What Crawls Below

3 § Catalyst

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Actions have consequences. Cyrus's penance for his lie was extra 'community service'.

Their organization, Second Advent, ran on taking in broken people at their limit with their own faith and giving them something else to live for. As Acheron had told him many times, there was strength in numbers, and power in strength. If they were going to cleanse this world, they would need all the earthly power they could get their hands on.

That meant recruiting like-minded people. And for the first time, Acheron expected Cyrus to play a role in this recruitment instead of being a silent spectator.

Bune was to accompany him. Moloch rarely went along on these things; his temperament was a bit too much to mask. Dressed in simple jeans and t-shirts, the two left the compound. The only thing Cyrus had been armed with was a pamphlet explaining the benefits of joining Second Advent. As they say on the train, he ran his thumb over the embossed catchline on the front cover: TIRED OF PRAYING TO A GOD THAT DOESN'T LISTEN?

"Smile."

Cyrus looked up from the pamphlet to see Bune eyeing him with a sneer.

"Better practice now, boy. You think you're gonna win over anyone looking like that?"

Gritting his teeth, Cyrus attempted to curve his lips upward in a way that seemed genuine. Bune grimaced, rolling his eyes.

"Well, that's off the table. Hope you can think of something else."

Fifteen minutes later, Cyrus was standing shoulder to shoulder with Bune on Delilah White's doorstep. From what Bune had coached him on the way over, Cyrus knew Delilah was divorced and had lost her son in a drunk driving accident. Acheron had already reached out to the woman, who had reluctantly agreed to take a home visit.

Bune nudged his shoulder. Uncurling his fists from the pamphlet, he rang the doorbell.

The woman was frailer than he had imagined possible, thin and hunched over as if she could collapse at any moment. She took one look at the men on her doorstep before pulling her shawl tighter around herself and opening the door wider. Cyrus stepped around her, clearing his throat.

The words didn't come. He didn't know what to say.

Shooting Cyrus a glare, Bune spoke up. The picture of politeness, he shook Delilah's hand as he said, "It's very nice to meet you, Ms. White. I hear you've been having a difficult time."

Her eyes trailed to a picture hanging front and center on the wall of a young boy. "You could say that."

The three sat down. Bune raised an eyebrow at Cyrus as the woman picked at her shawl.

Cyrus cleared his throat again. "If it's alright, I'd like to talk about God."

Delilah met his eyes. Hers were cold and blank.

He forced himself to not look away. Backtracking, he said, "That's your son," gesturing to the picture.

"This is where you tell me he's in a better place now, right?"

"No." Cyrus knew if he looked beside him, Bune would have an icy glare reserved for him. He didn't look away from Delilah. "I can't say he is. I can't say there's any place better than this. But what if I could tell you we could make this a place where a tragedy like that never happens again?"