“Not a great reception.” Alex quipped, looking at the angry and agitated group of people- nuns specifically, gathered in front of the warband.

  “Were you expecting anything different?” Омич noted dryly. “We- you all are traitors and scoundrels.” He continued, his voice slightly louder than usual to project over the din of the angry mob. “And this is an abbey of the holy order after all.”

  “And murders too.” Alex rolled his eyes at the pieces of coherent insults he managed to hear over the din of the general rage of the mob. “Our reputations precede us.”

  “Can we leave now?” Minaev asked, as his eyes darted around, watching for signs of potential attacks, waiting for the other shoe to drop. None of this really makes any sense, why are they going out of their way to the arse end of nowhere to simply harass some inoffensive folks doing their own thing?

  “Already getting restless?” Alex asked rhetorically. “This place won’t put up much of a fight.”

  “That’s not the problem.” Meinaev sighed. “It’s just that-”

  “You are all already condemned to eternal damnation, if that makes this any easier.” Омич said nonchalantly, as if he’s simply commenting on the weather. Which for him it very well might be.

  “Bullshit. If hell exists then why am I here?” Alex snapped. The accusation fell off of Омич like water from a duck.

  “Ah yes, of course. What a wonderful world we live in.” Омич said without preamble or emotions, and Alex could have sworn he saw the shadow of a smile beneath that hideous mask.

  “BEGONE, VILE CREATURE, AND TAKE YOUR DEPRAVED HORDE WITH YOU!” A female voice rang out. Alex finally turns towards the gaggle of angry nuns, noticing that the one with the slightly more fancy looking garb has made her way towards the front of the crowd.

  “Or what, you going to beat us off?” He snapped with a menacing tone. “You and what army? Or even powers?” The naked blasphemy hung in the air.

  “You will never break our spirit, NEVER!” The presumably abbess screamed, as if words could drive away.

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on that really, because I don’t even need to.” Alex stumbled the words out haphazardly, as if caught off guard. “For isn’t my presence alone enough to taint this place beyond salvation?” He chuckled, without a single shred of sincerity, as he waved a hand to the scene at large.

  And they all looked to where he pointed, as they finally noticed the soldiers strolling about, waving the now infamous dreaded banners of the Green Weenie. It was then she and the rest of them finally understood (or perhaps remembered): The power of reputation, the reality brought upon by perception even if immaterial.

  A silence promptly descended among the assembled, as the realization sets in that the traitorous warlord is in fact, completely correct in what he had just said.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “You can’t do this to us!” She finally said, a look of panic mixed with despair on her face.

  “But what have I done, besides merely existing in your presence?” Alex said bitterly. Not even sarcasm, for that would imply something remotely humorous, rather than something despicable that’s baked into the very essence of the world.

  “You have damned us all!”

  “God has forsaken you first, hence my presence here.” Alex shrugged as he turned around and began walking away, the troops following suit.

  After all, they have already accomplished their objective: The damnation of innocents. The senseless spilling of blood will come later.

  As is tradition.

  ------

  “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Омич asked rhetorically.

  They were far enough away to avoid hearing the sounds of the newly damned, though the fires engulfing the convent were duly visible. But one does not need to hear the sounds to know what has transpired, for it is known that all rape victims will be immediately condemned to hell, and them over there will make sure all the taint will be sent to there as quickly as can be.

  “On the contrary, I’m indifferent to this matter.” Alex shrugged, his eyes, though looking in that direction, saw nothing, nothing that made its way to his mind anyways. For his mind was mainly elsewhere, scattered, anywhere else but the present and the here. Until it was dragged back by the hooded figure’s intrusive words.

  “You know their blood is on your hands.” Омич continued, stating it as a fact clear as day.

  “So they are.” Alex acknowledged without resistance or care. “Throw them on top of the rest of the bodies, what’s a few more?” The words came out with a rising directionless anger. He suddenly turned towards the other man. “And what should have I done, die for nothing like all the rest before me?!?” He snapped, the rage bubbling, looking for an outlet to direct to.

  “Perhaps.” Омич said coyly, as if there’s something more to it. “But it matters not. There is always a choice, and you have made yours. And with that choice made now you must bear the burden.”

  “And who, will demand that accountability?” Alex snarked back, not in the mood for that kind of bullshit moralizing, especially from someone as sketchy as Омич. “The innocents? The meek? The dead?” He paused for a moment. “God?” The same god that obviously didn’t care about the rampant injustice being committed on the daily for as long as time existed in this shithole of a world?

  “They weren’t innocent either.” Омич simply replied. “Nobody is.”

  “Then what the hell are you expecting me to do?” Alex snapped at him. The hooded figure stared back at him, his eyes unreadable behind that beaked mask.

  “I expect you to do what you must, and suffer the consequences of what you deserve.” Омич said, before turning back at the sight of the fire, still burning bright in the clear darkness of the night.

  “Thanks for nothing I guess.” Alex muttered as he also turned his head back to continue viewing the burning. The fire is pretty, if in a twisted sense. But then again, many terrible things look pretty.

  If only God would hurry up and dispense his justice, or perhaps all of this is his justice. All this suffering, these twisted machinations of the degenerates, the willful hateful ignorance that makes those machinations possible.

  Was the other world before better? He remembers not. Not anything tangible. But the here, the now, he can do something.

  Something.

  And so he did, and now he must continue. To wherever fate leads.

  No. Not fate. Not destiny. He himself is doing things, making choices, not just along for the ride. Responsibility. Accountability-

  Fuck, maybe the beaked bastard is right after all.

  Well, there’s hope, hope for what he dares not dwell on, and steeling for the inevitable disappointment he must.