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 Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2009 8:17 pm
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Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2009 8:18 pm
constant mistakesaudio supplement
Things changed when you found your hands covered in the blood of a comrade.
Something about the pale face of the Norwegian he'd seen on the floor had perhaps made Asmadai change his mind about his decision to be a pure noncombatant. Mentally, he knew this was a ridiculous notion. If he'd been knowledgable about fighting, he would not have been able to prevent Einar's injury, nor could he have been more useful to anything - whatever happened, the pilot had disappeared, and no amount of help could have changed that. Much as he himself had, come to think of it, but the reasoning behind his own disappearance... Well, he knew it, same as he imagined someone about knew why Einar had vanished.
Even with such wonderful motivation, he'd still hesitated over the actual decision. Thou shalt not kill. The commandments - love your neighbor as yourself - none but God Himself has the right to harm another person - every reason he thought up could be rebutted by his own beliefs. Thirty-odd of time spent in the parish, in the seminary and in the Church did not loosen its hold easily. No matter what he did, no matter how he justified it, if he hurt someone he was a criminal, guilty of at least attempted manslaughter if not murder. Beyond even that, much more important and far-reaching, was the way he would indelibly stain his own soul- become a criminal in the eyes of his God. Asmadai didn't know if he could deal with that.
So for a time, he had considered it. He had fought with himself, oscillating wildly between leaving LOTUS, preserving his status quo, or becoming useful - his own growing feeling that something was not right in his head did not help. Maria appeared more often than ever, more often than before Rome, her red hair off in the corner of his eye, her gay smile, fingernails painted rainbow - he felt like the anecdotal Frollo, tormented by an Esmerelda he had no hope of controlling. Yet Frollo was a judge, a mortal and caring man who had never sworn his soul to God, Esmerelda might have one day with the grace of the Lord come to love him. Maria was forever beyond his reach.
It was the thought of Maria that decided him: if Maria had been in danger. If it had been her bleeding on the floor, never Einar at all, but his red-haired Maria, he would have done anything, said anything, betrayed anyone, to save her. He would betray God, give up on his own soul. Damnation, even eternal damnation, was nothing compared to life without his sister.
Somewhere out there, some teenage boy loved his own sister just as dearly as Asmadai had (and still did) loved his. For that boy, he would continue to oppose Janus, and he would do what he could to help the Sian siblings and their organization, even if it meant condemnation to the fires of Hell.
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Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2009 8:20 pm
By and large, priests were pacifist. The only time you'd see one toting something more dangerous than a lead-covered Bible was in certain television shows from the turn of the century or in a bad action film. Occasionally in a comic book setting. Point being, men of the cloth did not hide Glocks behind their clerical collars. Not real ones. Certainly not Father Asmadai Riffael, who had barely ever gotten into more than a tussle in his entire life.
Still, he'd attended a few informal "classes" given by an Elite whose name and face slipped his mind constantly. He had learned the basics of personal defense, and he practiced, but there was one particular discipline he'd embraced because he thought it would be most useful. It worked for long distance, short distance, and point blank. He didn't have to be particularly healthy, so it would be useful if he ever did get ill on a mission. It seemed ideal, and all he had to do was keep track of his ammunition and take care of the gun.
And practice. But he would have to do that anyway.
It occupied a good two or three hours of his afternoon- loading the gun, firing, cleaning it. The weapon itself was a sleek and shiny silver model from his own time. He didn't bother to remember the make or the manufacturer, just how to take care of it so he would never need to know. True, he wasn't a dead shot or anything- he felt privileged to hit nonvital areas, or to get the target at all. But it was something, and for something he was grateful.
Sometimes, practicing on his own, he got rather odd looks: with the goggles on to protect his eyes, the sound-muffling headset, he imagined he must look pretty ridiculous. The reason he'd chosen this sort of weapon, he thought, should be obvious to others. It was obvious to him: as a priest, he was supposed to be compassionate. A gun, when used correctly, caused instant death; fists could never do that, not without extensive training he was not willing to undergo. If he had to raise his hand against another human being, he did not want to cause unnecessary agony. Besides that, he didn't know if he would want to see the exact moment of death - if he could bear it. Martial weapons were effective, but again far too close in range, required too much time to learn, and were too easy to take away. A gun could be attached to a wrist strap, and only required a sturdy shoulder and a strong hand. It had far more range as well.
After a time, the practice times became smoother, more robotic. He could separate what his body was doing from what his mind wanted to do and maintain his accuracy, and it was during this time that he stumbled upon another problem.
The problem was this: Janus was a god. Was he God? The god of Abraham and Moses, Asmadai's God?
If Janus was God, then this was sacriliege - worse than sacriliege, treason against his own soul. Didn't God send the great flood to destroy the earth, for people were wicked? Destroying a great crystal somewhere in the future was on par with mass genocide, which qualified as wicked no matter how you spun it. Could this be righteous, divine wrath?
Asmadai didn't know. But he thought not: God was a vengeful god, a god of war and famine, but he was also a god of peace, and he would never sacrifice the innocent to spare the guilty. Nor would he deign to appear upon the Earth without the attendant symbolism: the four riders, the faithful disappearing to Heaven, white rocks and robes and a seven-headed dragon, because if he did it invalidated the martyrdom of Saint John. It seemed impossible, but the question still nagged him.
In the end, it returned to his resolve. For Maria, he knew he would have condemned himself to Hell or worse. There was someone out there who had a sister he loved as Asmadai still loved Maria, and for that person, he would do anything.
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Posted: Mon Jul 20, 2009 7:01 pm
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