Infernals II: Angel of Death

2039.

The chambers of His Eminence John Dystra of the diocese East Toronto were unusually comfortable, with photos of his hunts. His basement was full of glass cases of firearms. The two men had bonded over firearms and lethal force. Men of peace, of God. “I’d never trust a man without a vice,” His Eminence often impishly recited to his younger friend by two decades, Reed Daniels, priest of a large parish in Little Italy, embraced, belonging. Preaching the word of God. And a soldier of Hell.

Blood Bath, the second Infernal.

“What brings you by, Reed?”

“Your Eminence,” Reed began.

“Oh, one of those talks, Bishop Dystra replied.

“I met a woman,”

“Oh, thank Christ,” Dystra said, exhaling.

“What the fuck did you think I was going to say?”

“Keep talking.”

“Better I show you,” Reed said. He rolled up his shift and a red inkish flow covered his hand, began to reshape it. Soon four red gun barrels formed on a rotating chambering system. A rotary muzzle for firing explosive and high-calibre rounds growing out of his arm clad in a breathing red sheath.

“My good heavens, your arm!”

“This is a theoretical weapon I researched online and the suit made for me. It can make any weapon I can dream of, John!”

Bishop Dystra looked like he’d seen the devil herself. A question hung in the air. Reed nodded grimly. This would tell if he would lose a friend.

“Why ever would you … your eternal soul, Reed,” the Bishop opined.

“Punishment. God’s gone, and Satan slumbers eternally. Capitalism has possession of men’s souls everywhere on Earth. I’ve seen divine power. I can make a difference. Show the divine exists.”

“How?”

“As an angel of death.”  

     

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