† "For you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness." - James 1:3 †

//Author's note: Reader discretion advised. Graphic violence.

Abel found great pride in the darkness that followed in the setting of a victorious sun.

His house, his church, grew with each passing day.

From the entrance of his church, the doors close. His chosen disciples all here, that will bear witness to the first female finding acceptance in their sacred rank.

As they take their seats, Abel faces them. Looking each one in the eye, ignoring the girl on her knees that soon would step into their light.

"My brothers, where Jesus had twelve disciples, I shall take on hundreds, if not thousands to bring back the Father's will for the world. Sister Jael will join us on this day, should she pass her tests as the rest of you have. She is but one of two, that our Lord asked for me to take on. Where most left on this Earth are harlots, cons, cheats, this woman shows purity in the eyes of God. Should she pass these tests, we'll know her to be of a true purity, one that hasn't been tainted by the demons walking our earth. Together, my friends, together, we will build a temple after this Armageddon. A temple, that will last a thousand years!"

He takes to Jael's side, his hand pressing gently onto the top of her dark head. Shiny hair, long hair, that sifted like the finest silk through his fingers as he ran them through it.

His disciples have set up all he's asked for the ceremony.

The clawfoot tub pulled from a house a few houses down, sat on the raised platform, his alter, filled with holy water blessed by him and him alone. Above it, the heretic who dared touch his Eve bled out from his wrists, his feet, from the crown of thorns Abel let his disciples give him. Nails pounded into his skull, that weighs down his head in the shame he'll carry into hell.

Releasing the silken hair from his caress, Abel moves past the girl he can't see is keeping her eyes sealed shut and trembling before the altar. He focuses on the table on his alter, prepared with the tools he'll need for the anointing, the consecration, the Lake of Fire.

"So commences the anointing," he says as he holds up the cool brander. The symbol on the end, the crucifix, and his truest name pronounced at the end of the steel. He'd marked so many, but Sister Jael would have to wait her turn.

Moving to the fireplace, he rests it so it'll glow nice and red.

Abel turned to their Sister. Approached her, staring at her as a hungry lion would in studying her face. She stares back, unwavering, which he found curious. No one, not even the men, looked back at him this way.

In her, he saw no fear, nor a threat. Good things, that will be tested on this day. Her day. Her anointing.

"Sister, move before the fire and kneel." He ordered, waiting for her to comply before he returned to his table of tools laid out for him.

He begins, "And the beast was taken, and with him the false prophet that wrought miracles before him, with which he decided them that had received the mark of the beast, and them that worshipped his image. These both were cast alive into a lake of fire burning with brimstone."

He took the switchblade and continues, "But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death."

To the one his love once called CiCi, he approaches. To her turned back he commands, "Rise, Sister. Lift your arms to the heavens."

As she does what's bid of her, he inspects the white frock. An ugly garment, one worn by the women in his order who had yet to find status. Switchblade turning in his hand, he brings it quickly to her. Plunging it, with precision, down the back of her clothing and leaving her naked before the fire.

Tossing the ruined garment crafted by the servants into the fire, she'd no longer need such a flag of disgrace in his church. For, she'd either find the demon, or the place with his consecrated.

In her bare flesh, the begging of his mind to expose her inner taint from the devil bangs against his skull like the hard beat of a drum.

"Face me, child." He asks her.

Slowly, she takes his order and her arms cross over into fists to cover her breasts.

He bores into her face, then, much to everyone's surprise, a tender hand comforts the side of her face. His fingers travel back, brushing her dark hair over her shoulders on each side in his checking for the marks of the beast.

In finding none, he then asks, "Look at me, Sister."

Her dark eyes meet him as they did before. She's exposed and there's intimidation found there. Lingering, Abel searched and would find his ultimate decision on her obedience and faith. He nodded, as if in silent conversation with her as the voices rang in his head. They implored that she was an innocent, but warned that discretion could lie in her future, as it lied with them all. Judas, it seemed, was never too far away. He knew how to prevent it. The proof hung on the wall.

"The Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees; man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart."

Removing his touch, he takes a step back as he questions, "Are you a virgin, pretty girl?"

He waits for her honest answer and when she nods, he says, "Louder, so we can hear you!"

"Yes. I am a virgin," she replies as a deeper blush flushes her cheeks.

Again, he reaches to her hair. Caressing it, savoring it in his touch. Forcing her to once again take her knees, he thinks he hears a soft sob escape her but thinks nothing of it as the voices drive him further.

Taking the knife back into his hand, he tells her, "I will cut your hair and burn it. I want to smell the pungency of your vanity! You no longer care to be pretty, sister!"

He's rough as he begins to chop her hair. It stings his nostrils as it burns, but he continues on. Careful, not to cut her flesh as he invades close to the scalp.

When he's finished, he brings back his knife to the table. Behind his turned back, CiCi cries quietly into her hands, feeling her scalp that's exposed in parts from baldness.

Moving to the front pew, he holds a hand out for his Eve to take.

"Come with me, my love," he brings her to the fire, where his gift for her, the gift of their God waits on her knees he then commands, "Rise, sister, the mother wishes to look upon you."

CiCi stands. Her weariness clear in the shaking of her legs, as she prepares for whatever is next from her unchosen leader.

Abel says to Eve as he releases her hand, "Do you see any signs of lust in her gaze?"

The fire beckons him as he waits for her answer, her own passing of the test. Grabbing the handle of the branding iron, Abel relieves it from the flame.

"No, my savior, I do not. She is pure." Eve replies and takes a gracious step back.

"You may return to your seat, my Eve," Abel tells her and she graciously nods, before taking back to the front pew.

Twirling the iron in his hand and blowing over the crucifix, it glows orange from his silent passing blessing.

"The Lake of Fire will pass quickly, sister," he promises her, then guides her to the tub so she can place her hands on the edges for balance against the pain soon to come.

She sobs, quietly, bracing for it from Abel's cruel hand.

When it comes, it hits her in the shoulder. Melting away her flesh, sending the smell of burning flesh to assault her with the agony. She cries out, unable to help it, and falls back to her knees in surrender.

As Abel pulls back the brand, it takes a bit of her scorched flesh with it.

On her skin, the crucifix smokes and he casts the hot iron's brand into the tub to cool it down.

It's now that Cici sobs without inhibition. Her pain, he knows, is that of the suffering of all that's left good in this world.

"Stay there, sister," Abel commands for her own good, as he returns to the table of tools.

Returning the branding iron, Abel grabs what's left—the flogger.

Within the softer straps, lines a few strands of barbed wire. A pattern similar to the crown of thorns. At the thought, Abel pays the first mind to the Judas he crucified on the wall. A demon, who'd experience all the suffering of Christ before he perished.

"I will give you three lashings, sister and no more. It's the number I've been given—the mark of the holy trinity."

With the rest of his disciples receiving far more, he can hear their bodies shifting in opposition from the pews. In daring for one of them to complain, to question their God, Abel scans the pews again.

None show treachery or disobedience. A sign, that he's done well in his choosing. Yet, only time would tell.

Giving one lash to the back of a woman yet to find the crown, Abel leaves the first upon her flesh. She screams, clutching to the tub for the strength he's seen leave so many from far less. He pulls it back, again, taking some of her flesh with him.

Again, he strikes and the barbed wire snags. Careful so not to pull the skin off of her back in strips, Abel takes a step forward to ease it off rather than rip it.

On her back, the lovely pattern of red stars crosses over one another.

The last strikes, aimed further down to her lower back, above the two dimples he so admired in a woman. Taking that beauty away from her, he pulls it back gently as the blood rains down her back.

She's doubled over into the tub, almost hitting the water as the bones of her spine protrude with each vertebra.

Bringing the flogger back to the table, he takes a deep breath and listens to what he's being told.

"Saint Anthony sends you his regards, sister. He's acknowledging your prayers. Is he a favorite of yours from the Catholic saints?"

The mutilated girl turns to look at her torturer. Betrayal, possibly, for her saint speaking to him directly, shines in the double-reflection of her eyes dripping with tears.

"He's the saint of the lost, Sister. You are no longer lost. You no longer need to pray for him. You must learn to start praying to me, praying to our God and our God alone. Do you understand me, child?" He asks.

She nods, hanging her head as she waits for the next round of abuse, yet hoping it doesn't come all the same.

In a true show of respect for his Eve and her things, Abel held out his hand for her to take. "Take my hand, child of light."

She takes it in ambivalence, as well as to her feet.

"Enter the water. This baptism will be the last of your tests. In your succeeding, you will be a disciple of my church, a carrier of His light, forever." He continues to hold her hand as she takes one foot and places it into the icy cold water.

Then, her other finds the water that already, sends a different shock through her aching system.

She sits, finding urgency so to clean the wounds on her back and cool the burn on her upper arm. His hand leaves her and to his Eve, he again beckons.

"Together, my Eve, we will consecrate her with three consecutive dunks under the water." He explained as she crossed the short threshold onto the altar at his side.

Wrapping his hands softly around CiCi's throat, he's the one who takes to his knees so to give her the first dunk of the number that marks her. Soon, visions hit him of Saint Anthony that confuses him and it causes his grip around her throat to form a notch tighter. Waiting for Audrey's hands to surround his own from the other side of the tub, he then dunks under the girl whose blood ran like ink in the holy water.

She's back up, gasping and only by Abel's will.

"Catholic saints have no business in our church, Sister. You will need to release them, or you will die!" He warns her until her terrified eyes meet his and he sees another flash.

A flash, of death in his house. Flying arrows and an inferno of fire consume him.

"Again!" Abel screamed to Audrey, bringing the girl back under for the second time after she would take a breath.

He held her down longer, not even aware if Audrey was still hanging onto the other shoulder.

As Jael's face started to shift into her chosen Saint beneath the surface, Abel's eyes went wide with a crazed fervor. The face of a demon then shifts under the bubbles she's screaming from her unheard lips.

Bringing her back up finally, Abel inspects her face closer and finding it just as he had come to know it. She's coughing, gasping for air and fighting against him to try and get a moment to gather herself.

Freaked out by the images he saw in her, Abel shoves her back under with his Eve's grip abandoned in her concern.

In his obsession to find the truth, Abel pushes back Audrey as she tries to protest his actions.

She looks at him, betrayed, terrified, but she has yet to see all that he can. He screams at Audrey, "Do not touch her again! Not until she's ready!"

The seconds passed and he still held her under, desperate to see that demon face again as he attempted to drown it from her without a single care if he drowned the girl in the process.

His hands moved back to the throat he held with almost tenderness before, but this time they clasped over her in an attempt to rob her of any and all air left in her lungs.

He shouts, "Be gone from her! You will not ruin my church!" He yelled into the water as his hands squeeze around her neck tighter until he felt her throat relax in defeat under his grip.

His hands released from her and were out of the water as he scanned her face for any signs of life. She floats, in her own tub of red.

"She will rise again! She has been cleansed!" He waited for Jael to come back to life under the water, as his soon-to-be-bride cried at the tub's side.

//Soundtrack song: "Down on your Knees" by Flora Cash

https://youtu.be/6C_sbQt_K8M

//Author's note: Votes and comments keep me going! What do you think of Abel? Do you think he really speaks to God, or maybe to the devil? Or, do you think he's simply disturbed?