The sound of rain echoed within the walls of the monastery. Inside the small room lay a bed, a lamp, and a crucifix hung on the wall. It was raining, but the sun was shining. The sky smiled through its tears, as sun and rain mingled.
There is a part of me that is still missing, and I don't know what it is. Why is there sadness in my heart? To whom am I writing these words? My heart begs me to reach out to someone I don't know.
Sophia stopped writing and then closed her eyes for a moment. She grasped the pages of the diary and felt the silence surrounding the convent. Tomorrow would be the day to become God's servant. Sophia had served several months in the church as a postulant. During her candidacy and postulancy, she studied the Benedictine rule, traditions, and ways of prayer as she lived the community life. It was a period of discernment on the part of the individual. To live in a monastery, she had to become a novice, with the first stage being postulancy. This initial step typically entailed six months of training. Sophia wore a simple white blouse and a black skirt. She was also given a cross to wear, indicating her desire to embrace conversion as a way of life. The cord around her neck was tied with three knots, symbolizing her desire to eventually live the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. The goal of this period of formation was to prepare Sophia for entrance into the novitiate. Tomorrow would be her novitiate ceremony. She would become a novice, wear a white veil, and be a disciple of Christ.
Sophia heard a knock, opened the door, and gave a cordial smile to Mother Reverend. "Please, come in, Mother Reverend."
"Are you ready for tomorrow, Sophia?" Sister Clara stayed in the doorway. "Yes, I'm ready, Mother Reverend," Sophia spoke mildly. The sun shone behind her, while the rain continued to pour outside the window. Sister Clara smiled at Sophia. "Just call me Sister Clara. This is your home now. We are your family."
"I'll be going now, Sister Sophia. Please take a rest. Tomorrow will be a big day for all of us." "Thank you, Sister Clara." Sophia bowed her head. The older nun nodded as a gesture of farewell.
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At 7 a.m., the skies cleared, revealing a bluer expanse beyond the dissipating clouds. The Rhapsody, a grand hotel, towered over miniature villas spread along the beach. Its reception area was adorned with exotic shrubs and flowers, presenting a luxurious sixty-floor hotel that stood empty, with no guests in sight. The hotel was locked down at the end of the street, tourists advised to seek other accommodations. All access to the building was blocked.
"What are we waiting for?" Don Alejandro impatiently asked his two companions, taking a vacant seat near the window. He lit a cigar and inhaled deeply, the smoke mingling with his slight nervousness.
"We don't know our enemy," Akihiro said softly, resting his left hand on the table. Marcel irritably scoffed at Akihiro, taking a swig from his glass and scratching his beard in displeasure. Despite Marcel's temper, Akihiro ignored him, clutching his cane and leaning back in his chair with a deep sigh. "If we stay together, we can have strong forces. We don't know who the enemy is. She is hunting us down. She will kill all of us."
The three of them were on the top floor, with easy access to the rooftop should they plan to escape. A helicopter was on standby. They were a notorious triad: Akihiro supplied weapons to government officials and terrorists; Don Alejandro was a drug lord controlling narcotics across the country; and Marcel, the head of the group, orchestrated their operations.
"She? We're all getting scared for a girl?" Marcel impatiently slammed his fist on the table, sending a jarring echo through the room. He rose angrily, sneering at Akihiro. "Calm down, Marcel," Don Alejandro replied with mild authority, "It could be a woman, or perhaps we're being misled. Our territories are depleted, and we can't discern the reason. We don't know who and what the enemy is. Akihiro is right. If we join forces, we will be strong," his voice hardened as he spoke.
Marcel exhaled sharply and struck the table again with an open palm. "Why do we have to wait here? Why can't we just kill them? If I knew who was screwing us over, I'd make sure she regretted ever coming into this world!" his voice filled with a dark rage.
Don Alejandro placed a folded paper on the table and gently pushed it towards Marcel. Only two words were on the note: Meet Me.
"Our supplies were confiscated by our enemy in the government. Our hidden funds were stolen. The enemy is one step ahead of us," Don Alejandro's voice cracked in fear. His hand shook slightly as he smoked the cigar.
In a fit of anger, Marcel crumpled the note and hurled it into the corner. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuckkk!" He repeatedly pounded the table in rage. "Maybe that's the reason all of our plans got busted. It's possible she influenced the division in our group." He slumped in his seat and covered his face with a hand, breathing out his frustration.
"If we have to wait a month in this room, then we will," Don Alejandro added, his voice resolute.
Suddenly, Marcel's phone rang. He answered the call, and his face turned pale as he processed the news. Marcel's grip tightened over the phone, which he then placed down with a hand that trembled visibly. "O-our warehouse... our warehouse has exploded. The hideouts are gone. Even our cargo ships have been destroyed," he stammered, his voice a mixture of shock and disbelief. He anxiously touched his forehead, his skin cold with shock, shaking his head as if to deny the reality before him. "What the fuck is going on?!" he shakily muttered under his breath.
Akihiro set his palms down flat on the table, his brow furrowed as he thought deeply. Don Alejandro rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his expression a mix of distress and determination, reflecting on the grim news.
"Ronaldo!" Marcel abruptly called out, summoning one of the guards stationed outside the door. There were men on every floor of the building, all mobilized and ready for a confrontation. The triad had even enlisted a group of street fighters to join their ranks, making any attack on the hotel suicidal with more than five hundred men prepared for war.
Ronaldo rushed inside, holding an Armalite. "Yes, Sir?"
"Get ready! Anyone who comes through that door, kill them immediately!" Marcel commanded, his jaw clenched in pure resentment, fuming with barely contained rage.
Ronaldo nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Understood, sir."
"Now get the fuck out and guard the door!" Marcel thundered, slamming his fist on the table before pointing aggressively towards the exit. Ronaldo swiftly exited to take up his post, leaving the room charged with a tense anticipation of what was to come.
Though it was morning, a palpable fear of an unseen, impending darkness enveloped them. Marcel slumped down, nervously finishing the remaining whiskey in his glass. "The legend must be true," Akihiro's hoarse whisper sliced through the room's tension like a blade, his eyes closed in silent meditation as he grasped his cane, his head remained lowered.
"What the hell are you talking about, old man?!" Marcel interrupted rudely. Don Alejandro glanced at the Japanese with curiosity in his eyes. "My father told me a story. There was a woman who killed a thousand yakuza with one sword—she is known as a devil," Akihiro ignored Marcel's crude remark and continued, "sometimes they regard her as a wolf." His grip on the cane tightened. He inhaled sharply as sunlight touched his face, casting a bright glow on his white hair. In that moment, as the light struck Akihiro, the shadow cast by his cane morphed into the silhouette of a scythe of death. "She is the demon with green eyes."
The hair at the back of Don Alejandro's neck prickled; he swiftly wiped away the cold sweat beading on his forehead. There was something in Akihiro's voice that was hollow and fearful as he whispered the last words, "The Lady from hell."
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The ground trembled under the wheels of a vehicle speeding along the road. A powerful force approached from the distance, heralded by a gust of fresh air from the sea. "Eagle, are you clear?" a man on the road asked into the transmitter. "Bravo, the place is clear. Over," came the reply, crackling with static.
Once again, the concrete pavement trembled under the approach of the incoming vehicle. One of the guards used his binoculars; the view was clear while he stood at the hotel's entrance.
A roaring noise sent the sparrows perched on electrical wires into sudden disarray. They flew in every direction as an eight-wheeler truck barreled at full speed toward the hotel's entrance. "Shit!" the guard shouted in complete shock.
They started firing at the moving truck, bullets launched in vain as it was too fast, driving straight through the gunfire. Smashing through barricades and sending roadblocks flying, the truck rushed onward, then crashed forcefully into the hotel entrance. It rolled over, its lights flickering from the broken headlights, and the noise of metal being crushed against concrete was almost deafening.
Guns blazed in response, a grave mistake. The truck exploded in an instant, as if a giant flame punched through to the hotel lobby. Windows shattered, thick smoke and fire burst out in all directions. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel rained down like deadly hail, turning debris into shrapnel, and slicing through the air as effectively as blades. Wood of all sizes rained down on them, casting red dust and projectiles into the air.
The guards lay on the ground, some in a crawling position trying to protect their ears and organs, others splayed like rag dolls in the morning mist. Smoke turned the scene into a vision of hell.
Don Alejandro's phone rang, and his face grew ashen as he heard the news.
Akihiro momentarily lowered his gaze, shut his eyes, and held tightly to his cane. Slowly raising his head and gradually opening his eyes, he announced in a trembling voice, "T-the devil is here."
The church bell pealed from the tower, its sound bouncing off walls and windows, sending sparrows flying from its loud echo. Two nuns slowly opened the wooden door, radiant sunlight came in, and the church was wrapped in hymns of prayer.
The nuns started to sing; their voices were like angels. A piano solo accompanied, as a group of young people sang along with the nuns, their voices ethereal, as if they were singing in heaven.
A group of new nuns entered the church. They wore white dresses, and white veils covered their heads, as if they were getting married. Sophia was among them.
Black fumes of smoke engulfed the hotel lobby, from which a solitary figure of a woman slowly emerged from the embers. Dressed in black that seemed to usher in death — long sleeves, pants, and boots enveloped her form. With a katana sword strapped to her back, her lengthy hair tied in a ponytail, she wielded machine guns in her hands.
The choir's voices, sweet and soothing, echoed off the walls and up to the roof, making the birds dance in circles.
Margo did not bother to cover her face as she walked, unflinching, alongside the flames. Terror was all over the faces of the men surrounding her, yet they did not hesitate to fire their guns. Flying bullets created a deafening symphony around her, like lightning tearing through her clothes. She lowered her head, strutting through the ashes as tin projectiles fell like rain in a raging storm.
Margo stopped and chose to stand in the middle of the lobby. She smirked. "It's my turn." She raised her arms and pulled the triggers. The machine guns showered them with unstoppable bullets, leaving only five men standing in the lobby. She ran out of shells and carelessly tossed the weapons into a corner. A brave man lunged at her with a punch; Margo dodged, swiftly snatched a dagger from her waist, and deftly slit his throat. She picked up his gun and fired once more until all of them were dead.
Sophia knelt at the altar, flanked by three prioresses. The Mother Reverend held the Bible, while the second abbess removed the veil from Sophia's head. The third nun cut a piece of Sophia's hair and placed it in a gold container, presenting it on the altar as an offering to God.
The song echoed inside the church, the hymn of "Ave Maria" filling the air with its sweet and soothing melody, resonating off the walls and up to the roof, compelling the birds to dance in circles.
Sophia uttered a solemn prayer in her mind. As the small bell rang in front of the altar, sparrows fluttered above. She closed her eyes, feeling the wind gently caress her face.
With a cold gaze, Margo walked a path lined with burning bodies. Entering the elevator, she was immediately met with bullets. Weighing her katana in her right hand, she slashed through the air with expert precision as the doors opened.
As Sophia gradually opened her eyes, the Mother Reverend began to pray in a loud, clear voice, "O God, you called us to turn away from the vanities of the world, its desires, cares, and ambitions."
With every slash of her sword, Margo cleaved open abdomens, intestines spilling onto the floor in pinkish coils. Blood flowed like a river, staining the floors and splashing against the walls of the hotel, its beauty utterly marred by gore and blood.
"We beseech you, be gracious to your handmaid, who for the sake of your love, lays down the adornment of her head," the mother reverend continued the prayer, undisturbed by the chaos unfolding elsewhere.
Unsatisfied with just one opponent, Margo drove her katana deeper into a stomach, then turned to stab another assailant approaching her, impaling two bodies with one sword. Pure hatred blazed in her eyes.
The time bomb detonated, setting the helicopter ablaze in a fiery explosion. "We're all going to die," Akihiro whispered, a sorrowful smile crossing his lips as he felt death approaching and embraced his fate with open arms. He slowly rose, Marcel powerless to stop him, accepting the inevitable end with a sense of peace amidst the destruction.
Akihiro entered a serene room bathed in the soft morning light and knelt on the polished wooden floor, facing the expansive window. Outside, the sky unfolded in a canvas of blues and golds as the sun cast a warm, embracing glow on his face, illuminating the quiet resolve etched into his features. Simultaneously, in the sacred silence of the church, Sophia knelt on the cool stone floor, a delicate veil draping elegantly over her head—a profound symbol of obedience and the purity of her heart. The scapular draped around her shoulders symbolized the yoke of Lord Jesus Christ, a solemn burden she willingly accepted, embracing her vows with a heart full of devotion.
Akihiro carefully extracted a slender dagger hidden within the elegant craftsmanship of his cane, a single tear escaping his right eye, tracing a path down his weathered cheek. "If I had not already accepted my death, I would mourn the loss of my life," he whispered into the stillness of the room, his voice a soft farewell to a life lived in the shadows of violence.
"O God, you have shown us that our hearts cannot be satisfied with earthly goods and find peace only in you," intoned one of the nuns, her voice resonating with faith as she read aloud from an ancient, leather-bound prayer book, its pages worn from years of devotion.
As the light danced upon the blade of his dagger, making it glint sharply against the morning sun, tears streamed down Akihiro's face. He offered one last, longing look at the sun, its rays bathing him in a light that seemed to cleanse and forgive. "I have found peace...goodbye," he whispered, his voice barely a breath as he welcomed his end. With a steady hand, he plunged the dagger into his side, allowing life to ebb away from his body. His skin took on the pallor of a corpse, a final spill of blood escaping from his mouth. His head gently slumped, finally surrendering his life to the morning sun.
As his life faded, the church bell tolled, its melody weaving through the air in a chaotic symphony.
The man grunted and delivered a forceful blow to Margo's face. She only grinned in response. Using the back of her elbow, she struck his face, sending a jolt of pain across his cheek. The man retaliated, punching Margo on the side. With a closed fist, she charged and landed a straight jab to his neck. Hitting an important nerve, he staggered backward, his arms losing their strength and his legs beginning to weaken. Margo seized his head by the hair and twisted his neck until it made a crunchy sound, reminiscent of a twig breaking.
The man fell lifeless.
Margo picked up her sword and placed it on her back, waiting for them. Her clothes were tattered and covered in blood. She took a deep breath as footsteps approached.
The bishop placed a ring on Sophia's finger, and the nun beside her recited a prayer. "Receive this ring, for you are betrothed to the eternal King; keep faith with your Bridegroom so that you may come to the wedding feast of eternal joy. Amen."
"She's here!" a burly man shouted before rapidly firing shots at her. Margo, unharmed as always, snatched the gun away, pointed the muzzle at his head, and fired. The bullet penetrated the eye socket, and brain matter exploded from the back of his skull, splattering against the white wall. The body fell to the floor like some life-sized doll, his remaining eye open, staring blankly at her.
Clad in a white veil, Sophia listened as Sister Clara solemnly prayed. "Receive the crown of excellence, that as you are crowned by us on earth, so may you merit to be crowned by Christ with glory and honor. Amen."
As expected, the enemies attacked her again. The katana cleaved hearts from bodies, with arteries protruding like rubber hoses. She peeled their rib cages open, the whiteness of their bones sticking out from the flesh. Margo found solace in their screams, like music to her ears. Pain transformed her. Anger built up in her heart, and her misery was beyond control.
Margo grabbed a pistol, firing at their heads one by one. Other bullets popped out from skulls with brain tissues wrapped in flying tin projectiles, and it shot another body. She cut off their heads, pierced their hearts, and mercilessly slit their throats.
Margo reached the room where the remaining leaders were huddled. She bore the scent of blood; her clothes were torn, her face smeared with stains. Turning the knob, she opened the door. As soon as she stepped in, they fired their guns at her, but Margo was already numb to the bullets. She approached Don Alejandro and, with a movement as swift as lightning, her weapon lashed out, decapitating him. His head fell to the floor as her green eyes turned coldly to Marcel.
"Y-you're the devil!" Marcel exclaimed, looking at her with numbed horror. She smirked, and in one fluid motion, she pierced his neck. Marcel collapsed, lifeless, onto the floor.
Margo withdrew the katana from Marcel's neck and tossed it aside. She then stood before the window, watching as the sky transformed into a glorious blue. Turning her back to the sun, she faced the door, silently awaiting the grand finale.
The choir's voice was smooth and clear, powerful yet soothing, weaving a tapestry of sound that was both beautiful and magical. Sophia felt a profound sense of closeness to God, silently wishing the song would never end.
Meanwhile, more and more footsteps approached Margo's location. She held a small device, the key to detonating bombs planted on every floor of the hotel. With a single press of a button, the entire building could be brought to collapse.
The enemies entered the room, each one aiming their guns at her. Margo leaned back against the glass window, her posture relaxed yet defiant.
Fear was evident in their eyes as they stared at her, but Margo's face remained emotionless, with only a hint of sadness glimmering in her gaze. Everyone's finger tensed on the trigger; dotted laser lights danced around her body, marking her with their aim.
Gunshots cracked in the air like thunder, bullets scattering around her body like seeds flung wide. The window behind her shattered, its fragments glittering in the air like diamonds caught in a sunbeam. A strong wind caressed the nape of her neck. "Please...kill me," Margo whispered, her laughter devoid of humor, revealing the anguish in her heart that a thousand bullets could never match.
"By this perpetual profession, dear Sister, you are now fully and definitively a Handmaid of the Precious Blood and incorporated into our Congregation with all its rights, favors, and privileges. Amen," the mother reverend intoned the final prayer, sealing Sophia's lifelong commitment.
Margo slowly retreated as all guns remained trained on her, their holders stunned to find her still standing. She took a backward step toward the shattered window, another step poised at the brink of the void. Closing her eyes and wearing a sad smile, she braced for more bullets. With a heart heavy with mourning, she let herself fall from the window's edge.
The cold air rushed against her, chilling her spine as the top floor erupted in fire behind her. Each level detonated in succession, the hotel crumbling in parallel with her descent, its destruction mirroring a volcanic eruption, dark smoke billowing into the sky.
The church bell tolled, its peal echoing as birds scattered from the tower.
Tears filled Margo's eyes as she stared at the sky. "You ruined her life. I fixed your mess. In the end, she chose you," she silently offered her resentment to God. The wind hastened her fall, pulling her down with indifferent force. No longer caring about the impact, a sad smile lingered on her lips; she closed her eyes and surrendered to gravity, embracing the destruction that awaited her.
Her spine loudly smashed against the glass of the indoor swimming pool, her body cascading through the shattered ceiling until she finally plummeted into the water below. Margo's eyes remained closed as she let the water envelop her in a gentle embrace, allowing herself to sink. Her body drifted downwards slowly, surrounded by a swirling vortex of bubbles that clung to her like ethereal companions.
Sophia, now a devoted servant of God, felt something stir in her heart at the sound of the bell. Guided by the rays of sunlight that filtered through the church windows, she turned her gaze outside. Birds flew in, their wings fluttering against the backdrop of the vaulted ceiling. Carried by the breeze, a single feather floated towards her, and she reached out to catch it. The feather descended soundlessly into her hand, and for reasons she couldn't explain, a sharp pang of sorrow pierced her heart.
Meanwhile, the water closed in around Margo, its embrace slowly pulling her deeper. The initial shock of coldness dissolved into insignificance as a profound sense of anguish gripped her heart. "Please take away my pain...even just for a while," she wished silently, longing for her sorrow to be washed away by the depths of the water, seeking solace in its cold embrace.
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