text: No.
  
  Not here. Not now. For too long he relied on the strength of his own limbs, spurred to supernatural levels by the demon. Too long he had ignored the power in front of his eyes, the originator of true power. He prayed to him every morning. Until now he'd been met with silence. But perhaps it was because of his nightly excursions, a duality of principle. Now, in a matter of a few seconds, Uriah washed himself of the Fallen, of uncleanliness. He welcomed in the divine's strength, letting it pour through his limbs. His task was not over yet, and it would be accomplished through holy means.
  
  Uriah, the Fallen, the greatest of sinners, became something else -- someone else entirely. Evil stood before him. Evil surrounded him. This place, the small chapel in which Uriah visited daily, was stained with their presence. It was stained by others too, but they would receive judgement. Now, however, three souls needed purging.
  
  Bloodied, Uriah stomped his foot back, landing his heel against the councilman's temple, the result a sickening crack. The councilman's head twisted unnaturally, Gilly watched in horror as Uriah sent another stomp down for good measure. Uriah turned, grabbing Gilly by the arm and pulling her in front of him. At the same time, the short sword from Norn, which would have ran Uriah through, instead, pierced Gilly's torso, the sword tip exiting from her back mere inches away from Uriah.
  
  Two down, one to go.
  
  Uriah kicked Gilly's body, thrusting her body forward crashing into Norn. Before Norn could recover, Uriah sprinted forward in a short burst of breathwork and swung himself, underhooking his arms around Norn's shoulders, onto his back. Immediately, Uriah's arms locked in the chokehold, palm on bicep, hand on the back of Norn's head. He squeezed, pouring all of his rage into the maneuver, the loss inflicted over the years, the great sin that he bore, a life of denial.
  
  He continued squeezing long after Norn's breath stopped, until finally, the anger subsided leaving behind an empty void, like a gaping hole was left in his heart when purpose gave way to aimlessness. That feeling, the feeling of righteous action was only present when bearing judgment on the wicked. The fire that burned within was left a low ember. But still it's there, ready to consume, an inferno, cleansing the world of evildoers.
  
  The Fallen, demon of the underworld, was no more. The Judicator stood in his place.
  
  Rain still poured outside, the open chapel doors allowing excess water to seep in. The Judicator bent down to Norn's body, removing the overcoat and leather armor. He strapped the armor around himself, along with the short sword, over his priestly robes which bore several cuts on arms.
  
  Realizing that could inhibit his movement, the Judicator ripped them off completely, his long sleeves now stopping just above the elbow. The Judicator, while possessing great faith, understood the need of practicality. His mission, God's mission, wouldn't be cut short by a refusal of material aid. All things were ultimately created by God, including tools of destruction. The Judicator fell into that category.
  
  The Judicator took the short sword and cut a strip of cloth from Gilly's dress, a dark crimson color. Church members knew him as Uriah, a stoic priest of the second order. It wasn't to hide his identity; it was to remove detraction from the culling. The Judicator tied the cloth around the bottom half of his face, only his eyes and long hair remaining uncovered.
  
  > Silence the Speaker's mouth
  Corruption. It began at the very top and slowly trickled its way down to the commoner. The Speaker, someone with privilege, someone who used his position to spread his wickedness deserved to be put down. It wasn't personal. The Speaker tried to kill him, yes. But that was greatly overshadowed by the task. The Judicator had a mission and wouldn't allow something as minor as emotion to affect that. Cut the head and the rest of the body dies. Silence the mouth and the lies are no longer spread.
  
  Rainfall greeted him as the Judicator left the small chapel. The Speaker would no doubt be heading back to the city keep, which means the Judicator knew exactly the road he'd be traveling on. Their initial meeting was brief. Time to schedule another.
  
  Wooden wagon wheels rang into the night, the hard texture introducing itself to the stone-cobbled road. It was simple and elegant at the same time, the carriage. Pure black, the edges embroidered with gold, led by a pair of horses, its driver a clean-shaven man with a hat pulled low.
  
  Like his former self, the Judicator traveled by rooftop, leaping between buildings, taking a more direct route to the keep. The carriage was limited by the winding roads of the Passage, twisting, turning, creating a lengthy trip. The Judicator didn't have such limitations. He silently offered a prayer to God, thanking Him for allowing the past inhabitant of this body to strengthen and condition the body for this exact exertion.
  
  The Judicator tracked the carriage from far above. It was a small light traveling through a maze, the lantern sitting next to the driver offered full visibility for the Judicator. His route allowed him to get ahead of the Speaker, to lie in wait for the perfect moment. The road led underneath the Wyvern Bridge, a structure named for the lizard head sculptures topping each column. The Judicator rested at the top, waiting for the carriage to appear beneath.
  
  He stood at the edge, toes of his boots hanging off the structure completely. Well, not his boots. On the way the Judicator picked up the Fallen's old boots, the ones that allowed him to drop from great heights unscathed.
  
  The city was stretched out before him. Winding roads, buildings in close proximity, dreadfully quiet for a place that boasted a fair population. However, it was night and getting late at that. By now, most of the taverns would be shut down, a curfew installed by City Lord Harken. His brother, acting City Lord, didn't change that law as most would have expected. Perhaps that's why he left it alone. Gilly's would be open -- No. Can't think like that. That is no longer me.
  
  The Judicator sent another silent prayer to the heavens along with a request for forgiveness and a promise of self-reprimanding for such a thought. His former life of sin must be atoned for. For now, the Speaker will have to be a worthy sacrifice. Wooden wagon wheels rang into the night. The Speaker was here.
  
  The Judicator allowed his feet to completely leave the bridge. Wind rushed at his face, threatening to tear the cloth from his lower face. And just as quick as stepping over the ledge, the fall was over, the boots magically taking the full brunt of the impact. The same could be said for the driver and the Judicator's short sword. Removing the blade, the Judicator hopped to one side of the carriage, the driver's body slumping to the otherside. Ripping open the carriage door, the Judictor slipped inside and sat opposite of the Speaker.
  
  Two shadowy forms sat across from him, the Speaker nowhere to be seen. Their armor was black, jagged with carapace-like material. Dark helms covered their faces. Somehow they seemed...familiar?
  
  "Where is he?" the Judicator questioned with poise.
  
  The two figures glanced at once another.
  
  Does he not remember?
  
  He's always struggled with keeping one identity from another.
  
  But to forget his own siblings.
  
  He's no longer one of us.
  
  Movement occurred outside the carriage. Long shadows cast by the lantern light floated outside, more shadowy figures approaching the carriage. They gathered just outside the carriage doors, holding swords in either hands. Their black carapace armor matched the ones sitting across from the Judicator. Their identity was on the verge of the Judicator's memory, like recalling a distant event hazy in one's mind, finding bits and pieces of the puzzle but never viewing the whole picture.
  
  "I won't ask again."
  
  He truly is broken.
  
  It will be a mercy.
  
  As one, the shadowy figures closed in on the Judicator, both those inside the carriage and those standing just outside. Like a fire slowly snuffed out, gradually brought to containment, the armored figures enveloped the Judictor, overwhelming his body and spirit. Each that approached, blocked the small amount of lantern light shining from the driver's seat. Soon, all the Judicator saw was black.