The Tale of Junazahite: Dance with the Devil

Chapter Twelve: The Last Feast

Everything happens for a reason.

John was awakened by the piercing scream of one of the maids. His whole body ached from the dry blood on his skin. Unlike others, he looked calm and unbothered.

After the maids took the headless body out of the room, John started to clean himself up in front of the mirror, though he avoided his own gaze. He feared that if he saw how he looked, he would have a mental breakdown.

Suddenly Richard rushed into the room. Looking at the blood on the floor and the bed, he gasped. When he encountered half-bloody John, he gasped again, looking pale.

"What happened, my Savior?" He asked breathlessly.

"He was a heretic," John said simply without looking at him. "And he met his fate."

"Who?" he rasped, sounding exactly like an owl. But only John knew what an owl was.

"Moriel was a heretic," he repeated, not explaining specifically.

"But, Why?" Richard persisted, still not convinced.

"He wanted to drug me," John finally began explaining, his frustration evident. Yet, the part that Moriel wanted to show Richard guilty was left unsaid.

"It was something that had to be done," he continued, stepping forward to Richard, towering over him. "Should I have asked you what to do with that heretic, instead of following the Book of Al-Kalaam?"

John watched as Richard's face grew even paler.

"I'm sorry, my Savior," He blurted, stepping back. He swallowed hard as fear ran over his body. "I'm ... just speechless. I can't believe it. Why did he betray you?"

"Don't waste our time on a heretic, Leader Richard." He emphasized the word 'leader' sarcastically, hoping to provoke an unsettling reaction. But Richard remained shocked, confused, and innocent.

What he had done was cruel, but justified. Yet, everybody looked at him with fear and unease. They had expected it, though. John's purpose was purifying the world—at least, his followers hoped for. He had to be a killer in order to achieve power, just like other powerful men before him. There will be even more bloodshed once harness my power, he thought.

Throughout the day, they were discussing their plan. Even though John knew it was pointless, he participated very well. meanwhile, he was searching for a sign to identify the traitors. He hoped with Moriel's death, they would back off.

"The Last Feast Before Redemption will be tomorrow," Cathilious announced with pride once the planning was complete. "My Mokhlesses have prepared a grand supper. The soldiers of God need all their strength. May God grant us his favor."

They clapped cheerfully, their eyes fixed on John. He clutched his fists beneath the table, forcing a smile on his face despite his exasperation. It was eerie how much he resented his past self for being maddeningly cryptic.

Later on, while he was resting in his room all alone, Jhina entered. She wasn't carrying her usual kaki riffle. Instead, she had worn a white, baggy robe which looked odd and unfamiliar on her.

"You're not on duty today, are you?" John asked, knowing the answer.

"No, sir," she said solemnly, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Have a seat, please," John offered.

Jhina grabbed one of the metal chairs and placed it in front of John. Sitting on it, she sighed deeply. Folding her arms, she stared at her shoes.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?" John asked, carefully observing her face and wondering why she was there.

"Pardon me, my Savior?" she asked, startled, then she sighed again and decided to admit it. "I'm deeply sorry for my previous behavior, but I've changed. I believe in you more than ever."