The Church

A girl walks into the old church, shiningly happy. She almost skips over the dark stone of the threshold, calling out brightly into the empty room.
“Father?” “Father Prishna?”
No answer. Her call echoes off the gilt walls. A massive figure, much too large to be dealing with such a small creature, steps out from behind one of the decorated marble pillars. He wears a mask. She steps back, almost unconsciously.
“Where is the Father?” she asks, hesitantly.
The man does not reply, but steps forward suddenly and grasps the girl by her hair, jerking her to her knees, smashing her against the flagstones hard enough to draw blood. He bends her head back so that her horrified eyes see only the mural on the ceiling. It is beautifully painted, and as everything in the church, it is heavy with obvious value. He pulls a smooth silver executioner’s axe from the shadows behind the pillar, and hefts it in one hand, with practiced ease. The muscles in his arm ripple with effort as he swings it smoothly down.
The girl has no time even to scream before the soft white skin of her neck is broken. Only a hard gasp comes from her severed windpipe as the blood pours out of her. Onto the floor it spills, soaking into the mortar and staining the flagstones. The faceless man picks her up, and her head lolls back. He carries her to the alter and sets her in the arms of a statue of Mary. The blood drips in rivulets from the gaping wound in her neck. Hours later, Dark beings begin to stir beneath the soil. The blood of innocents, violently spilled and unwillingly taken, soaks into their souls, giving them life, until that time when a vengeance is taken on the murderer.
The big man cleans his axe methodically in the small porcelain sink of the closetlike bathroom. He is so tall that he must bend his head under the small roof. He looks even more massive in this tiny room. It barely contains him. He strokes the shining blade with thick fingers until the last stains of red are rubbed away. An emaciatedly skinny man with thinning hair and an unpleasantly false face stands in the doorway behind him.
“Come,” he says, “We must prepare for the demons.”