Memories faded with time. Gabriel had forgotten the eyes of the wolf that had eaten his brother (eaten was the right word; the loner had taken chunks from the pup) and forgotten the fire in California. He remembered the last one, and he remembered the wars since that time. God had been right to purge them. Sodom had fallen, yes, but what of this new Gomorrah that had risen in its place? There would always be sickness, and always be men like Haku. It was a pity that he had not been fast enough to eradicate the Soul line. In his heart, he still wished to see it done.
A marking? Gabriel turned, his eyes narrowed. How peculiar to think that a child might bear the sign of the fallen son. “The Cross,” he said, not needing to look to know it was there. He had worn it since it had been found. The Man-Jesus had been made to suffer for the sins of his kind. Tortured, crucified, and killed only to walk through hell and return clean. Perhaps there was some magic in them yet. “If it his His mark, then you will know. God chooses his own.”
He had said that before.
A city, and the righteous and unjust alike, had burnt in the aftermath.
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