Creepypasta (Rewritten)

Judge Angels (REWRITE)

A/N: Hello, hello! It's been too long! It was probably the longest hiatus this series has experienced due to prioritizing my fanfic, Storm's Hand, as well as being busy and stressed out with college. But now I'm back with another request from the person who suggested the rewrite for Nurse Ann, Enough Is Enough, and Pokémon Dead Channel. I don't think I need to explain why the original Judge Angels story is absolute garbage. Just another story of an abused teenager who turned into a serial killer with an asinine plot. This story underwent many, many changes, but I think I did a decent job. Or at the very least, it's better than the original. I took some inspiration from a revised version I found on DeviantArt by Kinishan. It wasn't a full-on story, but it had a brief explanation of their version of the character. I borrowed some of the elements, but I also added my own thing to fill in the gaps. Enjoy the story!

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I once believed in absolution. The notion that sins could be cleansed. It all started innocently enough, with a search for meaning, a desire for justice, and a deep yearning to belong. The Angels offered all of that and more.

I first heard of the Angels from a friend who knew my frustrations with the legal system. Too many criminals walked free, laughing at the faces of their victims or their families. The Angels were different, he said. They didn't let anyone get away. It was easy to be swayed by such convictions, especially when cloaked in the guise of righteousness.

Not only that, they also promised absolution in the afterlife for those willing to carry out the Lord's work here on earth. Their method? Purging sinners who had slipped through the cracks of justice.

I remember my first meeting with Judge Clark. He was a charismatic man. And his voice had a mesmerizing blend of authority and compassion. He spoke of a world where true justice reigned; where the guilty were held accountable and the righteous were rewarded. He had a way of making you believe that you were part of something greater than yourself.

But there was always an undercurrent of fear. Judge Clark's eyes, though often warm and inviting, could instantly turn cold and menacing, especially with the sinners we caught.

I was captivated; drawn into the fold with promises of purpose and community. We lived by a strict code; one that demanded absolute loyalty and obedience. We were the hand of God, dispensing divine justice.

Though the numbers were few, we were formidable. The cult operated in secrecy, selecting its targets meticulously. Criminals who had slipped through the cracks of the justice system, and those whose sins were hidden behind closed doors, became our prey. We captured them, brought them to our hidden sanctuary, and subjected them to the harsh judgment of Judge Clark before they died by his sacred weapon: Abaddon's Saber.

It was a sword with a pure white blade and a ruby-red stone embedded in its hilt, which lacked a crossguard. It was also rumored to have been wielded by an angel and possessed the ability to destroy souls, denying the condemned any chance of an afterlife. Whether this was true or just a myth, none of us knew for certain. But then again, we didn't want to take our chances with it. It was believed that eradicating these sinners would secure our place in Heaven.

I remember the first time I attended an execution. We were gathered in a remote, abandoned chapel, far from prying eyes. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of incense. Judge Clark was dressed in a white cloak, just like the rest of us. He stood at the center, holding Abaddon's Saber. The sinner, a man accused of cheating on his wife with his own underage stepson, was brought forth. His eyes were wide with fear and his pleas for mercy were muffled by the gag in his mouth.