Do You Believe in a God? | CAMP CAMP AU

15 | Pikeman's Lament

[TW: Mentions of murder and child s/a, implied heavy trauma]

December 15, 2019

Daniel explained the plan to us, many times. How to welcome the neophytes, how to integrate the neophytes, and how to act around the neophytes.

I've begun to notice how little I care for what this man says, a disturbing, bubbling sensation forming in my stomach when I look at him, one I hope, I pray, comes from my hatred for Daniel and not my own stupid, god-forsaken disgust at my own thoughts.

I note only the actions I must take. "Eddie," Daniel begins. "I'd like you to fetch them. They should be awake by now."

I notice the involuntary movement of my head as it sinks into my shoulders. "Yes, sir." I say, cowardly. I mentally shame myself for the tone of my words. I can see Billy, Petrol, and the new man look at me in pity I don't want.

They continue to watch in their stupid pity when I leave.

The halls are long, so I get time to think to myself. Something I haven't been able to do in a long, long time.

Why am I here?

Whatever did happen to Port Damar's?

He killed my parents in front of me. Why do I stand with him?

Why do I adhere to indecent practices, much less his?

I can hardly fathom what he even does to us, hell, myself.

Will I be able to escape?

My walk is cut short by the time I reach the door. I straighten my clothing and my posture and open the door, met with the group of ten varying neophytes. Dear Xemüg, I hate that word. They look like lost puppies or a herd deer in headlights. One has their hand outstretched for the door. He recoils his hand when he sees me.

I survey them shortly.

"He wishes to see you lot." I say, my loathing for Daniel seeping into my verbal mannerisms. The teenagers look at eachother. A short kid with disheveled mousy hair and hazel eyes looks at me like I'm going to kill him. Another one, much taller than the other, with dark red hair and an eye color similar to mine (if I can recall correctly) looks at me like I just actually killed that kid. "Follow me." I add.

I can sense their unease as they resentfully file out of the room.

They collectively agree to follow me, for a reason I can't be entirely sure of. Are they afraid (of me, specifically, because this situation would be frightening for anyone)? Do they have a plan? That's just ridiculous, they've been here five hours, only one where they've actually been awake.

I think a lot, I realize. I need to stop that. Words flood into my mind- Free thought is rancid. It taints ones' soul. If you think freely, you will not be able to ascend. - it racks my brain like a thorn in my side, The Ethereal Praise. It makes me want to throw up, but I manage to choke it down.

Surprisingly, I don't hear the neophytes talk very loudly as they walk the halls. The ten sets of footsteps don't waver, meaning nobody walks away. My very presence keeps them in line. They know they're already walking on eggshells.

My thought is cut short. MY THOUGHT IS CUT SHORT.

I realize how angry I'm becoming even then. I brush it off and open the double doors to the meeting room. Billy, Stephen (my friends), the new guy, and him are in a circle, mingling as I suppose they were waiting for me.

The neophytes' whispers get louder as I assume my position next to Daniel. I don't know why I do, I'm sure- almost positive I loathe this man. "I brought them, sir." I say, despite my inner feelings.

He puts his hand on my shoulder rather aggressively; but I flinch and recoil like a small child (I am no longer a small child).

"Great, Eddie!" I hate his voice, I HATE IT SO MUCH. "Thank you. This is why you're my favorite." Daniel- No. This man, this hellspawn, this bastard admits.

I know him better then anybody else here, and I know next to nothing about him. I know his intentions. He's buttering me up, apologizing for the punishment I was dealt when I made the crude notice of the cameras way back when.

But even at my big age of seventeen, my voice is small as I whisper. "Not here, please," as if my maturity had all but vanished.

The mousy-haired kid eyes me again. His looks are knowledgeable: like he knows something I don't. He breaks the prolonged eye contact and looks ahead at Daniel.

Daniel begins to explain how they're going to be saved, how we're going to do it, and that they'll have no need to worry. I know the routine, we've personally done this with seven or eight groups since our recruitment... four.... years ago. I think it's four. I could be wrong.

He was eager to save this group, though. He told me (although I can't believe anything this man says) that my friends and I were the next generation of enlighteners, that we would spread the word of Xëmug, and this was specifically my place to start. I believe this is what regular children my age call their Roman Empires. That is my Roman Empire.

I'd be calling the shots (quite literally; I'd use the shotgun for the first time) on this group. On my birthday (ironically on New Years' Day), I'd be a new me. A new man. Because our sacrifices would begin on the 25th of December. Or, better known as, Christmas Day.