A Ring of Abuse

Seven months have passed since the cult took hold of Minakasa.

Nine months after the voice spoke, society had completely transformed. Everything changed after Priestess Hamta’s speech on the temple stage, her words dripping with conviction, had ensured not only the town, but many who saw the post of it on communal media.

The symbol and her father’s old sermons gave her credibility, and believers came flocking.

The changes started small. A few more prayer meetings, a few more rallies. Then the banners appeared, black with the cult’s burning crest, draped over all public buildings.

The school, the town hall, even the little grocery stores. Things spiraled fast after that.

Arata watched from his window as another procession marched past, a sea of people in ragged clothes, holding homemade flags and chanting in routine. The late afternoon sun caught the swirling symbol. Minakasa’s burning crest. The sound of their voices made him shiver.

"Blessed are the seers! Blessed is the flame!"

The chants echoed down the street, bouncing between abandoned houses and shuttered stores.

New faces littered the crowd. ‘Pilgrims’ hailing from all over Nobunaga. Refugees, mostly. The world outside Minakasa had grown meaner and more desperate in the past couple months.

Transport systems and communication had finally started to fail, and food became scarce, the town had become a magnet, drawing people in like moths to a dying flame.

It was hard to blame them. The Voice, the visions, the crumbling infrastructure. It was a recipe for chaos, and Hamta’s cult was an oasis of order. Something to believe in.

She fed on fear and hope at the same time.

Arata's hand gripped the windowsill tight. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where his school blazer still hung limply, the uncorrupted version of Minakasa’s crest was catching the light, shining onto his face.

"Arata."

He flinched. Toma’s voice came from behind, his tone was exasperated.

"You’ve been staring at those freaks all day. Can you come sit down now?"

Arata tore his eyes away and crossed the room. Toma was sitting at the kitchen table, drumming his finger on his powerless pocket screen. The energy had cut off a couple weeks back. The water too. They were lucky to live near a river.

"We’re out of rice again," Toma said.

Arata sank into a chair. "I’m not surprised."

Toma scowled. "There hasn’t been a drone drop from the capital in over a month now, right? Trains are done too apparently. No one’s moving food anymore. We’ve just got whatever’s in town."

Arata’s anger spiked, but he kept his voice flat. "A pity that holy cow has a monopoly on rations now."

Toma leaned forward. His eyes were sharp, irritated. "The whole town’s turning into one big commune.. Everyone’s losing it."

"Not everyone," Arata muttered. At the very least Feima seemed to be keeping well away from the cultists.

Toma let out a breath and stared hard at him, eyes flicking down to Arata’s chest. "You’re still wearing that thing."

Arata’s hand instinctively closed over his father’s ring, which hung as always from its chain around his neck. "So?"

Toma’s lip curled. "I don’t get it. Why do you keep it? After everything?"

Arata glared. Hana must’ve told him. He tried to respond cooly. "It’s none of your business. Toma."

"My best friend is poisoning himself with regrets and guilt. I’d say it is my business.."

Arata stood up abruptly, chair scraping. "Drop it, Toma."

Toma didn’t back down. Lack of food and sleep had made both irritable, this was brewing for months now. It was clear Toma no longer had the patience for subtle humor regarding this issues.

He stood raising his voice. "You know what that chain is? It’s a reminder, Arata. A reminder that your daddy hated you. As long as you keep it, you’re keeping that hate alive."

Arata’s voice rose, too. "This again? Give me a break. This isn’t you talking, it's Hana."

"It is me," Toma shot back. "I’ve seen you grab it whenever you’re self conscious. I can tell how little you think of yourself. You shouldn’t hold onto something from someone who did nothing but put you down. It’s not healthy. Throw it away. "

Arata’s hands clenched into fists. "Just because you’re flippant about your dad doesn’t mean I have to be. He may not have been perfect, but he’s all I had!"

Toma’s face went white. Arata hadn’t intended to be so harsh, but part of him celebrated the hurt in those mauve eyes.

Toma spoke quietly. "I gave my dad a chance, but I’m not going to wait anymore for him. His heart is cold. I won’t look for something that’s not there. But you? I bet you kept that ring because deep down you think he’d only hurt you because he cared."

Arata fist shot

"Shut up." Arata shouted.

"No," Toma said, stepping closer, voice low and hard. "You need to hear it. What your dad did, that’s not what love looks like. He never gave a damn about you!”

Arata’s fist burst out, cracking Toma across the jaw with a sharp, sickening crash. Toma stumbled back, blinking, more surprised than hurt.

Arata’s chest heaved, his fists still raised.

Toma wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth, but he maintained a cold, furious look. "That all you got?" he spat.

They stood there, tense and shaking, waiting to see who would blink first.

“Arata! Toma!”

Feima had come running through the doorway, her face pal. She looked from one to the other, her voice shaking.

"Come and see." her tone was laced with dread.

She threw a notice from the Minkasan Order on the table between them.

It read: "A SACRIFICE FOR SALVATION."

Arata’s rage evaporated and anxiety gripped him.

He read the notice hesitantly.

"...as decreed by Lady Hamta herself, in a re-enactment of our founding mother’s brave sacrifice to Ganto Emperor, a daughter of a true believer shall be offered to the gods at tomorrow’s rally, to cleanse Minakasa of sin and prove our devotion. The gods will see our offering and grant us pardon!"

Toma’s face was drained of color now. He was thinking the same thing as Arata. They ran out of the house and within ten minutes they were banging on Hana’s door.

After several minutes they stopped and Toma looked up and panicked, hisvoice tight. "They’re not home."

Arata stared at their door, the rising chants of the passing acolytes drilling into his head. Arata felt his fingers clench around the ring again.

The end was near, and the people were demanding blood.