Unsainted

15: My Hand Instead of God's

The church stood tall in the veil of black smoke. Whilst being the oldest building in the town, it was simaltainesly the newest. Double brick walls, double glazed windows, a closed cycle air conditioner, solar panels and steel roof beams; the only thing that was original was the architecture of the building. John had made sure the church was refurbished and modern, much more modern than any of the other establishments on the town; it was of course his home.

But he had never stolen a cent. Instead he had pressured and persuaded the town into donating the money. Prying of the backwards belief that they, not only could buy their way into heaven but also buy themselves away from sickness and disease. John indulged in the sins that he had told his following to avoid, and now they took refuge in the home he had spent years perfecting.

"We must wait here" John said from his podium, speaking out to the completely packed church. 

There was nowhere to sit all of the pews and chairs; save for John's small throne, had been used to barricaded the floor to ceiling windows; leaving some to sit on the floor whilst the rest stood.  

"This is a test directly from God" John continued, "If we are to leave these sacred grounds, the lord will punish us with eternal damnation. But to stay, to endure and believe; my flock. We will flourish here, in the new garden of eden." 

The people loved it, even in their depressed state; having lost several of their own to the slaughter and the smoke; John managed to kindle their spirits. They clapped their dirty hands together, taking no note that John was immaculately clean. He smiled back at them, the fake smile that he had practiced to seem more believable; because he knew he had these people wrapped around his finger. Every word he proclaimed and prophesied they believed, he could tell them he was the reincarnation of Jesus christ and they would believe it. 

But

Words could only convince the mind, and sometimes the soul. But what John's addicting words could not convince the people off, was Atrox's ever real threat.

Atrox stood just a few meters from the door of the church; large, wooden and grand, it stood as the only thing keeping Atrox from entering. Slowly he walked towards it, keeping his posture as straight as he could. The rain made the ground slightly sticky, as it collected the smoke particles on its way down. In quick succession several bolts of grey lightning exploded from the black clouds in the sky; their light refracted by the smoke.

Atrox reached the entrance of the church and pushed it's heavy doors open, they creaked as the hinges swiveled and parted for Atrox. He stepped inside and walked down a long hallway, leading to the inner part of the church. He looked around as he moved, glancing at the stained glass windows and the candles that illuminated the stone behind them. Atrox's mind began to drift, about the hundreds of times he had walked down this very hallway, about the hundreds of hours he had sacrificed to worship an invisible god. It all seemed pointless now, all that time and energy only to lead to this; all of it wasted in vain.

The doors to the inner sanctum of the church where made of a much thinner wood than the front  door, but still just as strong. Atrox pushed on the door, causing it to budge but not open. From inside the people screamed, knowing all that separated them from Atrox was that very door. Atrox then rammed his shoulder into the door, causing it to move more. He had come this far, Atrox was going to be damned if he was stopped by an inanimate object. 

"Do not panic!" John exclaimed at the top of his lungs, his hands outstretched in front of him. 

He kept his composer well, his plan required it. John would let Atrox in, and after forcing the people to make way for him; he would escape whilst Atrox killed everyone else in the room.