In the clapboard churches down in the human villages, hewn together with rough boards and piety and the deep conviction that their ways are righteous and holy and right above all, the preachers speak of demons and ferals in the same breath. Messengers from the devil, they're called, emissaries from Satan himself, put on this earth to tempt guiltless innocents and torment righteous men. No matter how civilized one may pretend to be, there is no place in heaven for the beastmen or their kind.
Once, Gunnar had stood alongside Kurt in these churches, set his heavy hand on his son's neck and ensured there was no distraction, that the words of the hymnal were followed, that the words of fire and brimstone were listened to unflinchingly, in hopes that they'd penetrate deep into the child's mind and soul. Once, he'd believed that was enough to ensure Kurt's salvation.
But now -- now, the demons from hell that the preacher had warned about, had railed and spat and slammed the pulpit regarding, were here. Now the pits of hades itself had split open, spewing out the creature who sets upon Miles, shreds him to bits without flinching. Kurt, who had once shied away from killing rabbits and squirrels, his strange, different, unconventional child, too sensitive, too soft, too irregular -- Kurt turns on him now and Gunnar forgets to pray.
"Jævel," he croaks out instead, stumbling backwards, jostling the wagon. The baby whimpers again, and if Gunnar were a wiser man, he would've known to reach for her, attempt to leverage her safety for his own. But he isn't. He simply fumbles for the cross around his neck, eyes wide, wild, pathetic in his terror. "Du er ein jævel frå helvete...back, s-stay back!"
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Date: 2023-12-26 04:52 pm (UTC)Once, Gunnar had stood alongside Kurt in these churches, set his heavy hand on his son's neck and ensured there was no distraction, that the words of the hymnal were followed, that the words of fire and brimstone were listened to unflinchingly, in hopes that they'd penetrate deep into the child's mind and soul. Once, he'd believed that was enough to ensure Kurt's salvation.
But now -- now, the demons from hell that the preacher had warned about, had railed and spat and slammed the pulpit regarding, were here. Now the pits of hades itself had split open, spewing out the creature who sets upon Miles, shreds him to bits without flinching. Kurt, who had once shied away from killing rabbits and squirrels, his strange, different, unconventional child, too sensitive, too soft, too irregular -- Kurt turns on him now and Gunnar forgets to pray.
"Jævel," he croaks out instead, stumbling backwards, jostling the wagon. The baby whimpers again, and if Gunnar were a wiser man, he would've known to reach for her, attempt to leverage her safety for his own. But he isn't. He simply fumbles for the cross around his neck, eyes wide, wild, pathetic in his terror. "Du er ein jævel frå helvete...back, s-stay back!"