Me and Barnabas are still undisturbed here. I narrow my focus to the first line of the book's final page and begin to parse its twirly lettering. I'm expecting a retelling of the book of Revelation. A grotesque description of the demon's plans for the world, maybe, or some boasting about his resurrection. At minimum a couple of rallying cries to his followers, or threats towards God.

I'm mistaken.

Thus spake The One, "Gather your kin in worship, and all the devout throughout the land, for the wicked masses congregate at Your borders with the intent to bring judgment of their own invention upon this unholy ground." And so They scattered, finding all Their kin in worship, who believed in The One and lived to see His unjust punishment undone. They gathered these in the town that dwelt around the unholy waters where so many had come to Their truth and pledged Their lives and hearts to His cause. That town They called Miranda, where the First Prophet had Her vision, and where so many after Her had seen the light. And here They prayed.

This is about the Sectant Expulsion. That's the only thing I can think of when I see the words "the wicked masses" bringing "judgment of their own invention" on the land. To my knowledge, there was no one else the cult had so much reason to fear. If I'm correct in that assessment, it means this isn't just a book about Mastema, the great MSTM. It's also a record of the cult itself—which makes sense, when compared to the Bible. Most of it isn't about God so much as it is about her followers.

The end of this story begins with the approach of the House of Heymair. They swept down this part of the countryside with swords and torches in hand, rooting out any traces of Catholicism they encountered. Their justification was the corruption of the Catholic Church, but I'm sure at least half of that was an excuse to seize power. It always is.

I keep reading.

And as They prayed, The One blessed Them with another vision. In His own voice, and with His own image, He blessed Them. And He said, "Remember, devoted followers, Your judgment rests not in God's hands, nor those of the ones who would see You slain for Your service of this cause. Your devotion has been seen, Your deeds will be remembered, and Your service will not go unrewarded. When I stand in Heaven, You will stand beside me. You will be crowned rulers of the nations, holiest of the holy, blessed to rule at the right hand of The One."

Judgy bastard. I've no real way to know what kind of blessings a ruler of Heaven can bestow upon followers of their choosing, but with the demon's behavior so far, I think I'm justified in questioning the veracity of his promises. He seems to have a thing for brainwashing people.

They wept, for He spoke to Them as if a great time would pass before They saw Him again. The One saw that They were in distress, and it saddened Him. And so He spoke to Them again, saying, "Wouldst You rather remain by my side, oh faithful ones?" For so great was Their wailing, and so deep Their sorrow at the thought of being apart from Him. And They replied, "We live in service of Thee, oh Great One. What purpose will Our deaths serve, if not to draw Us closer to Thee?"

The One, in His grace, heard Their cries, and was moved by the sorrow of Their wailings. And so He said, "Then You shall be with Me always, and You shall never again fear My absence, nor the hand of those who would see You slain. Your sacrifices will be rewarded to the highest degree when We ascend to the Throne of Heaven together."

I don't like where this is going.

And so He gathered Them all, and in a manifestation of Their devotion, He gave Them eternal life, that They might be near Him always until that final day of judgment should come. The wicked masses stormed Their town, but not a soul walked its streets to give any sign of the worship that transpired there. In their terror, the wicked burned the town, and sought to erase it from their memories.

The page ends there. I turn it with a shaking hand, and stifle a scream.

There are faces in the book's back cover. They look embossed into the leather, but their detail is too great to be just an engraving. Their expressions are masks of agony, as if the fires of Hell hold them, not the book I've whipped my hands off like it's bitten me. It's another long, horrified moment before I realize why their realism transcends the realms of art and religious iconography.

They're moving.

I'm going to be sick. It's dawning on me now just what the demon's final words to his followers meant. He granted them eternal life, but only on a technicality. He locked them in the books they'd written, pressed against his heart forever—or at least until he won and presumably set them free. I open the table's drawer again. My hand shakes almost too much to open the topmost book cover, but it's blank inside.

They're in the pages. In the doves. In the students who get judged.

It's the culmination of everything me and Exie have been investigating. Everything we've tried to figure out. Every disparate clue that we only guessed was connected, somehow, in some logical or at least religious way. These books tie it all together.

I return to the table-book again. It has maybe forty pages left, if I'm being generous. Headmaster Massingham said this year would be enough to fulfill his demonic duty, which probably means our student cohort are the intended recipients of these. Forty pages, folded into dove form and imbued with the souls of past cultists who pledged their lives and souls to service of a demon. They'll storm Heaven with him, alright. Puppeting the bodies of every Melliford Academy student who's ever had the crying misfortune of being through the cult ritual. I've been calling them possessed, but even I didn't realize how accurate that would be.

I don't know how these books escaped the burning of the town of Miranda. I don't know how they ended up in the school's hands. I don't know if Massingham had to hunt them down across the continent, or if he didn't have to search at all, because they were already here. The story does not continue on the backside of this book's final page. I rifle through a few leading up to it and find the handwriting completely different. Which makes sense, I guess. The last page records events after the cultists had already been turned into so many impressions in red-stained goatskin. But with that, then, I have to wonder—and shudder in wondering—if these final words were written by later Prophets, or by the demon himself.

I know what I have to do now. I always did, to some degree, but this casts the act in such vivid clarity, it steals the breath from me. I drop to my knees and begin to pray. I was never one to believe in God, but that was always half a lie. I've always wondered, somewhere in the back of my mind. Wondered if she was up there somewhere, watching me. Or watching over me. I used to think she didn't look out for problem children, but against all odds, me and Exie are still alive.

I believe now. I believe so hard, it tears through my chest and fills me to the brim with every plea, every promise, and every prayer I can pour into this moment. The moment overflows. I ask for peace for these tortured souls. Freedom and peace for all the current and former students of this cursed church, walking around this world with the souls of ancient cultists twisting their thoughts from the fragile wings of the infected doves they carry. I ask for the teachers in this place to join their benefactor in Hell, then amend that. If they're anything like the ancient cultists, they've been corrupted, too. If Barnabas wouldn't wish that fate on anyone, I won't sink to the demon's level.

If we make it out of this alive, I'm going to church again. Not for my parents' sake, nor to keep up any kind of public image I've never cared for anyway. I'm building a life I want for myself and myself only, and if me and Exie can build it together, all the better. I finally have something I want to build. I ask for that, too, because if Mastema's followers begged the same, it can't be too selfish for me to want to make it out of this alive. I realize a moment later that I might have set myself up for getting locked in a Bible somewhere. But if God is as benevolent as the stories like to claim, I don't think she'd sink to the demon's level, either.

As I'm praying, I begin to feel something. Maybe it's just whatever subliminal messaging I picked up while reading the cultists' pleas. Maybe it's a manifestation of all my days of imagining this place's destruction. Or maybe—just maybe—she's actually here. Peace settles over me like I've never felt before. It's followed by a calling. A compulsion so strong, my hand moves towards my pocket of its own accord. It's such a clear direction, you'd think it came from within my own mind. I've always been good at destroying things.

There's a match between my fingers. Stone beneath me on the floor. Stone rough enough to strike against, though even if it wasn't, I have a feeling I wouldn't need to worry anyway.

With a final prayer, I ask for this whole place to burn.

Then I light the match and drop it in the middle of the book's final, open page.