Dead Moon Chapel

twenty

THIS CHANGED EVERYTHING. HOW WAS he supposed to be rid of this power if it was not holy? He could become a better man. He could have a change of heart and work to chase it out with righteousness. But if he did, he would only prove the holiness he was so sure he did not possess. If he did, he would be worthy of sacrifice at last. Maybe if he did this, he would find the desire to die for the cause.

And yet, he did not have the will.

"I'm not sure they would even believe me," Abel said, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "And if they sacrifice something innately unholy... I can't even begin to imagine what would happen to the people of the city..."

Abel was sitting on a pew, knobby knees pulled to his chest as tears spilled from dozens of eyes on his face. In front of him, Jericho knelt on the floor, eyes impossibly tender as they watched over him.

"We'll figure it out," she said. "We can try something else. Stick to the less blasphemous sins. Maybe we just need to make it a habit."

"But if it's unholy, how would sinning make it go away?"

"Would you rather be righteous?" she asked. "If you continue to be a good, holy man, you're still closer to being what they want you to be."

It was a hard truth to accept, though a truth nonetheless. If he sinned, angelic power or not, he would not be worthy, and they would be forced to find someone else. Choosing a righteous path was only going to make his problem worse.

Abel sniffled. "Okay. Alright. We can... keep doing stuff." He palmed at his tears, but for each one he wiped away, twice as many fell. "This all feels pointless."

"It's not pointless."

"It is," he wept. "It is. All of this trouble, because I'm a coward and I don't want to die. What is wrong with me? What if the city falls because I was too afraid to die? What if I just die anyways, and I take the whole city with me?"

Jericho stood and gripped his shoulders. "Look at me, Abel. Look at me."

A sea of eyes found hers, fervent and unceasing on him. He could get lost in them if he wasn't so distraught.

"If you are unholy, they are going to die with you one way or another," she said, her gaze tearing into him. "You're going to die and you're going to Hell no matter what you do. Now, you can live like you mean it and try, or you can spend your last months miserable and wishing you were something you will never be. What will it be?"

Her words pierced him, stinging like salt to a wound. The truth was brutal, and it yielded to no man, not even one with his unpredictable power. The Dead Moon was set to rise in two months, and unless there was a miracle, these two months could very well be humanity's last.

Sacrifice or not, Abel could do nothing to stop it.

With a shaky breath, Abel dropped his feet to the floor, willing his tears to cease. "I'll try," he said, gripping the edge of the pew. "I want to try."

Jericho smiled.

And he tried. From that moment on, Abel took on every challenge Jericho gave him. After their trip to the small church, they went back to the club. Two drinks in, Abel found a rhythm in his hips, and he joined Jericho in the crowd. They danced close to each other, close enough that Abel could feel the heat of the other man's body radiating from his crimson skin.

Jericho placed a hand on the small of his back, though he kept a few inches between them. His consideration made Abel feel safer, and he was the one to close the distance. As the music drummed in their chests, their heartbeats joined together in the heat of their mingled breaths.