I want to have faith to put away the dagger

Ezekiel de le Poer · 04-08-2012, 02:01 AM

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For all of his life, Ezekiel had known God privately. There had been no others around him to justify or deny this faith until his return to Inferni. Now more and more he saw the signs and heard the words of men that fell against him like stones. Never had he used the name of the Lord to kill, and Ithiel’s robotic answer only fueled his anger. His upper lip pulled away from his teeth, revealing a sharp row of ivory. “Until now,” he said slowly, forcing himself to remain calm. “Our battles have been with madmen and fools. Yet,” Ezekiel paused, curled his hand and extended the razor-sharp talons from within. “Now my father’s enemies stand on our doorstep.”

He looked at Ithiel evenly, amber eyes gleaming. They were so different—Ithiel was the perfect soldier, who obeyed and who did as demanded. A cannibal ghost filled his own soul, chipping away at a carefully crafted mask that would not served him much longer. The claws retracted from his hand and it fell to the bag on his hip. “Why did you really come here?” Ezekiel asked, no longer looking at the scout. He was focused now on the rolled tobacco in his hand, spiked with clove and opiates to ease the pulsing ache above his heart. While he did not use matches regularly, a small box served to help with this self-medication. A flash of light, a flame, and he breathed in smoke and finally looked back to his half-brother.

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