Fall, 1937

Sister Dove

 

… and give me the strength, Father, to do such things. To purify the impure. These acts are as arduous as they are perfect, so as your humble servant, I beg of you to imbue me with the same holy power that you’ve bestowed upon me so many times in the past. I ask all of these things in your righteous name. Am-

 

“Sister Dove?”

 

The whisper pierced through Dove’s mind, and she made herself push down the spike of anger that had shot up within her when she heard it. The new recruits didn’t know her habits, the way she worked.

 

“Please do not interrupt me when I have my head bowed, Brother Lark.”

 

“Oh- um, sorry.”

 

Amen.

 

Dove opened her eyes, looking at Lark. He wore a dark cloak, and a pale, white mask, a beak and eyes etched into it. Just like the rest of them. The other three stood behind him, all dressed the same, the only discernible difference between them the slight variations in eye and beak from mask to mask.

 

“Now, what is it?”

 

“There’s someone here, Sister Dove.”

 

Dove stiffened at that, and slowly stood from her crouching position, looking down over the railing of the old, metal catwalk.

 

The building they stood above was fairly small for a theater, the lines and rows of red seats cramped within the confines of the semicircle-shaped room. Each curved wall had a few extra rows of balcony seats extruded out from them, but all currently lie empty. Various signs showed the building's age: the worn fabric on the seats, the peeling wallpaper, but none more so than the ancient-looking chandelier that hung high above the stage. An eerie silence hung through the entire theater, the unease of it only amplified by the overwhelming darkness that masked it all. 

 

Dove strained her ears, trying her best to make out any sound, but found she didn’t have to as the loud slam of a door echoed through the high ceilings of the room.

 

“-such bullshit, why the hell do we have to meet this far out!?” The voice rumbled from far behind the stage, clearly uncaring if anyone heard it.

 

“Them …” Lark spoke softly, and Dove silently nodded her head, trying her best to spot the ones making the noise through her mask.

 

“Boss said it was the only place they’d meet. Must be a designated spot for them or somethin’. And keep it down, they could already be here y’know.” The second voice came out in a much more hushed tone, as if being quieter would make up for their colleague’s thoughtlessness.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, hurry it up! We don’t got all fuckin’ night!” A stumble of clumsy footsteps and the quiet clanking of chains followed the voice, and before long Dove could see three figures making their way onto the central stage.

 

One was a taller man, a large coat masking most of his figure. He kept his hands in his pockets, and his head straight forward, unwavering as he walked out onto the open stage. Calm, confidant. The other man walked in stark contrast to him, stout and slightly disheveled. His gaze flicked all around the auditorium as if attackers hid in droves all throughout dark shadows, and spotting them would make them disappear. 

 

Within his hand he held a small, fairly short chain that connected to a pair of shackles currently fastened to a young girl. She walked with a slight limp, straggling behind the two men. Her face was sallow, and her hair was matted against her head in long clumps. Everything about her seemed to be much worse off than the two men: the collared shirts and dress pants they wore were quite blatantly in much nicer condition than the clothes covering the girl, clothes that Dove could tell were torn and ragged even from this distance.

 

The group of them stopped in the center of the stage, standing there for a moment when the stout one began to speak, “They really gonna make us come all the way out here just to be la-”

 

The lights flashed on in an instant, and he jumped, the chains in his hand jangling against each other. Dove heard nothing behind her on the catwalk, no sudden steps, no creaking metal. Complete silence from those behind her. 

 

Good work.

 

Footsteps brought her attention back to the stage, just as two imps walked out, one a pale purple, the other a deep orange. A chill ran down Dove’s spine as she saw them. She never got used to infernals.

 

The purple one spoke up, “I hate to inform you, Mr. Sheely, is it? But you’re actually the late ones. By three minutes.”

 

The tall man stepped forward to greet him, just as Sheely peered at his watch, expressing his frustration at being wrong with a simple “Damn.”

 

“Sorry about my partner here, he can be a tad … neurotic at times.” spoke the tall man, resulting in a cold scowl from Sheely. He stuck out his hand. “Call me Wright. I assume you’re here on behalf of Septem?”

 

Septem.

 

Dove frowned. The Septem Mafia contained the largest collection of devils in the entire city, and if they were regularly getting vessel deals like this …

 

This is really, really bad.

 

The violet imp shook his hand. “Mauve. And yes, naturally. Ties with devils demand more vessels, and Septem’s only growing larger and larger, as I’m sure your boss is well aware. He’s made it quite apparent with the way he’s gouging these costs.” There was a clear vitriol in his voice as he spat out the last few words.

 

Wright met the jab with a chuckle. “Well, I’d hardly call it gouging! Only normal to shift price with demand.”

 

Dove shifted, slowly creeping along the catwalk, moving closer to the stage. She gestured for the others to follow.

 

“I’m sure.” Mauve spoke more coldly now. “And am I to believe she’s prime for sale?” He gestured towards the vessel girl, who stood hunched over. “She looks ready to keel over and die any moment now.” Wright’s friendly smile wavered a little at that.

 

Closer and closer Dove moved. She listened to the quiet movements of the masked people behind her. The recruits had been doing very good that night. It made sense, Crow was very selective.

 

“Hey! Listen pal, beggars can’t be choosers, and a vessel is a vessel!” Sheely was clearly trying to get this over with, though not with much tact. “Are we doing this or are we not!?”

 

 Mauve sighed just as Dove and her crew reached the edge of the catwalk closest to the trade. “Fine, but you ought to tell your boss that selling damaged goods won’t look good for their reputation.”

 

Sheely managed to spit out a “Yeah, whatever.” as Mauve gestured to the orange imp to approach the group with the briefcase in his hand. He held it out as Mauve flipped its latches, opening it up for the two men to see the contents.

 

Dove stood up as Mauve spoke, “Ten thousand in cash. Just as promised.” She looked back at the masked ones, who all looked up at her. She nodded.

 

It was time.

 

Wright took a brief look into the case. “Looks about right! Everything’s in order, then?”

 

“I suppose so.” Mauve was clearly still bitter about the whole ordeal, but that only looked to make Wright’s smile wider.

 

He outstretched a hand to shake, and just then, there was a creak. It was quiet, but noticeable. Yet, in the midst of that deal, none of the four really thought to look to see what caused it. It wasn’t until the second, significantly louder clatter and groan of the metal above that only Sheely thought to look up for a moment.

 

“The hell is making that noi- SHIT!”

 

Luckily for Dove, she’d already made it most of the way down by the time Sheely had bothered to look, with the rest of her group currently vaulting the catwalk rail just as she had.

 

Wright and both of the imps instantly dropped their focus from the unfolding deal, looking up just as Dove broke into a landing roll against the ground.

 

“Goddamn it, it’s Hallow!” All four of them reached somewhere around their belt or pockets, all grabbing for firearms.

 

Dove frowned beneath her mask. We’re no Hallow.

 

The Hallow were city funded priests. Blasphemers, who used the Lord’s power for their corrupt, power hungry desires. To even compare the Crows to them, it was …

 

BLAM!

 

Mauve’s pistol went off, the wood at Dove’s feet splintering just as she got out of her roll. She broke into a dash towards the two imps, yelling into the open air, “GET THE VESSEL!” If they didn’t get her, this was all for nothing. She heard the novice priests behind her make contact with the ground.

 

As Dove sped up across the stage, she locked eyes with Mauve.

 

You’re first.

 

In that moment, it seemed realization came over Mauve, and a mild fear became apparent upon his face.

 

“Shit! These ain’t Hallow, they’re rogue priests!”

 

He braced himself for Dove’s impact, her stance unchanging as she sprinted closer and closer to him. He outstretched his arms to grab at her, but just as he lunged for her she slid, ducking right between his legs and stabbing deep at his ankle with a knife she’d grabbed from her utility belt.

 

She maneuvered herself back onto her feet as he grunted in pain, and took a moment to look past Mauve. Gunshots blasted through the air as the three recruits tried to close the distance with the two men to retrieve the vessel from them. 

 

Dove grabbed a small vial from a pocket in her belt, and tossed it towards Mauve just as he spun around to meet her, “You really think a plain knife’s gonna stop me pries- AUGH!!” It smashed against the side of his head and he screeched as the liquid within splashed on his skin and began to smoke. “You’re gonna pay for that you fuckin’ bitch!”

 

Dove moved towards him, but just as she did she felt a strong arm wrap around her neck, the skin orange.

 

No!

 

Just as Mauve reached for his gun, Dove heard gunshots, much closer than the others echoing around the stage.

 

POW! POW!

 

The orange imp’s grip slacked, and she thrust herself out of his grip at once, spinning around to smash a foot into his side. The blow only made him stumble slightly, but it was clear what’d made him lose grip in the first place. Black blood poured from two fresh bullet holes put into his jaw and neck.

 

Sparrow, the last of the four she’d brought with her that night, stood far to the right of him, his silver gun outstretched, and nodded at her. She nodded back.

 

Glad I asked Crow to give him some sterling tonight too.

 

He and Dove had been tasked with bringing the new recruits out tonight. It was the first mission for all three of them: a taste of what was to come in their futures with the Congregation.

 

The orange imp, now looking just as furious as Mauve, started to approach Dove, as Mauve made a dash for the backstage, Sparrow following shortly behind him. “You don’t stand a chance,” the orange imp spoke, his words slurred from his wounds, “let’s see you fight without your trigger happy friend!” Every time he spoke, another spurt of blood gushed from the newfound hole in his neck.

 

He rushed towards her, and though Dove tried her best to strafe away from him, he jumped out at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and tumbling to the ground. As they rolled he smashed blow after blow against her head, and she shuddered as she felt her mask crack, but blocked out the feeling. All that mattered right now was winning this fight.

 

He may be stronger, but not heavier.

 

Dove pushed past her blurring vision, making out the bullet hole on the side of the imp’s throat and shoving and twisting a finger into it. He screamed, moving a hand from her shoulder to strike at her hand, but she suddenly smashed her legs into his chest, launching him off of her.

 

He landed with a shudder onto his back, but quickly recovered as Dove pulled out her sterling pistol.

 

The whirring sound of rope becoming loose could faintly be heard in the background, but the orange imp was too busy scrambling back onto his feet to notice.

 

“You think yer clever, do ya? Well you can’t run foreve-” 

 

But just as he moved to start rushing towards Dove again, a dark blur zoomed past Dove’s vision, and …

 

CRASH!!

 

Dove moved to shield herself with her black cloak as wood went flying all around her. A wicked screech sounded from the area of whatever had fallen, and Dove stayed there for a moment, covering herself with the thick material. The cloaks had been specially designed for things like this, to firm up when met with direct force. Infernal skin.

 

By the time Dove had decided it was safe to unshroud herself, a dense dust had plumed around the stage, obscuring whatever had crashed into the floor from view, but before long it passed. 

 

The ancient, metal chandelier that had previously hung high above the old stagefloor had now firmly planted itself deep into the now demolished wooden planks beneath it. The orange imp struggled beneath it, writhing from within his broken body.

 

Dove approached him, slowly. You could never be too sure with infernals, they were tricky.

 

But all he did was struggle against the chandelier, clearly trying to push himself up from the metal object. Dove had no doubt that he ordinarily would be able to do so easily, but the sterling bullets were clearly doing a number on him. Not ordinary sterling, though, holy water coated sterling. Crow’s stash, rare as it got.

 

He managed to move the chandelier quite a ways by the time Dove got over to him. One of his arms was bent at an odd angle, black blood seeping out from it, and pale, white bone vaguely visible from certain points of the destroyed limb, and yet, he still was able to use it to push the chandelier in such a mangled state. The thing was massive, it must’ve been hundreds of pounds.

 

Disgusting.

 

Their power. It was innate, not earned. Such viscerally massive power, gifted to such wretched creatures. ‘Disgusting’ was truly the only word she could muster at that thought. 

 

She pulled the sterling pistol back out, aiming at his head. The imp seemed to not even notice her, still desperately trying to get the rest of the metal construction off of himself.

 

Just above the right eye …

 

“Perish.”

 

The phrase was short, but apt. She found herself saying it each time.

 

POW!

 

A third bullet hole found itself within the orange imp, aimed to go straight through the regenerative piece of its brain. All priests were taught where that tiny part was. It was the easiest way to put an infernal down for good, because Lord knew they loved coming back.

 

Dove watched the pale white of the imp’s eyes fade, slowly growing colder.

 

“Did it hit him?”

 

The question came from above the stage, and when Dove looked up she could see the third recruit, Wren, who’d somehow managed to get back above the catwalk, knife in one hand. In the other, she held an end of the slashed rope that’d been holding the chandelier up a moment earlier.

 

Smart one.

 

“Yes, Sister Wren. A fine job.”

 

Even from far above the theater floor, she could feel the happiness beaming from Wren.

 

Dove turned to look back towards the other two recruits, who now stood above the bloody corpse of Sheely, knife wounds scattered all around his body. The vessel lay to the left of him, seemingly too tired to show fear of any sort.

 

Lark spoke as soon as he saw Dove was looking at him, “Sorry, Sister Dove. The tall one, he escaped us.”

 

“That is for the best, Brother Lark.” She made her way towards them, looking at the vessel all the while, “Over time, you will learn that sometimes fear is more powerful than bloodshed.”

 

Lark nodded at that, but Dove was too distracted to notice it.

 

Where is the purple one?

 

Dove looked around the stage for a moment, but saw no sign of him.

 

Could he have escape-

 

BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM!!

 

A rapid explosion of gunfire rang out from behind the stage, and pain shot through Dove as she felt a sudden burst of pressure in her arm. “TAKE COVER!!”

 

She ran for the chandelier, as the others scampered to different areas, one into the orchestra pit, and the other two diving over the stage into the seats. 

 

Dove cringed and looked down at her arm as she took cover behind the cool, black metal. A red circle was burrowed into her arm, the bullet lodged within it.

 

Not good.

 

BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM!!

 

Bullet rattled against the back of the chandelier, with loud footsteps coming out from behind the stage.

 

“You think you can fuck with me, priest!?” Another hail of bullets struck from behind Dove as Mauve spoke, “Septem doesn’t take kindly to people like you. I ought to send your friends here a message they won’t forget!” The steps grew even closer, and with them came another rain of gun fire. “Go on, come out! I won’t bite!” A cackle echoed all around the theater, only silenced by the loud gunshot that followed it.

 

POW!

 

It was different, though.

 

On a gut instinct, Dove thrust herself out from her cover, drawing her gun and aiming it back to where Mauve had been approaching. 

 

She watched the purple body crumple down to the floor, and behind him, Sparrow.

 

That’s twice today he’s saved me …

 

“Sister Dove, are you alright? Your mask!” He quickly walked towards her, holstering the gun at his hip. 

 

“I’m fine, really. And thank you for taking care of him.”

 

She could feel a slight smile from beneath Sparrow’s mask. “It’s no problem. I had a feeling he’d try something like that, I hid back behind the hallway and he came right out of the dressing room with a tommy gun, cocky bastard.”

 

Dove slowly walked over to the body, as it lay awkwardly collapsed on its side. One black hole blown into the exact spot needed to pierce the regenerative tissue. The side of his face that she could make out from his face-down position was heavily scarred from the flask of holy water she’d thrown at him earlier, the skin black and charred.

 

“Well, it’s over now.” Dove turned around as she spoke, watching as the recruits made their way back up onto the stage to meet them. She began walking towards the vessel. “Come, flock. We’ve a little more work to do.”

 

When Dove reached the girl, she stretched out a hand to her. They eyed Dove with tired, cold eyes. Mauve was right, she really did look ready to keel over.

 

“Please, join us, vessel. I’ve some words to say.”

 

The vessel weakly held out a hand, and Dove grabbed onto it, pulling her up onto her feet. The others stood a few feet away, forming a small circle as Dove slowly helped the girl walk to the middle of it.

 

Once they’d reached the center, Dove let her stand alone, backing up to complete the circle as all of the masked ones bowed their heads, and Dove began to speak.

 

“Father, we thank you for your strength you’ve provided us on this mission today, on the angels you’ve wrapped around us as we dove into the heat of battle, and we pray that you gift us with such things on each other mission, on each other day.

 

“Father, we stand before you with one who is impure, with one who has been cursed from birth, cursed to blight this world in such a wretched way.”

 

Dove pulled out a knife from her utility belt.

 

“So we pray, Father, that in this moment you would give us the power to sanctify this temple, to excise the rot that makes up her very being!”

 

Dove stepped forward, moving until she stood just behind the vessel.

 

“In all the things we pray Father, Amen.”

 

“AMEN.” All the masks spoke in unison, and Dove moved in an instant.

 

The girl did not struggle after her throat had been cut. She didn’t even make a sound, just slowly crumpled to the ground, loosely putting a hand to her neck, as if touching it would seal the slice back up. Dove just stood and watched, directing a hand motion to her group that ordered them to do the same. The new recruits reeked of unease as they looked on, watching the small pool of blood beneath the girl grow wider as her breaths got shallower and shallower.

 

She wasn’t even entirely sure why Crow had had her bring them out on such a graphic mission so soon. Too weed out the unwilling, maybe. Those unwilling to draw the blood of the unholy. To sanctify.

 

She looked up to address them, “Do you see, flock? Unsightly as it may seem, she carried with her the blood of the unholy. Unlike most, it is not about what she has done, flock, but what she is.”

 

Dove spoke in practiced, memorized words. The same Crow had said to her so many years ago, when she’d been just as fresh as these recruits. Yearning for a purpose.

 

“Vessels tempt infernal scum. They lure them in with promises of grandeur, not with their words, or their actions, but with their form alone. Without a single ounce of effort, they lure in such wretched beasts. That is why we must do this,” She gestured back at the still-dying girl, “It is because we must. Do you understand now?”

 

“YES.” The word was resounding, spoken by each and every one of the bird-masked figures.

 

“Good. Brother Sparrow?” The taller man looked up at her. “Lead the way back, would you? I’ll be right behind you all.”

 

He gave her a nod, gesturing to the recruits. “Let’s go.” Dove could make out a few more words as they made their way out of the building, “You should be proud, you all did very well today.” Sparrow was good with the new recruits, sometimes Dove thought she was a little too cold with them.

 

Dove thought to leave behind them then, but stayed another moment, turning back to the girl and watching. She was still breathing on the ground.

 

Why struggle, child? Be purified.

 

Their eyes met for a moment, right then, and a visceral chill ran down Dove’s spine. 

 

She turned at once, walking away from the girl and up the side of the stage, where the others had gone to exit. Dove hated that feeling, more than anything else. That misguided empathy. That knowledge that she was human, that on some level she’d always feel bad for those like the girl that now lie on the floor. Nothing would ever change that, and it ate at her.

 

Wretched thing.

 

Even through all the training Crow had put her through, she still couldn’t cut out the guilt that hit her like a brick on missions like these. It was easy with others: killing infernals, violent gang members, things of that nature. Their actions defined them, their very existence tainted by the things they did. But vessels … vessels were harder to understand.

 

Crow had always told her they had the blood of infernals within them. That even if they did no wrong, their mere existence was sacrilege. And it made sense to her. It all made sense, but even so, it was all so different when you stand there in the moment and actually put them down.

 

She’d gotten better at it, the act of killing itself was easier now. It was the aftermath that was the hardest.

 

I need to stop looking at them.

 

She didn’t know what always drew her to look at them afterwards. She didn’t do it with any of the others, only the vessels. Maybe she thought, in that last moment, that single instant before death, they finally became human. Once their infernal blood drained out, what was left but their mortal shell? Maybe that’s why the guilt only hit her in their dying moments now. 

 

She felt for them, on some level. A mere human, destined for such destruction without knowing, in the same way she was destined for reparation. 

 

Crow had said, when they’d first met, that he could feel it on her. God. His light shining down upon her, and he said from that very moment he knew she was created for that very purpose, to serve in such a way.

 

After all, what was she but just another form of vessel? A vessel through which the Lord channeled his perfect traits.

 

Sanctity.

 

Purity.

 

Righteousness.

 

PART I

END