger to his lips.

“Sorry,” Letho said.

They took a seat on one of the benches, surrounded by Hastrom City citizens. Letho couldn’t help but notice that carved into these citizens’ cheeks was the letter “A”.

This might not be the best place for me to be.

Then a door opened from behind the altar and a man came forth wearing flowing robes and a golden headpiece that resembled the head of the Abraxas statue that Letho had seen outside the cathedral. The man’s face was framed by the jaws and sharp teeth of the headpiece, as though he were peering from inside Abraxas’s own mouth. As he stepped up to the altar, he raised his hands with a flourish and began to sing along with the music, which changed from a dirge to a rousing canticle. A mechanical bass thump emanated from an unseen speaker in a pulsing tempo like a heartbeat. The congregation stood, entranced by either the music or the dancing, headdress-wearing priest. Some of them raised their hands into the air as if they were trying to touch something floating just above their head. Others shook as though an electric current was surging through their bodies. Letho just stood perfectly still, unsure how to behave. He looked to Deacon, who was trying not to laugh.

What. The. Hell? Deacon mouthed.

The song went on for several minutes, and at its closing cadence the people returned to their seats with eerie synchronization.

“Today is a glorious day, is it not?” the priest said.

The congregation, likely numbering in the hundreds, cheered.

“Our glorious savior has returned, and brings life back to our broken city. He saved us from our wandering, returning the Fulcrum stations from deep space. Cry out for the the good news!” When the priest’s mouth opened wide, Letho could see the feeding appendage behind his teeth.

A Mendraga priest. Wonders never cease.

The crowd cheered and shouted praises to their god. How anyone could worship a creature that fed on the blood of its congregants was completely beyond Letho.

“And now the time has come. Our kind father has chosen one to join him. To receive his gift. Will you please step forward?” the priest said.

One of the congregants stood and walked up the center aisle with stately poise, a serene look on her face.

Sila.

Letho shook his head. It wasn’t Sila. It couldn’t possibly be her. But the woman did look quite a bit like her, which made it feel like a gut punch to see her walking to the altar to willingly receive Abraxas’s gift.

When the woman stopped in front of the altar, the priest stooped behind the altar and withdrew an ornate bottle with a gold dragon curled around it. The woman knelt before him, her face upturned, her mouth open. The priest began to tilt the bottle.

Sila…

Something came over Letho. It was the wrongness of it all. The beautiful girl who looked just like Sila. About to accept the gift, just like his beloved had, perhaps not knowing the brutal history that had brought this foul chalice across the void of space and now to her lips, nor the true costs of the choice she was now making. He was outraged that these people were worshipping the very being who had sentenced Sila to death at his own hand; the very being who even now enslaved them.

Galvanized like never before Letho stood up. Fiery righteousness spilled into his body. His left arm became the sword of Gideus, his right held the triumphant horn of the arch-being Gabrus, which would sound the clarion call to end all things.

“NO!” he shouted. He threw off his cloak and leapt over the pews and people, landing directly in front of the priest. The female congregant screamed and began to scramble away.

“What is the meaning of this?” the priest cried. “Who are you?”

“I’m Letho Ferron, and I am here to… to…” Letho trailed off.

I got nothing.

He grabbed a standing candelabra tipped with flickering halogens meant to imitate flames, and he gave the priest a forceful mouthful of it. The priest collapsed in a heap of flapping cloth, the candelabra embedded in his face.

Letho then ripped the headpiece from the priest’s lifeless body and crushed it between his hands. The congregation gasped. Letho kicked over the altar and threw the crumpled headdress at a wall, where it embedded itself in the wood. The people began to scream and clamber over one another in panic.

“Silence! Be still!” Letho shouted. His voice ricocheted off the walls like a baritone shotgun blast. As if a fire had struck him from the sky above, he was now filled with righteous fire, and he now had plenty to say. He would breathe fire on Abraxas’s congregants.

“You will listen to me. The creature you call your god is an abomination! He and his hand, called Alastor, murdered many people from my Fulcrum station. And he has murdered countless others. You mustn’t worship him. You must rise up against him, and fight! Retake your city!”

Letho smiled, quite proud of the rousing speech he had just given. Deacon gave him a thumbs-up.

And that’s when the congregation attacked.

****

“What do you think that place is?” Bayorn asked.

“Not sure. Dad said something about a Corpus Verum. I think it’s the government people or something. They live down there. Maybe it’s a bunker like the one we have,” Saul said.

Just then the group of hammerheads filed out of the front entrance. One of the Mendraga kicked the last in line, causing him to tumble and fall. Bayorn growled, his lips pulling back, exposing menacing fangs.

“Easy there, hoss. Let’s not kill any more guards unless we have to, okay?”

Bayorn took a deep breath and nodded.

Saul and Bayorn followed the group of hammerheads, careful to not draw the attention of the Mendraga guards. When they felt they’d gotten a safe distance from the guards, they picked up the pace and approached the hammerheads.

Six of them did not react to their presence at all. But the one in front, the one with intelligent eyes, recoiled in fear.