He sat behind the wheel and watched them scamper up the steps, his face speckled with tacky dots and smears of maroon. Angels, all of them, and their very souls hung in the balance.

“Left-hand path,” he muttered, and he felt his eyes fill with tears. Behind those swinging doors, there lay a cesspit of corruption and evil. The dear, sweet angels were being soiled by The Serpent, The Great Deceiver, who told them lies about all that lay beneath the sky. And they believed the lies, because they were innocent. They didn’t know about the wickedness of the world. They were pure.

His own mother and father had been agents of The Deceiver. God had given him the courage to rise up against them that very morning, and the Lord had delivered them into his hand. Their flapping tongues had been stilled at last, and they could tell no more lies.

He waited until the last of the angels had disappeared behind the doors before he got out of his truck. The duffel bag was heavy, but it was an insignificant burden compared to the cross. He climbed the steps beneath the approving gaze of the Lord, leaving behind drips and spatters of blood as he ascended to a higher calling. On this glorious day, he was the Judgement, the Sword, and the Savior, all rolled into one. It was the will of God.

He paused with his hand on the door, tears cutting meandering lines in the drying blood as they ran down his face. He’d run from his calling many times in the past, only to find himself in the belly of the beast once again. Those days were over. Now that his parents were gone, there was no turning back.

He was the Judgement, the Sword, and the Redeemer. So it was written, and so it shall be done.

He whispered, “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” and he pushed open the door.