Say Your Prayers

“Simply put, the gods are bastards.” That always gets their back up, people can’t really comprehend it. I think they come here for a laugh, thinking it’s a joke, that we don’t do what we say we do. The woman in front of me made gestures to ward off my evil, gave me a chuckle. Her disgusted face betrayed her noble upbringing, she was not used to a place like my office. Dirty, disorganised. I admit, it was getting pretty bad at the moment, Geri kept threatening to torch the place. Luckily, she was scared of what I might store here. Jokes on her, I wear all the really dangerous stuff.

She wasn’t dressed for the Splashes either. Lucky she didn’t get robbed, otherwise I might never have gotten the business. Purple dye was expensive, and it was good wool. If it all went to pot, I think Geri would like the coat at least. I took a long pull from my ale, waiting for her to say anything. She didn’t. Bloody nobles. I continued, “You can ward against me all you like, but it's a fact. Think. What do you do every morning? Pray, right?” She nodded. I took her for a woman of the Needle. She looked the family type.

“Yeah, you pray. You know what prayer is? It's begging, simply put. The gods are up there, and they got power, and magic, and wisdom and all this other shite. So you pray, because you know they can make your life easier. But they don’t do they? Not only that, if you don’t pray, they go for you. Now it's a protection racket. Pray! Or be smote! End up in Heretic’s Row, turned to stone, or inside out or some shit. So here we are. You come to me. You come here, and you still can’t admit it. Admit you want to be a little naughty.” She had the decency to look a little ashamed at her hypocrisy.

Clutching her coat tighter, she finally decided to grace me with her words, “I give Salandor an offering every morning.” Ha! Called it. “I ask to keep my family safe. And then today, my husband came home, drunk with his friends. They thought I was asleep, thought I couldn’t hear them bragging they...” The words caught, and tears shimmered in her eyes. The hand she used to dab the fine silk handkerchief to her eyes was covered in fine gold rings, each one with a jewel the size of my eye. They say money can’t buy happiness, but being broke ain’t no fucking fun either. Finally, the lady managed to get the words out, “...they went to the Cherry Stem. A week of profits sunk down some whore!” Anger wrestled grief to the floor, and she shook.

Typical case as far as these things went. We both knew what was going to happen, but she needed to say it. If they don’t say it, they never do it. They fuck off and leave me dealing with the clergy. I stared. Staring is always a good option, especially with the nobs. All those balls and dinners, makes them think that someone should always be talking. Silence brings about anxiety, it implies whispers. Whispers imply gossip, and suddenly you're the disgrace of Lord Bumblefuck’s feast. Luckily, I had nothing else to do. I put my feet up to emphasise the minimal amount of shit I gave about my time and hers. God this woman liked to take her time speaking. We got there in the end, “I can’t let him get away with humiliating me like that, he’s passed out drunk, and I need you there now.” I continued to stare. She sighed, reached into her fine wool jacket, and threw a bag of coin on the table.

When I began rocking back and forth on my chair, I thought she might kill me. She wanted me to say it, make it my idea, but I wasn’t gonna absolve her.

Not yet.

“Are you going to help me?” The words hissed from her clenched teeth.

“Help you with what? I thought this was just a lovely midnight chat. Unless you want to go tit for tat with the hubby, in which case give me a minute, because the ale is kicking in and it’ll take a second for me to get it-”

“I want to kill my fucking husband!” The words were quick, as if that would overcome the sins they contained. The truth settled in the room. Unavoidable. No going back now. I bounced up, swiftly pocketing the gold, and flashed a smirk. “Splendid, let's get to it then.”

I probably didn’t need to wiggle my eyebrows at her, but it made her even angrier. Hey, gotta have my fun somehow, right?

A brisk walk, in which all my charming conversation was met with silence, led us through the Splashes and even through merchant town. I was right that she had money, but this was big league coin. We started hitting the Falls. Going past the houses of councilmen, priests, even the Summer Palace. I suppressed the shudder at the job we had done at the Summer Palace. Even three years on, the window was broken. It was too dark, but I felt like I could see the blood stain on it. Well, for the best really. It made me a littl antsy to get the job done, get back to the places I feel welcome, so I was relieved when she stopped in front of a mansion I could only dream about dreaming about owning.

Swanky. Gate, windows, the whole deal. No one ever choked on spritz balls here, I can tell you. The woman, who eventually let me know she was called Lydia, stumbled at the threshold. I didn’t have the energy for another big internal struggle, so I shoved her. Into a hedge. I clambered over as she disentangled from the roses, cursing my name. Such language for a follower of Salandor. Some might call it blasphemous. The air crackled, and I warned her, “We’re not in a Blind anymore. You better get pious real quick.” It was good to remind her what I was, and why I was there.They don’t actually watch us all the time, but we don’t need to draw attention to ourselves.

There was a surprising steadiness to her hand as she turned the key, and walked into the house. Anger fueled her, and the door rattled in its frame. No hope of stealth then, he better be as drunk as she thought. She practically leapt up the stairs. I could barely keep up, and was huffing by the time we got to the top. I gotta cut back on the haze. As I was bent over wheezing, contempt reached my ears. “Are you up for this?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Fuck, was I getting a stitch?

“I thought you people were hardier, to do what you do.”

“Listen lady, I don’t tell you how to marry horny old men, you don’t tell me how to do my job.”

Her hands clenched. Almost got her that time. Is it really a job if the client doesn’t take a swing?

Lydia’s anger grew as we made our way down the hall. Her breathing was harsh, irregular. She shook. I kept myself calm, getting ready to earn my coin, thinking about how to spend it. Ale? I do like ale. With a final, angry, shake of her head, Lydia flung the door open, and beckoned me in.

Snoring, the deep rumbles of a man practically swimming in his cups, came from the large four poster bed. Soft carpet helped to muffle my movements, but I remained cautious, even for the insensate. You only need one drunk to wake up and crack a rib to never be caught off guard again.

Slinking past the fine art on the walls, I reached his head and stared down at the soon to be corpse. He wasn’t as old as I assumed, nearly as young as Lydia. Don’t see that often with the nobs. He had the typical well groomed beard, and the gut that comes from being able to indulge. Must be nice to be able to afford worship and food.

I waited, and Lydia approached the bed, eventually standing opposite me, fine silk sheets and shitty husband between us. I wished she hadn’t done that, the next bit was going to be tight. She was looking at me, eyes blazing, but nervous. She wanted a sign, there was still doubt. I smirked, and made the ward for good luck. The husband snorted in his sleep, and rolled over, his face to me. I tensed, ready.

The knife plunged into his neck, and Lydia pulled forward, shredding skin and muscle. His blood sprayed me in the fucking face, because of course it does. His blood soaked the fine sheets and mattress, ruined the carpet, and my shoes. I was busy cleaning blood out of my eyes, and almost missed it, but there was a flash of light. I leapt, tackling Lydia to the ground, as a divine arrow pierced the floor and began to burn the rugs. She protested as I shoved her into the corner, and whirled to face the whole room. I readied my coat’s wards and waited for the next strike. Glass sprayed, and the window shattered. Three more arrows, two missed the mark, and the last I deflected, the symbols on my gloves glowing. They were nearly empty.

It came through the window, eight pairs of golden wings, armour shining with diamonds, and a perfect face. Sewing needles hung from its ear, as it pointed a flaming sword to the woman cowering behind me. “Lydia Vederan! You have committed a grave sin against Salandor’s teaching, and must now face judgement. Come forth, and be smote as the heretic you have proven yourself to be.”

They always talk. I yanked my hat off and threw it at the fucking thing. The holy sword reduced it to ashes, but it made the thing look at me instead of the girl. It’s eyes were pools of swimming gold but they narrowed as it looked at me, “Do not interfere, unless you too wish to be judged-” It’s voice caught, as its divine senses told it what I was. Too late did it notice the scars around my mouth, the deep tattoos carved into my throat. When I grinned, the deep crimson of my teeth caused the holy messenger to falter. That was my chance, and I took it.

The wood splintered beneath me as I lept, the runes on my boots burning away from use. Shit, I was going to have to replace a lot of my blasphemies. It swung, and I caught the blade with my teeth. A viscous yank snapped it, and I spat the tip and blood onto the floor. My momentum rocketed us both into the wall, its wings setting fire to the curtains.

With it’s Divine Blade gone, the thing could only punch me. Bastard could punch hard though. The coat took the first hit fine, the second made me wince, the third cracked a rib. The same one that drunk had done years ago. Every job it felt like I cracked that rib. I needed to get to it’s throat, but the thing was struggling too much, spreading fire around the room. As it was hammering my side, I smeared blood from my mouth along the index finger of the glove, lighting a rune and using the last of it’s power. Trying to ignore the horrible pain in my side, I swiped my hand across it’s armour, melting the Godsteel and revealing the strange, translucent flesh of an angel.

I could see the black bones that propped the monster up and the shimmering golden blood that moved through it’s body. It’s neck. Finally able to, I gripped the hand that was punching me and squeezed, cracking the wrist.

It is always sour. I guess being righteous doesn’t make you sweet. My teeth sank into its neck, I could feel the vibration as it began to talk, to ask me to spare it. I tore. Light burst from the wound as I chewed up the pound of ragged flesh. It tried to punch me, but I was gold-drunk and could easily shatter the wrist I was grasping. I had the scent now, I went back for seconds. And thirds. And some desert. By the time I was done, I was covered in the golden blood of the divine, and the house burned around me. I winked at the crying noble woman in the corner, “I’d get out of town if I were you. I can save you from the Gods, but the watch will still have you.”

As I watched that realisation dawn on her face, that I could not absolve her of mortal judgement, I jumped out the hole made by my prey.

Oh, by the way, my name is Caleon Rivet. I’m a Sin Eater.