God's Gone AWOL

[12] Promise Unfulfilled

Atticus' fingers were curled tightly around Bentley's neck. His void-like eyes were filled with a strange sort of anger that the ordinary Atticus would never possess. Beneath his grip, Bentley's throat bobbed slightly, but she didn't resist him in the slightest. She just stared at him, with large, round eyes.

She didn't resist. But her eyes were begging him to stop. —That's what truly broke Atticus.

As soon as the veil of purple smoke dissipated, Atticus managed to gain another brief moment of control over himself. His first action was to tear his hands away from Bentley and allow her to breathe for a moment.

"Bentley... I can't win against it," he told her.

The less time he spent in command of his own body, the more damage he caused. He couldn't bear it any longer.

"Please don't give up. It's going to be okay," she told him.

"I can't," he repeated. "It— I'm going to kill you at this rate,"

"I can't die, remember? And even if you beat me to a pulp, it doesn't matter to me. I'll be fine as long as you keep fighting against it,"

"For how long?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't hold it off forever. Bentley... this is torture,"

In that moment, Atticus finally made up his mind. With a trembling hand, he reached for his golden blade while he desperately tried to keep the other controlling powers at bay. But he had to keep his eyes shut because he couldn't stand the sight of Bentley's blood staining his fingertips.

"Heaven can't shoot anybody if it doesn't have have its gun in the first place,"

"I can't be responsible for a genocide, Bentley,"

These words hammered in his skull, louder and clearer than when they were first spoken.

"No reason to live, and every reason to die..."

That was how Bentley had felt. But Atticus was different.

He didn't have many reasons to live, but he certainly had a few. He needed to protect Bentley. He needed to prove his worth to Ophaniel. And he needed to pay everyone back for the kindness they had shown him over the years— Bentley, Frances, Lucy, even Xander had all helped to make his life worth living. And for those few reasons, he was willing to remain in this wretched existence of his.

However, fate had other plans. Because it was plain to see that the only way he could finally fulfill these commitments was through his own death.

If Atticus was dead, Bentley would finally stop suffering at his hand. All of those times he had hurt her in the past— this was the way he could repay her, and ensure that it never happened again.

If Atticus was dead, Ophaniel would finally be at ease. His wretched son would never lose control or behave selfishly again. If Atticus was dead, Ophaniel wouldn't continue to bear the shame of having a child like him.

And if Atticus was dead, Hell would remain as it was. There would be no more demonic deaths at his hand. This ridiculous invasion would be halted in its step, and millions of lives would be spared. Although it wasn't exactly a gesture of thanks, it wouldn't be the worst final act. At least Frances and Xander and everyone else would be at ease.

If Atticus was dead, this would all go away. He was the direct cause of every single problem, and if he was no longer in the picture, everything would be —as Bentley put it— okay.

His grip on his angelic blade tightened, and he opened his eyes to look at Bentley once again.

"Remember?" he asked, "Remember your promise?"