[ As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible. ]

[kowase]

WHO: Vergil, Dante, and You.
WHERE: Libra app.
WHEN: Morning of May 10th.
WHAT: Wolfwood's gone and there's blood everywhere.
WARNINGS: tws for mild violence bc hoo boy.

[ why is it usually always the morning when Vergil addresses the network? It's like some sort of running Habit.
But this time it isn't some awkward text message or ask, some stuffily delivered lines with a reluctance to come out with what he's struggling with.

No.
It's a sort of painful to look at sight, as the video is a slow pan over the front of his antiques shop. The front window behind where the silver-haired bookish demon can usually be found has been smashed--outward, for the observant, which means whatever broke it came from inside.
On the sidewalk in front of said window, there's a splattering of blood. Bright crimson in some places, a brackish black in others.

a certain large Cross-Shaped gun is half-hanging out the window, seemingly left behind; dropped suddenly as its owner seems to have just... disappeared. ]

My CCTV cameras were all wrapped in strange paper. The video feed from them show nothing but a single dark, painted eye.
I hear voices on the feed, but most of them are muffled. I know for sure one is of my deliveryman. Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

There are bullets littering the inside of the shop. He broke open no less than three of the display cases.
I'm certain there's other things broken, but for now, that is not important.

[ there's a shout from behind the camera, one of a different demon--filled with a passionate, almost growling rage. What's important is one of those Order dickheads waltz onto our turf and took Nick!

Vergil sighs. ]

The ones behind this are getting sloppier. There's demonic blood everywhere. And I am most certain this is our 'fourth victim'.
I was there when we rescued Fugo. If the demon who did this is listening...

You will not walk away from this one with your life.
And it will not even be me who threatens it.

[homily ?? ] I don't wanna lose anymore love

[asipofbride]

WHO: Father Nicholas D. Wolfwood and you!
WHERE: ???
WHEN: After Vergil's insurance claim documentation
WHAT: Wolfwood always said he wasn't a priest, but would you look at that. Turns out he knows how to testify in the name of the Angels after all.
WARNINGS: crucifixion and general bastardized religious themes

in His name we pray
amen.

[ The night after Wolfwood's disappearance, the broadcast comes through to do what it does best.

There's a public access quality to the image--a sort of Gaussian granularity to the screen, everything just a little fuzzy and haloed in its own light. Rows upon rows of a church's pews are filled with masked, uniformed people, staring ramrod straight up the aisle to where Nicholas D. Wolfwood looks... different than usual.

For one, he's not smoking. For two, he's traded his more relaxed all-black look for more of a formal suit, pressed white collared shirt with wide lapels standing in stark contrast to the black he's wearing as he towers in front of a pulpit, a strange book in hand as he looks over the congregation, eyes glittering golden and bright as his usual sunglasses are also nowhere in sight. He breathes in--and speaks in a dry, dispassionate drawl, thumb running up and down the spine of his bible as he recalls its teachings from memory. the wall behind him is stone and stained glass, windows depicting angels diving from heaven with halos made of glowing radiance and hands curled around swords as people reach up to them, pleading. the middle of the wall, where a crucifix would normally hang in this sort of set up, is covered with a white sheet. ]

Suffering is a necessity, brothers and sisters of the Faith--it is the only form of redemption that we sinners have left, the only contribution we can truly offer after a lifetime of hedonistic greed, of unquenchable gluttony. We have devoured the Holy Body of the Lord and his Angels without offering gratitude; we covet and we destroy and we malign what was sacrificed for us, and so the time has come for a sacrifice to be provided in kind.

Sin is agony, and there is nothing left to us but our sinful nature--therefore, we breed our own discontent, our own suffering, and we will never know peace until we learn of the nature of freely given sacrifice. It is our duty, brothers and sisters, to surrender ourselves to the will of the Divine, to raise up our agony with penitent gratitude and allow ourselves to become instruments of God and His Angels of Salvation. They will raise paradise on this barren wasteland that we have so thoroughly destroyed as a result of our detestable, yet inevitable nature, and They will bring us the sweet relief of Rapture, of repentance, and of the rewards promised to us once upon a time, before we broke our first covenants with God and turned from Him in our arrogant, unquenchable thirst for more than we have ever been due.

Praise be to the Angels.

[ Father Wolfwood prowls before his pulpit like the wolf in his namesake, staring down on his flock with hard, unhappy eyes, and the Faithful call back to him in unison when he pauses to breathe, to look at them full of disappointed admonishment for the sin of their existence.

Eventually, as his preaching--as his ranting--comes to a stop, he half-turns to look behind him. he takes a breath, big and theatrical, and rolls his neck as he gazes back out over his flock, fingers drumming on the spine of his bible. ]

And the road to pious service is difficult, brothers and sisters--it is painful, and asks everything of us, but we are never asked for more than is necessary. We must give what is called for in order to earn our peace, our Paradise--one cannot be given the grace of forgiveness and the reprieve of Eternity without certain sacrifices. [ he moves away from the front of his pulpit, the front of his dais, reaching up to take hold of the corner of the white sheet. ]

It is painful to see one of the flock fall to the wayside--to see them give into selfishness and sin, to stray from the path illuminated for us by the Divine, but we must acknowledge them for their triumphs, correct their failures, and... if they cannot be reformed and brought back to the fold, to cull them before they spread the disease of their weakness through our Divine Body. Our work cannot be impeded--and we must trim as many branches as necessary to keep the tree healthy and hale.

[ He flicks his wrist, tugging the sheet down, and Nicholas D. Wolfwood is having a very bad time from where he's nailed upside-down on the cross. His clothing is dirty and ragged and one of his shoes has gone missing. He's breathing hard, trying to fold himself up to get some of the blood out of his head as Father Wolfwood returns to the front of his platform, dismissing Nicholas as if he were only a passing oddity. ]

In accordance with our bylaws, anyone found to stray from his duty by the superior body will be punished--and all the members of his family will receive the same treatment in time, so that they might be cleared of their brother's weakness.

[ Wolfwood unfurls in the middle of the rambling, taking a deep breath and lurching forward, suddenly--straining and ripping himself free of the massive metal rods staking him to the cross, falling to the ground out of sight.

and then a moment later he pops back up, ripping the pulpit up despite the blood on his arms and his general ragged and raw appearance, swinging the wooden stand at Father Wolfwood as the congregation surges up to swallow them both as Wolfwood lunges for Wolfwood, screaming. ]

You can't do this to me again! I played my part, I did the work, you can't--

[ The image cuts on a tableau of Wolfwood trying to get his hands around Wolfwood's neck as the Faithful mob around them, crawling over one other with their hands outstretched as they swallow the two men like a faceless wave. ]