Puppets in the church
933 Words
The stained-glass windows glowed softly as the evening sun slipped behind the steeple. The church stood like a monument to silence—white brick, towering spire, and a rusted bell that hadn’t rung in years.
Kael and Kira watched from across the street, half-hidden in the shadows of an alleyway. They had walked these grounds before, as children—escorted here on Sundays in their finest clothes. Made to sit through sermons that dripped with empty promises.
The man inside had worn a white collar and a silver cross.
But his soul had been black.
“Father Micah,” Kael said quietly, voice edged with memory.
“He used the pulpit to lie,” Kira whispered. “Told the world we were safe under his care. Called our foster parents saints.”
“He told me pain was part of God’s plan,” Kael said, fists clenched. “Told you to pray harder when your ribs were cracked.”
Kira’s eyes flared. “He knew what was happening. He blessed it.”
Now he would be judged.
Inside, the church was empty—no choir, no worshippers. Just pews lined like wooden coffins and the smell of old incense. The crucifix at the altar hung above them like an indifferent witness.
Father Micah stood near the pulpit, humming as he polished the chalice. He hadn’t aged much. Still had that same kind smile, the gentle hands that touched too long, too low. Still wore the mask of holiness over a hollow core.
When Kael and Kira stepped into the sanctuary, the priest looked up with a practiced smile.
“Evening, my children. Lost?”
Kael stepped forward, the shadows clinging to his coat. “No. We’ve come to confess.”
Micah squinted. “Do I know you?”
“You did,” Kira said. “But you never looked close enough to see.”
The priest tilted his head.
Something in Kael’s eyes made him step back.
“Wait… I remember those faces,” Micah said. “You—You’re—”
“Dead?” Kael finished. “Almost.”
Kira’s mirror pulsed with dark light. The walls of the church trembled as time slowed.
The altar crumbled to dust.
Candles snuffed out.
The wooden pews began to rot and twist, turning into warped shapes like weeping statues.
And the crucifix above them… wept blood.
Micah staggered back, clutching his chest. “What is this? Some kind of dream?”
“No,” Kael said. “This is where your soul is stripped bare.”
Kira raised the mirror. The glass shimmered, then cleared to reveal a memory—
Micah, smiling sweetly as he took donations from their foster father.
Micah, turning away when Kael showed him bruises.
Micah, leaning close to Kira in the confession booth, his hand brushing her shoulder, his breath heavy.
“You knew,” Kira whispered. “And you hid behind your robes.”
“I—I did what I could,” Micah stammered. “The system— It was broken. I couldn’t—”
“You chose silence,” Kael snarled. “You helped monsters wear halos.”
The pulpit exploded into ash.
The mirror began to spin faster, surrounding Micah in ghostly visions. Whispers filled the sanctuary—children’s voices, crying out, pleading, begging. Some of them weren’t Kael or Kira.
There had been others.
Micah clutched his head. “I only wanted peace! I was forgiving!”
“No,” Kira said. “You were protecting. Yourself. Them. Never us.”
She raised her hand. The mirror stopped spinning and reflected his soul.
It was not simply black—it was layered. A shell of denial over a core of rotting guilt.
“You preyed on trust,” Kael said. “And called it mercy.”
Micah screamed as the mirror cracked.
“Please,” he begged. “God forgives all sins!”
“Then let Him come claim you,” Kael said, summoning his blade. “Because we don’t.”
The flames didn’t erupt like before. This time, it was colder.
The fire was inside him.
He burned from within—his mind peeling apart, forced to feel what every child he’d abandoned had felt. The silence. The betrayal. The echo of his promises while the pain continued.
When the Judgment was done, there was no body.
Only a twisted, wooden cross—blackened and hollow, like it had burned from the inside out.
Kael and Kira stepped out into the night.
The church behind them collapsed, not in fire, but in silence. A quiet ruin.
Kira looked at her mirror. “I saw more than just him in there.”
Kael turned. “More?”
“There were others,” she said slowly. “He wasn’t the last. He was connected.”
Kael’s eyes narrowed. “To who?”
Kira touched the mirror again. Her pupils flickered white. “The woman at the orphanage. Headmistress Eleanor. She knew everything. Helped cover it up.”
Kael’s breath turned to steam. “Then she’s next.”
But Kira didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, she looked at her hands.
Her fingertips were starting to smolder even when she wasn’t using her power.
“Kael… the fire isn’t going out.”
He looked at his own arm. The symbols beneath his skin no longer flickered—they glowed constantly.
“We’re feeding it,” he said grimly. “Every Judgment. Every soul.”
Kira looked back at the ruined church.
“We need to control it.”
Kael met her eyes.
“Or it’ll control us.”
- Writer
