"You people actually brought the witch into—"
Christabella's shriek died in her throat the second the icy gun barrel kissed her forehead.
"Say one more word and I'll send you straight to your God."
Soren's face was pure annoyance. "You've got one shot to try that sentence again."
Christabella froze, head still half-raised. The cold metal against her skin drained every last drop of holy fire from her voice.
Her eyes flicked sideways to the two bodies still cooling on the floor. The crazy zeal in her gaze finally gave way to raw fear of dying.
Drip… drip…
Soren caught a whiff of something sharp and sour. He frowned and glanced down.
A dark wet patch was spreading across the front of her robes. Droplets slid down her dangling ankles and splattered on the stone.
This was the same woman who looked like a total badass in the movie. One real scare and she folded like wet cardboard?
"Mr. Soren, we can talk this out—she's already hurt…"
Rose's small, hesitant voice came from behind him.
Soren didn't even turn around. "Ms. Da Silva, if you still want to see your daughter alive, keep your mouth shut."
This lady hadn't watched Alessa's tragic backstory like in the original story. Her bleeding-heart meter was already off the charts. Maybe I should just tie her up too?
"You… you can put me down first," Christabella whispered, voice shaking.
The arrogant mask she'd worn minutes ago was gone. Her head hung low, messy hair covering the hatred and terror in her eyes.
Soren casually snapped the ropes.
Christabella crumpled like a sack of wet laundry. She curled around her ruined arm, whole body trembling.
Rose rushed over, helped her sit up, and started wrapping the twisted, purple wrist with strips torn from her own jacket.
Soren watched the scene and snorted. "Why do I suddenly feel like the villain here?"
"What… what do you want from me?" Christabella asked weakly.
"Simple." Soren flicked both photos onto her lap. "Send your people out to find these two—one grown woman, one little girl."
He leaned in close to her ear, voice low and dangerous. "Don't even think about playing games, lady. You won't like what happens next."
Christabella struggled to her feet. She glanced at Soren, then at the terrified, confused faces of her followers below.
She was a smart woman. She knew if she didn't sell this right, her authority would collapse and the crowd might riot.
She took a deep breath, subtly tugged her robes to hide the wet stain on her legs, cleared her throat, and faced the flock with that same honeyed voice she'd used for decades.
"Lost little lambs…"
Her tone was weak but still carried that seductive authority. "Just now… I received a divine revelation."
"This is a trial. This gentleman is an emissary sent by God Himself."
"After years of prayer, the Lord has finally answered. He is here to save us from this cursed land. He commands us to find these two people."
Soren stood off to the side, one eyebrow raised as he watched the old bat flip the script and turn him into a holy messenger.
Damn. This level of political spin—she was wasted as a bishop. She should've run for office.
Down below, the church stayed deathly quiet. The cultists stared at the still-damp stain on their bishop's robes, then at her clearly broken arm. Murmurs started spreading.
"If he's really God's messenger, why did he hurt the bishop?"
"Is this truly God's will? He looks more like a demon to me…"
"…"
"How dare you!" Christabella exploded. "Are you questioning me—or are you questioning God?!"
She could swallow the humiliation from Soren; that was unstoppable force. But she would never let these idiots look down on her. Power was the only dignity she had left.
"Have you forgotten who protected you when the darkness fell?! Who kept you safe from the witch's hunts all these years?!"
Her glare swept across the crowd, heavy with decades of control. "Now kneel! Receive God's command!"
Decades of brainwashing and terror of the outside world did their work. The cultists shivered, then one by one dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed to the cold stone floor.
"Honored emissary of God… who exactly are we to find?"
Soren stood on the altar, watching the woman go from prisoner to queen bee again in under five minutes. He almost laughed.
Perfect match: her acting skills and their stupidity.
"One girl. One woman."
He motioned for Christabella to pass the photos down. Several cultists looked at them and their faces changed. The pictures moved hand to hand.
A moment later, an older man was pushed forward by the others. He spoke carefully.
"Divine… divine emissary, we've never seen this woman… but this little girl…"
He swallowed hard. "She's… the witch we burned at the stake years ago…"
"That's not your concern," Soren cut him off. "She's someone God wants taken away. Find these two and you all get to leave this cursed town."
The second the words "leave the curse" left his mouth, fear in the crowd flipped straight to feverish hope.
They didn't question it for a second. They just believed their decades of praying had finally been heard.
Soren looked down at the cheering cannon fodder with something close to pity in his eyes.
When Alessa's real rage hit, yeah, they'd all "leave" alright.
He just never said they'd leave alive.
"Good. Get moving."
Soren waved them off coldly. "You've got three days."
…
Three days later.
The church was almost empty—only the injured stayed behind. The rest had been sent out in groups to search every corner of town.
Soren rubbed his chin, staring at the hollow hall.
They'd torn the place apart for days. No sign of Sharon anywhere.
"Guess Alessa really has her tucked away somewhere."
He wasn't surprised.
Sharon was Alessa's ticket to full power. The kid had been lured in to break the church's faith and finish her revenge.
Soren's eyes drifted to Christabella sulking in the corner.
Maybe I should just drag her straight to Brookhaven Hospital and say hi to Alessa early?
Alessa's real body had been hiding in that hospital for years, slowly gathering strength for her payback.
That was the only reason he'd kept the old woman alive.
Nearby, Christabella sat while Rose gently changed the bandages on her ruined arm.
The one-handed bishop's eyes flickered with calculation. She had no idea what Soren's full plan was, but she knew if she stayed here, the demon would eventually kill her.
She needed him gone. Direct fight? Impossible. Only way was to borrow a knife.
Her poisonous gaze slid to Rose, who was carefully wrapping her arm.
After watching them for days, Christabella could tell this woman was naïve but would do absolutely anything for her daughter.
And the man seemed strangely tolerant of her—almost like he granted every request.
If she could trick Rose into going to that one forbidden place… the spot where the darkness was thickest…
The man would definitely follow.
And no matter how strong he was, facing that terrifying witch head-on would be a death sentence.
With that thought locked in, Christabella stole a quick glance at Soren—he looked like he was resting with his eyes closed—then whispered low enough for only Rose to hear:
"Rose…"