“Spare the guilty and they forget their place; spill their blood in the square, and all will chant 'God is good!'” -Book of Sommer, Signa VIV

Isabel stood in the opening to her office, her mouth agape slightly at the sight unfolding before her. Behind the table stood Pope Alexander, stroking his clean-shaven chin as he looked over some papers atop the table by the window, examining them thoroughly as if he understood their subject. The room was lined with knights, each wielding a short sword.

—Short swords? No spears? They came prepared for a tight indoors altercation...

"Oh! Isabel, how good it is to see you." The Pope dropped the stack of papers onto the table with a light thud, slowly turning around to face the Commander.

"I wish I could say the same."

The two of them looked at one another for a few minutes before Isabel broke the silence.

"May I ask for what purpose you are intruding in my office, Pope Alexander?"

"I am doing no such 'intruding'!" The Pope raised his voice, the knights lining the walls growing tense as he threw his hands aside in declaration, spitting with each vowel. "I AM HERE BY DECREE OF OUR LORD SAVIOR! FOR YOU SEE, HE SPOKE TO ME LAST NIGHT!"

—Leopold? Here I hoped I was the only one subject to the madness of the mad god... This has bad news spelled all over it. I should have anticipated his Pope was no fraud. Crap.

The Pope's eyes stretched wide and manic as he continued speaking, darting across the room.

"HE TOLD ME YOU HAVE FAILED HIM ONE TOO MANY TIMES! You have been warned, after all."

The Pope relaxed his posture, patting a hand across his fat belly.

Seven shining golden blades suddenly pierced through the Pope, hitting the wall behind him as he smirked.
"Have you forgotten, O child of God?  Your God-gifted abilities do not work on true believers..."

—Fuck. That checks out, I should have thought of that.

"So what now?" Isabel asked, awkwardly looking between the knights, stepping slightly back and bumping into two more she had failed to spot. They were different.

—I-I couldn’t even sense them!

The Pope let out a heavy, bellowing laugh, catching Isabel’s attention once more.

"SEIZE HER!"

He commanded, and at once she was seized, her hands placed in heavy metal cuffs.

—Crap. Of course a child without the interference of a god could not hold their own against armed knights. Is that why he subjected me to this awful form? In case I relent? This mad god... I underestimated him. Majorly so.

"Take her to the City Square."

The soldiers gave a stern nod, hauling the small child easily, clearing the way through the corridors.

The way to the city square was slow, like trudging through mud in full military gear. The streets were lined with spectators, heckling and throwing household items and food, aiming miserably at Isabel but mostly hitting the knights by accident, who towered over the small-statured girl.

—Crap, crap, crap. This feels eerily like a public execution. I can't afford that. Not when the lives of everyone on Earth hang in the balance. I gotta think of something quick!

Piercing pain suddenly spread around Isabel’s eye, as a stone struck right above it, causing her to wince and bleed, obscuring half her vision.

Eventually, she reached the square. It was a scene straight out of a movie. The streets were occupied well past their limits, like the whole country woke up and came to watch. Isabel was strapped to a wooden mechanism, her chin forcefully rested on the cold wood, which still bore dried blood, her hands hanging in the air, held up within a plank secured by metal.

A sudden clink sounded-- the platform she was propped on started rising skyward with the power of gears, connecting with another platform. Behind her stood the Pope, the king, the Overseer, and Saria.

To her side, Sir John was strapped to a similar mechanism, waving as much as he could with an optimistic smile.

"First time?" he asked, letting out a strained laugh.

"John... I'm so sorry." Isabel looked away, biting her lip. 

She had singlehandedly caused this to happen. She sent John to investigate, she took Alexa and left her for dead-- all of it . . . her fault.

The Overseer stepped up, coughing lightly before raising a parchment and reading.

"Sir John Maximilian, Lord Inquisitor Isabel Gottschuld, the two of you are being tried for treason; on three counts! Coercing with the Beastmen rebellion, spying on agents of the church, and disregarding official orders of the crown and church. What have you to say in your defense?"

"Fuck. You." Isabel snarked, spitting on the floor.

A man dressed in black with a sack on his head  stepped forth, brandishing a double-handed battle axe. He stepped beside Sir John.

The talisman around Isabel's neck felt heavy, the air unbreathable.

"Hey Commander," John called as the axe was raised above him. "This isn’t your fault."

He offered a smile-- a beautiful smile. An honest smile. A smile so big his eyes were shut.

Then the axe came. Sir John didn’t flinch, his head simply tumbling to the floor, holding strong to his optimism even in his last moment.

"JOHN!!"

Time slowed to a crawl, Isabel’s eyes widening in shock as the executioner kicked John’s headless body onto its side, slowly stepping over toward her.

The crowd jeered, whistling and clapping, the sounds all around the square muddled together, nothing more than an increasingly irritating noise.

The axe was once more lifted in the air.

It seemed so slow in its descent, as Isabel could feel the air being forced aside by the executioner’s skillful swing.

.

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