Saturday, April 24, 1937. 

1936 Hours. 

San Jose Church. 

We had the priest tied up to a chair in no time. His nose was broken, with a few missing teeth here and there from Camarada's tomb-stomping earlier. He was unconscious but breathing. Father Iñaqui also recovered at some point, but we decided that a hog-tie and a trip to the cellar was enough to keep him quiet. 

It all felt wrong. Violence didn't belong in those sacred grounds. I said before that I'm not a religious man, but I do believe that there must be something, or somewhere, where your immortal souls go after death. After that moment, it was obvious that an eternity in a fiery pit was my only atonement for my sins. One I still believe I deserve today. 

"Find the map?" I asked Camarada after everything calmed down enough to have a conversation. 

"Negative. There are a lot of documents there so it will take a while to find a single map there." 

"Good, good," I said, which didn't make particular sense, in hindsight. "I'll go take a look."

"Wait," Camarada said as he grabbed me by the arm. "Why do I have to look after the devil priest?" 

"He's asleep."

"For now. But he can wake up and overpower me with his religious wizard powers," he said with the most deadpanned expression he could muster.

"I don't know. Throw holy water at him," I said. 

"That's just religious nothings," said Camarada. 

"The man can disappear at will and throw us like stones at a creek. We are past believing at religious nothings."

"For the love of--okay. Fine. Have it your way." 

He shuffled awkwardly to the entrance, grabbing a palmful of holy water that mostly spilled to the ground as he approached the priest, throwing it at the priest's face in one swift move. 

"Not now! When he wakes up!" I yelled. 

"Why didn't you say so before?"

"I thought it was obvious!" 

It only served to wake him up from his stupor. The priest groaned and moaned as he tried, and failed, to move on his seat. It took him a few seconds to realize he was tied. 

"See? You woke him up," I said. 

"I blame you for this."

"What are you two filthy heathens doing? Untie me at once!" said the fat priest. He tried and tried, but Camarada was an expert knot-maker. The more he struggled, the tighter they became. 

"Hush, you," said Camarada, backhanding the priest across the face. He was enjoying this more than I believed. I'm glad I never had to go against him. 

"You're harming a man of God!" yelled the priest. He wasn't deterred at all--defiant, even.

"I don't know," I said as I approached him. "A man of God doesn't go around shooting people in the arm," I said while showing him the bloody rag covering my wound. 

"I am but doing the will of the One above, and beyond, All," said Father Maximino. "You are nothing but bugs in the grand scheme of things." 

Camarada had gone back to the basin, throwing a fresh fistful of holy water at his face. "Hush, demon."

Father Maximino didn't say anything this time. He merely looked at us with a stare that could melt a thousand suns in intensity. It was pure, unabridged hate. 

"Hey, it worked!" said Camarada. "Good job, Sebas."

"Hush, you," I said. "He can still talk."

In fact, not only was he talking, he was whispering. It was almost inaudible, but it picked up in intensity as it went. 

"In my distress, I called to the Lord, and he cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, and my cry came before Him," whispered the priest. 

That only earned him a fresh punch from Camarada, which only served to make him go on louder than before. 

"Then the earth shook and trembled!" he yelled. "The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, as He was angry!"

"Okay, Sebas," said Camarada as he took me away from the yelling priest. "What now?"

"We press him for information. What those things are, how to stop them. That's our priority," I said. 

"Smoke went up from his nostrils and devouring fire from his mouth. Coals were kindled by it! He bowed the heavens also, and came down with darkness under His feet!" 

Camarada nodded, taking point as we walked back to the priest. He grabbed the back of the chair Father Maximino sat in and tipped it back to that the priest faces the roof. 

"Okay, time for you to give us what we want," said Camarada. 

But the priest continued. "And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He made darkness His secret place. His canopy around Him was dark waters, and thick cloud of the--"

He was interrupted by Camarada shoving his entire fist in the priest's mouth. His eyes bulged in surprise, followed by some shallow nasal breathing. His eyes darted back and forth as his squirming resumed anew. 

"See, this is the deal," said Camarada. "I'm gonna take my fist out, and I want the next words to come out of them are ones explaining what those things are, and what are they doing here."

"How to stop them," I corrected. 

"That. How to stop them," added Camarada. 

The man didn't acknowledge our words, but Camarada still took the fist out. 

Father Maximino coughed and spoke after a few deep breaths. "I hope you have made peace with God, for His mercy will pass from you."

And in went the fist again. 

"I thought priests were supposed to be good at listening," I said. I was shaking from top to bottom, but the darkness covered my own cowardice. Or was it uncertainty? "What and how. Two simple things. That's all we need, and we will let you go alive."

"Mostly alive," said Camarada. 

"Alive," I repeated. "So, what will it be?" 

Camarada took the fist out. 

"We are the reckoning. You can't stop u--"

And in went the first again. 

"This is not working. Sebas, maybe you can beat some sense into him?" said Camarada as he handed me his knife. It was still bloody from where we escaped. 

It took it with trembling hands, almost dropping it in the process. What little light came from the windows reflected on the blade. It was old, and a bit rusty. But heavy. 

There is an interesting feeling that comes from holding a murderous weapon in your hand. It takes the warmth out of your body and replaces it with a cold, empty sensation. Your body almost rejects it. I didn't want to hold it. 

But I had to. 

Father Maximino looked at me with horror as I placed the blade on top of his thigh. I didn't plunge it in. Yet. 

"Please, just tell us what we need," I pled. My voice was wavering, almost apologetic.

Camarada gave him another chance to speak. And yet, he didn't. "My Lord, my God, is with me. Who is then against us?" 

My hand felt heavy with pain, but not as much pain as the priest felt as I plunge my knife right above his knee. 

His whole body jerked forward as a guttural scream came from within him. Even when Camarada shoved his first in his mouth could the scream be heard. It was that loud. 

I took the knife out, followed by a squirt of blood pumping from his wound. 

"What and how," repeated Camarada. "Now."

"Jehovah is my shepherd, none shall hurt me," said Father Maximino. 

"Doubt it," said Camarada, gaging him again. "Plunge it again."

This time, I hesitated. You could say I had an out of body experience, looking at the scene from above. Us, torturing a priest in a church. Camarada with his sadistic smiles enjoying every second of it.

Dear reader, were we the villains? Was I fighting against the forces of good? I don't know. I felt like a villain. I felt wicked. 

The knife dropped to the ground as my hands shivered uncontrollably. 

"I can't, I can't," I repeated over and over again. I wasn't any better than Franco and his rebels, or even than the Lieutenant. I was sinful. I couldn't. 

"I'll do it," said Camarada as he let go of the chair, going straight back up. He pushed me aside, grabbing the knife and plunging it back to the same wound as before. There was nothing to muffle his screams now, not that Camarada seemed to mind. He was enjoying every note of his screaming.

"What and how!" said Camarada. 

"Behold! The Lord came with thousands of His holy ones, to execute judgment upon all, and to convict all the ungodly of all their ungodly deeds!" 

Camarada gripped the knife harder, twisting it inside the wound. 

Father Maximino gritted his teeth to muffle his own screaming, resuming his tirade once again. "And all the harsh things ungodly sinners have said about Him!" 

That broke Camarada's patience. He tossed the knife away and pounced on the priest. He placed his hands around his fat neck and began to choke him while smashing him against the floor. 

"What and how!" yelled Camarada, smashing Father Maximino's head against the ground. "What and how!" 

Only gurgling and grunts came from the priest's mouth. He was being killed in cold blood. 

I had to do something. I didn't even think properly when I tackled Camarada off the priest. He landed a couple of meters away from me.

"Stop!" I yelled. "We need him alive!" 

Camarada stood up in a second, running to me in a hurry, but not violently. "He needs to understand we are in control here."

"You are not in control! You were going to kill the only one who can help us! That other priest is dead, and we can't get in-"

"What other priest?" interrupted Father Maximino between ragged breaths. 

"You hush," said Camarada. 

"Is Jagger dead?" asked the priest. "Did you kill him?" 

"I said," started to say Camarada, but I interrupted him. There was something in the priest's eyes. Something that wasn't there before. There was pure, unabridged terror. 

"Father Jagger was killed by the beast," I said. 

Father Maximino stared at the ceiling for the longest time, trying to catch his breath. None dare to move as he took a deep breath, followed by a single, yet powerful word. 

"Fuck."