Everyone turned to look at the main doors. The doors slowly opened a crack, and a little head poked through. When Charles made out his face by the candlelight near the door, his eyes lit up.
He was a delicate-looking little boy with short black hair and features that looked somewhat mixed-race. They immediately recognized him as the young Constantine, though he lacked the weathered, decadent air he had as an adult. Instead, he possessed a slightly melancholy, bookish quality. Such a temperament was especially captivating in a child. To put it more artistically, he had a natural sense of "story" about him.
The moment he poked his head inside, he noticed that something seemed off about the atmosphere in the church. But he appeared even more frightened of whatever was outside, so he squeezed through the narrow gap anyway, intending to say something.
Before he could speak again, an axe swung directly at the Old Priest—Jack had made his move.
"Stop! You damned murderer!" Schiller was the first to draw his gun, firing straight at Jack. Bang!
The gunshot clearly terrified little Constantine. He instinctively ran behind the pews to hide. Charles immediately moved to protect him, only for another bang to strike the floor beside his feet.
Erik was about to act when Charles grabbed him and gestured toward little Constantine.
A murderer or a police officer firing a gun was still within the bounds of ordinary understanding. Little Constantine was afraid mostly because he might get caught in the crossfire. But if bullets started turning corners—or simply fell out of the air—then he would start being afraid of them.
One shot hit Jack in the shoulder, and he cried out in pain. But it seemed to enrage him. He swung his axe again at the Old Priest.