Reckoning, p.25
Reckoning, page 25
I pressed my palms flat to the table to steady myself, forcing my voice low but firm. “The greater sin is using God’s name to twist the truth. The greater sin is weaponizing faith against the ones who trust.”
The Purifier tilted her head slightly, as though she’d expected the answer. Her lips curled in the faintest smile. “So you believe you understand truth better than those chosen before you?”
I held her gaze then, heart hammering. “I believe truth belongs to God. Not to you.”
The Purifier leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table, her robe whispering against the sterile floor. Her voice softened further, pitched like a sermon meant for children. “You see, Everly, our purpose has never been cruelty. Cruelty is a word the lost cling to, because they cannot see the greater design.”
Her eyes glowed faintly in the harsh white light. “We were born to keep humanity pure. To carry forward what remains of Heaven in our blood. Angels fell, yes. Demons rose. But in between? Humanity needed guidance—needed a shepherd strong enough to guard the flock. That is what we are.”
I felt bile rise in my throat, but I forced my face still. She wanted to provoke me into rebellion, to catch me baring teeth.
“The Bunkers,” the second one went on, gesturing vaguely toward the walls as if the whole compound were holy, “were not built for tyranny. They were built to prepare God’s army for the war to come. Do you not see it? The Collapse was not an end—it was a beginning. We are standing at the edge of prophecy. The kingdom of Heaven will return, and when it does, it will not be with gentle hands.”
I clenched my fists in my lap, forcing myself not to interrupt. I could feel their words pressing in like smoke, curling under my skin, whispering lies in a voice that almost sounded true.
The first one smiled faintly when she saw I stayed silent. “This isn’t tyranny, child. It is preparation. Sacrifice now for victory later. Even Christ suffered to save the many. Did He not lay down His life for the flock? And you—” She leaned closer, her tone brightening with something that made my stomach twist. “You may yet be chosen to lead them. To be a vessel—not merely a lamb, but a shepherd in your own right.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Chosen. She said it like a gift, like I should fall to my knees in gratitude. But all I heard was a promise to make me into them. To strip me of everything that was mine—my faith, my body, my freedom—and dress me up as their weapon.
“Christ suffered because He chose to.” My voice came out rough, but steady. “He laid His life down willingly. That is not the same as forcing children into chains and calling it holy.”
The Purifier’s expression flickered, the soft smile tightening for the briefest moment before smoothing again. “Ah. But what if the children are not bound, but protected? What if the chains you see are not chains at all, but safety? A wall against the darkness outside?”
I shook my head slowly. “Then why do they cry behind those walls?”
I could feel their disappointment like a weight pressing on my chest, but beneath it, I sensed calculation. They weren’t done with me yet. They would keep talking, keep twisting, until I broke—or until I learned to fight fire with fire.
For a fleeting moment, their words sank deeper than I wanted to admit. The two women sat across from me, their white robes flowing like rivers, their faces serene as saints. They spoke with such patience, such certainty, that for a heartbeat the doubt burned sharp in my chest.
What if this really was God’s will?
What if I was the one defying Him? What if all my resistance, all my rage, was just rebellion dressed up as faith? The thought struck like ice, twisting through me until I almost couldn’t breathe.
But then faces came rushing back—children with hollow eyes, lined up in rows, forced to kneel and parrot scripture they didn’t understand. Girls my age and younger being groomed for marriages they never wanted. Elise’s voice whispering lies she told herself until she believed them. Michael’s hand on my cheek, heavy as ownership.
That doubt hardened into something hotter, fiercer. I slammed my palm against the cold table; the sound cracking through the sterile air. My voice came out louder than I meant it to, shaking with conviction.
“Christ died so we could be free,” I spat. “Not so you could chain His words to your war.”
The Purifier closest to me blinked slowly, like she hadn’t expected me to raise my voice. The faint smile she’d worn faded, just a shadow left on her lips. Her companion turned her head slightly, regarding me with something sharper—curiosity, or maybe calculation.
Finally, the first one spoke, her tone still calm but heavier now. “So you would damn His soldiers to extinction? You would see the bloodline of Heaven vanish into dust?”
My throat tightened, but I forced myself not to look away. “I’d damn anyone who uses His name to hurt children.”
The other woman’s composure cracked then, only for a moment—a flicker of disdain, almost disgust, flashing across her features. “You don’t understand sacrifice,” she said coolly. “You don’t understand what it costs to prepare the world for the kingdom to come.”
I leaned forward, my hand still pressed flat to the table, meeting their eyes head-on. “And you don’t understand God. You talk about Him like He’s a general counting bodies for His army. But He’s a Father. A Savior. And what father do you know who’d demand the suffering of children to make Himself strong?”
Neither of them answered right away. The silence stretched between us, taut and brittle. I could feel their disappointment curdle into something sharper, but beneath it, I caught the faintest thread of unease.
They weren’t used to being challenged. They weren’t used to someone pushing back with scripture, with fire.
I sat back, pulse hammering, and whispered more to myself than to them: “You can try to twist His words all you want. But you’ll never convince me that the God who saved me would bless what you’ve built here.”
The woman leaned back in her chair, the smooth veneer of patience beginning to crack, her voice colder now, sharp as glass.
“You travel with a demon,” she said, tilting her head like she could peer straight into my chest. “Do you believe he can be saved?”
My throat tightened, my pulse stuttered. For a second I couldn’t breathe—not because I doubted Walton’s worth, but because I knew the weight of what they were really asking. They weren’t just testing me. They were daring me to say out loud what I carried like a secret prayer every night.
Walton’s face burned in my memory: the scars carved deep into his skin, the fury in his eyes when he fought, the way his voice could shake with violence one moment and tremble with tenderness the next. The man who had pulled me out of the dark more times than I could count. The man who bore his guilt like a crown of thorns and still chose to love me, anyway.
I flinched, then forced myself upright, hands trembling against my lap. My voice barely carried at first, more breath than sound. “Yes.” I swallowed hard, steadying myself. “God’s mercy is big enough for him too.”
Their eyes gleamed at that, a cruel spark lighting in the sterile white glow. One of them leaned forward again, lips curving faintly. “Then your God is weak.”
The words struck hot, but instead of folding me in half with shame, they lit something inside me. My hands curled into fists. “No,” I said, stronger this time, the word echoing in the room. “You think strength is wrath. You think it’s control. But God’s strength is mercy. His strength is love.”
The Purifier’s smile sharpened into something predatory. “Love for a monster? Love for a man who has killed and maimed and torn down everything around him? That is not holiness, Everly—that is folly.”
I shook my head, fire burning in my chest despite the fear clawing up my throat. “You call him a monster because it makes it easier to dismiss him. But I’ve seen who he is. I’ve seen him fight to protect children who aren’t his, fight to keep me safe when I couldn’t stand on my own. And if God’s love can’t reach someone like him—if it can’t redeem the broken and the furious and the damned—then what good is it?”
They fell silent, the sterile air between us growing taut. Their eyes studied me, searching for weakness, but all I could feel was the conviction thrumming through my bones.
I leaned in, voice low but steady. “If you think that makes God weak… then you’ve never known Him at all.”
The glow of the Runes in the walls seemed to hum louder, like the truth itself pushed back against their poison.
The Purifier rose slowly, the folds of her white robe whispering against the sterile floor as she moved. She didn’t raise her voice; she didn’t need to. A single lift of her hand was enough to call shadows into motion. Boots echoed down the hall, iron doors groaned, and two armored guards appeared at her side. Their rifles gleamed faintly under the harsh light, Runes etched into the barrels like a promise of judgment.
“You will break, little lamb,” the Purifier said, her tone calm, almost pitying, though her eyes glimmered with cruel satisfaction. “All shepherds do. We’ll see how long your faith holds when the weight of truth presses down on you.”
My heart lurched, but I bowed my head. Not to her. Not to them. To the only one who had ever deserved my submission. My hands trembled in my lap, my nails biting into my palms, and I whispered—not to be heard by the guards, not even to defy her, but to anchor myself in something greater.
“Lord,” I breathed, so softly it barely reached my own ears, “let me endure. And if I must break, let me break in You, not them.”
It wasn’t courage that filled me then, not really. It was desperation braided with defiance, a prayer that clung to the marrow of my bones because everything else was being stripped away. I knew what the Purifiers wanted. I knew what Michael wanted. They wanted me hollow, emptied of everything but obedience. But even hollow vessels could be filled, and I prayed mine would only ever be filled with Him.
Rough hands gripped my arms, hauling me to my feet. The guards’ touch was firm but impersonal, like I wasn’t even flesh and blood, just another body to be moved from one chamber to another. The Purifier didn’t look at me again as she turned and swept from the room, robes trailing like smoke.
The guards began dragging me toward the door. My bare feet scuffed against the cold floor, each step pulling me further into the dark belly of the Bunker. I kept my head bowed, eyes fixed on the steel panels sliding open before us. My lips moved without sound at first, a prayer that wasn’t words so much as longing. Then, without meaning to, the words slipped out, fragile and trembling but fierce enough to carry me through the fear.
“Walton.”
Just his name. Just the syllables that tasted like grit and fire and safety all at once. It left my lips like a confession, like a vow, like a plea. The guards didn’t notice. They thought I was silent, broken, cowed. But they were wrong.
Because as they dragged me down into the heart of this place, I clung to that name like scripture itself. And if I had to break, if they tore me open and ground me down, I swore I would only ever shatter in his direction—in God’s direction—not theirs.
That was my defiance. That was my prayer.
Chapter 28
Walton
I sat with my back against the cold stone, the hum of those Runes digging under my skin like gnats I couldn’t swat. The glow painted the walls sickly, always there, reminding me this cage wasn’t made of iron but of faith twisted into shackles. My head hung low, eyes burning from the weight of it, and I caught myself grinding my teeth till my jaw ached. Couldn’t tell anymore if it was grief or fury chewing me hollow—maybe both.
The Purifiers’ words kept spinning through my skull, chasing themselves like carrion flies. She built this. She was one of us. My wife—the woman I once thought was salvation wrapped in flesh—helped lay the bones of the very order that carved me open and called it holy. I wanted to deny it. God help me, I wanted to spit and call it lies. But deep down, a part of me knew she’d always done what she thought she had to do to keep Emma safe. And wasn’t that the same damn excuse I gave myself when I went down dark roads? Maybe that was the worst part—realizing we were the same kind of sinner.
“Emma. Everly.” The names rasped out of me, hoarse, dragging my throat raw. I pressed my forehead against the wall, breathing in rust and damp earth. “How many more do I lose to your machines?”
The stone didn’t answer. Neither did God. Just the hum of the Runes, steady, patient, like they were waiting for me to snap.
I thought of Emma—sweet smile, her hand curling around mine before she even knew how to speak right. She deserved better than to be a lamb offered up on an angel’s altar. And now Everly, tangled in their grip. Fed, bathed, paraded around like some relic to be kept pristine. They’d break her if I didn’t stop them. I knew that. And yet here I was, locked up like an animal, pacing and muttering in a cage built to keep men like me quiet.
My fists clenched till blood ran from the half-moon cuts my nails left in my palms. I wasn’t built for quiet. Never was.
I thought about the Purifier’s smile, the way he said I could walk out or I could burn. Like it was my choice. Like there was any choice at all when they’d taken everything from me already.
I lifted my head finally, pressing the back of it against the wall, staring at the ceiling where the Runes crawled like veins of false light.
My chest heaved with it, the vow heavy and sharp, but it steadied me. Grief and rage could chew me hollow all they wanted—but as long as I kept that fire, they wouldn’t win. Not yet. Not ever.
The scrape of claws broke through the humming silence. At first, I figured it was another rat nosing through the shadows, but then I heard the low growl—a sound that rattled in bone instead of fur. My head jerked up.
Silence slipped out of the dark like she’d been born of it, every line of her black shape carved from shadow and hunger. Her muzzle was slick with red, dripping down onto the stone floor in little dots that shined wet in the faint glow of the Runes. My chest clenched at the sight of her—relief, pride, and a jagged streak of something close to joy. She’d found me.
She padded closer, careful, her ears pinned low and her amber eyes narrowed on the walls instead of me. That growl of hers was steady, low and vicious, like she knew exactly what these markings were. Her claws scraped the floor where the Runes pulsed, scratching hard enough to make sparks. I leaned forward, squinting, and watched as the blood smeared under her paws spread across the carvings.
And then—flicker. The glow dimmed, sputtering like a candle choking out in the wind. My breath caught, pulse hammering hard against my ribs. Silence didn’t stop. She scraped again, dragging that blood across the stone, and the hum of the wards cracked in my ears like old ice breaking under weight.
I staggered up from where I’d been slumped, the iron bars biting into my palms as I gripped them. For the first time since they’d dragged me into this hole, I felt something other than the endless chew of grief and fury. Something sharp, almost feral. A grin split my face, wide and wolfish, baring teeth. “Well, look at you,” I rasped, voice raw with a laugh that wasn’t sane but wasn’t broken either. “Good girl. You figured it out, didn’t you?”
She looked at me, ears twitching at the sound of my voice, and her tail flicked once like a whip. Then she growled again, pressing her paw against the wall until another set of Runes went dim, their glow fading like dying coals. My stomach turned over in something hot and mean—hope, maybe, though I’d stopped trusting that word years ago.
The Purifiers had thought these cages were unbreakable, Runes older than my curse carved into stone like holy chains. But they’d never accounted for her. They never thought the Hellhound I dragged through fire and blood would be the one to undo their sacred tricks.
I pressed my forehead against the bars, the cold searing against skin damp with sweat. “Let’s break outta here,” I whispered.
The words weren’t just for her. They were for me. For Everly, somewhere in these walls, alone with those bastards. For Emma, long gone but still clawing at my chest. For every child locked in these Bunkers like lambs waiting for slaughter.
The hum of the wards faltered again. I felt it—like the air shifting; the weight loosening. My grin widened, teeth bared in the dark.
“Come on, girl,” I muttered, voice low and sharp as a blade. “Let’s give ‘em hell.”
The wards sputtered and flickered as Silence dragged her bloodied paws across them, each stroke smearing red into the grooves until the glow dulled. I dropped to my knees beside her, running a hand through her matted fur, then pressed my palm into the wetness she’d left behind. My hand came up slick, sticky.
I smeared the blood across another set of Runes, hissing as the heat bit into my skin, the glow sizzling under the weight of it. The hum that had been gnawing in the back of my skull since they locked me in here faltered, then went quiet. The air felt thinner suddenly, lighter, like I could breathe again.
I stood, every muscle trembling but wound tight as a coiled spring, and wrapped both hands around the bars. They were cold as ice, heavy with the stink of old iron and angelic trickery. My jaw locked as I pressed my forehead to them, veins straining in my neck.
“Come on,” I growled through my teeth, voice raw. “You ain’t holdin’ me here.”
I pulled. Hard. Metal groaned like a dying beast, the sound rattling down the corridor. My shoulders screamed, my arms burned, but I kept heaving, every ounce of fury in me pouring out through my grip.
One bar buckled. Then another. The sound cracked like thunder, echoing in the cell until the whole frame shuddered loose.
With a final roar I wrenched outward, the bars snapping free with a screech that tore sparks off the stone. I stumbled back, chest heaving, arms shaking like they might give out under me.
