Things were certainly stranger now. Not that anything major had changed, but the aura surrounding the church was tense. As the people of the church saw it, two of their great leaders were at odds with one another. Ellie and Arthur never spoke.
They operated on separate ends: One directed from upstairs, while the other cared for the sick in the basement. It left an uneasy feeling in those who knew them but couldn’t figure out why two who were once so close were now not on speaking terms.
T’balt wanted to play peacekeeper if either side would listen to him. Though he couldn’t help his own bias in the matter.
They had pulled their car right across the street from them, seeing that Arthur had killed the oiled creature. He assumed everything was fine. No need to intervene, but then they watched him ram the car into his wife, who had clearly been taken by the beast's loot. It was only a moment of her not being able to control that newfound power, and Arthur reacted like she was the demon herself.
He couldn’t claim to understand what was going through the man’s mind at the time. An array of complex emotions, mostly driven by fear. That was the one thing he saw in common over the iterations. Especially on that first day, most were driven by pure fear, which made them do irrational things. That one condition of man, fight or flight, in the moments where rational thinking was needed the most.
In the end, he chose not to be too involved. It was proving to be the wrong choice. Now, instead of revering him, there were many churchgoers who would scoff at T’balt’s arrival. They would turn their heads and spit. When he offered, many wouldn’t accept the loot from him, which would be a problem if there were another raid.
The others, seeing the miracles that he and Ellie could do, were quicker to latch on to them. Those who didn’t take loot started identifying themselves as “humanists.”
People would argue. They would call others out of their name. They would separate themselves between those who used loot and those who didn’t. And a new term started to get tossed around: “Looters.”
“You humanists are stupid. If a beast attacks, don’t you want to be able to defend yourself?”
“You looters have let the devils in this very building.”
“You humanists are useless. Take a loot and help or get out of the way.”
“You looters are sick. Your bodies are deformed.”
“You humanists would be dead if it weren’t for us.”
“You looters are going straight to hell.”
“You humanists are going to die.”
“God frowns upon the looters.”
T’balt looked at those words spray-painted on the back wall of the church, written in black, coupled with devil horns. “God frowns upon the looters.” It felt strange. Especially with him knowing that there is a being out there known as the Looter God. “So which god is frowning? Does it matter?”
“This is getting ridiculous,” Ellie said, watching some believers clean the graffiti. “Arthur is out of control. We need to do something.”
T’balt sighed, scratching his head. “This isn’t too far out of the ordinary. But he’s definitely doubled down on his anti-loot beliefs.”
“Well, the loot is the only reason we’re still standing. He owes his life to it.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have threatened him,” said T’balt monotonously. That was the main difference. What they saw at Kilgrove’s home would’ve happened in every iteration. It was Ellie’s confrontation that put him on the defensive. Otherwise, they’d just be dealing with a few errant beliefs that were usually contained before they got to this point.
“Look, I was angry then. The last thing I wanted was to make an enemy out of him, but…”
“I know.” T’balt put his hands in his pockets, turning away. “This is just something we’ll have to deal with this time.”
“Well, I’m afraid someone’s gonna get hurt.”
“Someone always gets hurt.”
T’balt waited patiently in the pulpit as he always did around this time. A few days into it would be when Cannon and his band would show up and humble themselves in front of the whole church. This was the place where he’d be sitting when the people came to notify him.
He kicked his feet up to think about what he would do about Kilgrove. But it never felt like he should do anything. Fixing the divide felt harder than preventing it from happening in the next iteration. He hated it when he thought like that, but… it was his reality now.
“I mean, he did kill his wife. What am I supposed to do about that?”
This iteration, they might suffer a few more casualties if the bandits attacked, but the big Nrv attack didn’t happen in the last few iterations. So the first couple of weeks would just be a struggle for supplies, battles between hunting parties to come out with the best loot.
He felt like he hadn’t seen Monan in a while. Whenever he was out of sight, it just felt like he was buying time for his next scheme to get T’balt killed.
But he continued to sit alone in the pulpit. The believers never came to tell him about Cannon’s arrival. An extra hour had passed, and then two. He started walking around the earth wall, but no sign of them whatsoever.
He broke into a mini panic in his head. “What if Monan got to them first, like he did Ellie?” He pulled over one of the watchers, asking if he had seen a group of rogue wrestlers.
“What?” T’balt grabbed the man by the shirt.
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“I said by Abbot Kilgrove's order, we turned them away,” the man said.
“Are you stupid? I needed those people. Where’d they go?” T’balt reacted with fire in his voice.
“It's not my job to care about some group of looters.”
T’balt stared at him a moment. “Let me see your neck.” The man did as he was told, and T’balt saw that his spine was clean. Lootless. “Damn it. What sense does it make having lootless guard the wall?”
But he knew well what the purpose was. So Arthur could gatekeep who comes in and out. Things were getting obnoxious. But he had to find Cannon before they got too far. It forced him to equip the hypersensitivity in his loot stack. That way, he could scan the forest and the nearby area.
No signs of people. He went searching for a while on his own, but still nothing. He thought to himself about what to do.
Acelin and Genya were playing with a deck of cards they’d found in one of the church’s closets. Acelin would try to teach her how to play Goldfish, and she would turn it into a game of 52 Pickup. Then, making the best of a bad situation, he turned it into a game of " Guess the Card.” Pick up a face-down card and guess what number it was before you look at it. Genya was the master at this game. She clapped and cheered, getting a number right on the dot.
“How are you so lucky all the time? There’s something not right with you,” Acelin pouted at his third straight loss.
“That’s cuz I’m a sickic.” She happily patted her own head.
“A psychic,” Acelin corrected.
“What's that?”
“What you just said.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Are you trolling me?”
“What's trolling?”
They looked up at T’balt, suddenly standing above both of them. “Genya. I need your help.”
Acelin watched him take the girl somewhere that he didn’t explain. He was left to wander around the building pretty much alone. Many of the other kids would be held in the cubbies of their parents. They were so extra protective. It was like none of the other kids were being allowed to socialize without supervision. So he eventually left himself in the comfort of Ellie. He would watch her use her superpowers and make people’s hurts disappear. He would watch everyone use their powers.
“How come I don’t get to use any loot?” he asked her.
“Because you’re too young to be given powers like this. It can be dangerous, and we don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I wouldn’t get hurt. I’d probably be able to use it better than all these noobs.”
“Maybe, but T’balt doesn’t want you to have any. You’ll have to wait until he thinks you’re ready.”
“That’s not fair. Even Genya has some loot.”
“Does she?”
“Yeah. I can see it in her eyes every now and then. They glow like some weird robot sometimes. I bet that’s why T’balt took her out to the city instead of me.”
“Are you jealous of little Genya?”
“No. Of course not. She’s a little demon.”
“Acelin.”
“What? That’s what the others say. That’s why the other kids avoid us. If I had cool powers, I could shut them up, but I don’t.”
Ellie frowned. Not even the seven-year-old girl was safe from the wrath of the humanists. Their mindsets were turning the children against each other.
That’s when the commotion started on the other side of the basement. People were arguing, and it looked like it was leading to a full-on riot when the sound of a shattering vase broke through the hall.
“She’s badly hurt. She needs healing now,” said one of the believers, with an injured woman on his arm. She looked ready to puke up a puddle of blood with a monster-sized cut on her abdomen.
“Are you a looter?” a burly man said.
“No. But…”
“Then you won’t be tainted by them. You’ll be healed by the hands of man and nothing else.”
Then the crowd got rowdy around them. “Let them be healed. Get out of the way. Can’t you see she’s hurt?”
Ellie ran in to calm things, but when she saw the injured woman, she automatically sent the glow to her hands to start healing. There were two boys who suddenly jumped in to guard the woman. “We won’t let you.”
As soon as they touched her, several of the people downstairs started activating their loot stacks. Flames, ice, shadows, and sharp edges were pointed at the two boys, ready to strike them down at any sudden move. They backed off.
“You all are traitors to humanity! The abbot will hear about this!” one of the boys yelled.
“Go on and tell him!” Ellie yelled back. “Tell him I won’t let people die so he can have his stupid pride!” With the boys leaving, she took the girl to a table and went to work on her wounds, and after a few minutes, the gash had healed up and sealed.
“Thank you… I.. I’m sorry they treated you that way,” the girl said.
“It's okay.” Ellie smiled.
“So am I…”
“You’re not a demon, no. You’re better now, and that’s the end of it.”
“Carla. Have you stooped so low?” Arthur Kilgrove was in the room, calling out to the woman on the table.
Ellie stepped in front of her, ready to take the man’s wrath head-on. “No. Don’t talk to her like she’s the problem.”
“Ellie. This matter doesn’t concern you.”
“Yes, it does, Arthur. I aim to protect this church. T’balt and I both. YOU’RE just making things worse.”
“Me? I’m not the one waving around an unholy power pretending to be a prophet. You all should be ashamed,” he said to the room. “This is a power only obtained by killing. They’re from beings sent to destroy, and when you use their power, you’re no different from them.”
The others started to look around, checking each other to gauge if the statement was true.
“Please, Arthur, spare us,” Ellie groaned. “It's us who have made this place safe. We’ve helped people, and what have you done besides divide us?”
“I’ve preserved the image of God. And I will continue to do so under his roof. I can’t say enough how disappointed I am in you, Ellie. Having given yourself to that man. Manipulated by your sin.”
Ellie went to slap him, but this time he snatched her wrist mid-swing. Hate works in strange ways. Surrounded by conflict, it is a contagious disease that sits idly, building potential energy, and is unleashed at the sight of violence. When one of the looters saw Arthur forcefully grab a hold of Ellie’s hand, to them, that was the start of the war—the first act of violence that everyone was sure was coming.
The boy equipped a sword made completely of bone and swung it, looking to strike the humanists before they could strike first. The attack drew blood, slicing Arthur in the bicep. He fell over at the searing pain as the man stood over him, eyes seething, ready to strike again.
Ellie pushed him back. “What are you doing? Don’t—” The other humanists came rushing down the stairs. Every one of them looked ready to go to war armed with kitchen knives, broomsticks, and concealed carries. The only thing standing between them was Ellie holding her hands up in peace.
She looked down at Arthur, who was holding his arm trying to stop the bleeding. “Let me heal you,” she said, kneeling to his aid. But he slapped her hand away.
“Don’t touch me. I’d rather die than be touched by your filthy hands,” he said it with so much rage and conviction that the eyes started to turn on Ellie.
“I’m sorry,” Ellie said. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Whether you did or didn’t, one thing is clear.” He stood looking as many in the eye as he could, as if giving each individual a personal warning. “None of this will end until the looters are out of my church.” He stormed back up the stairs, an army of humanists behind him.
