Warm blood splashed across Florence's face. He opened his eyes amid the smell of blood and, through a crimson haze, saw his dagger buried in the chest of Son of God Messiah. It had pierced his heart.
"My Lord."
Trembling sobs broke out. The believers wept aloud, and Sister Angelica covered her mouth as hot tears rolled down her face.
Watching the life drain from Son of God Messiah, Saint John XII wept as though he had lost everything. "Merciful Lord, why did you come into this world only to leave us?"
"Yes, our Lord, why must you leave us? Why let us see you, only to take yourself from our sight forever? Are our sins so grave that we cannot be with you?"
They all wept and confessed their sins. To them, if they could see their Lord and have him among them, what did it matter if the world ended and the universe began anew?
Son of God Messiah rejoiced in their faith and took comfort in their words. "You need not grieve or be troubled. For I, your Lord, go to Heaven to prepare a place for you, so that all who believe in me and call upon my name may have a home and become children of God."
Florence stood with the dagger in his hand, watching the color fade from the face of Son of God Messiah, whom he had killed. Memories came rushing back.
He had studied the scriptures and could recite doctrine without pause. In public, he treated the faithful with gentleness; in private, he schemed against others without mercy. He comforted those who came to the confessional, then recorded their words to use against them. He courted Saint John XII, hoping to climb to the pinnacle of power, while secretly stirring up