❇︎ eden’s gate sweetheart ❇︎

The Bliss.

That was the last thing you remembered before you blacked out and were taken by the Project at Eden's Gate. Now, as you woke up, you noticed someone was holding your arms.

Two Peggies were dragging you through the night to nowhere.

And your head was still spinning, leaving you with almost no feeling in your body as they finally let go, and you fell into the dirt, unable to say anything.

A voice came from somewhere above you. "This one?"

"No. This one." Another voice. And this time, you noticed the man pointing down, standing right in front of you.

All it took was a single hand grabbing the back of your shirt, and you were dragged forward. Soon, you realized that you'd reached the river.

"Don't seem very worthy."

"It is not for us to judge. Deliver them unto the waters. The Cleansing begins tonight."

What those two Peggies said? It is not for us to judge. It made you want to laugh.

That was rich, coming from people who'd shot at you and your colleagues, burned down houses, and kidnapped the innocent of Hope County.

But the laugh wouldn't come.

Once they stopped, you were held upright again by the two cultists. Ahead of you, right in front of the headlights of a van, John Seed stood in the water like a preacher at his own baptism. He held a book in one hand with a white cover, with the symbol of the Project at Eden's Gate on it in gold, yet that was all you could make out. His other arm was raised, and his thumb was pressed to the forehead of a woman getting pushed toward him.

"We must wash away our past." Maybe what he said was for the other initiates in the water, the cult members on the riverbank, or maybe God himself. "We must expose our sins. We must atone. For only then may we stand in the light of God and walk through his Gate unto Eden."

Letting the woman go, a cultist directed her toward the van just as another initiate was pushed into her place. After the initiates were gone, the cultists holding you started to move you toward whatever came next.

"Not this one."

John stopped them, and when you raised your head, he was standing just a few feet away, the book closed now and given over to another cultist.

He was staring at you. Right into your eyes. "This one's not clean."

Before you could understand what that meant, his hands grabbed your shoulders, and he pushed you backward into the water. You hadn't been ready, and you hadn't even managed to breathe before the panic came. You could see John's face through the water, waiting and watching you drown.

This is it, you thought. This is how it ends. Drowned by a damn cultist in a river in Montana, while nobody knows I'm here.

Yet John yanked you up, with the water running out of your nose and mouth as you coughed after having felt the panic of your lungs giving up.

Holding you upright, he watched you choke. "Ahhh," John smiled. "Shhh."

He seemed to enjoy what he was putting you through and shook his head, trying to look disappointed. His smile disappeared, and you knew he was about to put you under a second time. But while getting forced under once more, the calm voice that came from everywhere and nowhere stopped him.

"Do you mock the Cleansing, John?"

Joseph Seed.

John stopped, and he immediately stepped away from you, with you trying not to fall onto your knees. He moved to the side while looking down, standing there in a way you'd never expected to see from a man like him.

"No, Joseph."

Between the headlights of the van, he stood there, like a saint in a church.

The Father.

This wasn't real, right? No, it couldn't be. The light moved wrong around him, and it was as if the trees around you started to glitch, with white particles flowing all around you. Even knowing it wasn't real didn't make it less true. Joseph was definitely there, in front of you, and his eyes were on John.

"Shhh," Joseph told his brother. "You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that."

His voice sounded so gentle and so kind that you could almost believe that the man you were supposed to arrest meant it. However, Joseph raised his fist and pointed directly at you with a single finger.

"Bring that one to me."

A cultist pushed you forward, or maybe you floated. The Bliss and shock from almost getting drowned made it hard to tell. Still, your body moved through the water and toward the man standing in the light. And Joseph opened his arms.

Touching your shoulders, he looked into your eyes with an expression of such love that it made you feel sick.

"Despite all that you have done, you are not beyond salvation. You are not here by accident or by chance. You are here by the grace of God. You've been given a gift. Now it remains to be seen whether you choose to embrace it..."

His eyes looked so blue behind those yellow aviators, and so, so sincere.

"...or to cast it aside."

Joseph let go of you before he turned to the side, and there was John, standing next to you. He'd followed, and on his face was the look of a man who had never gotten enough love and was terrified of losing what little he had.

Joseph raised his arm and pointed at you again, though his eyes were quickly on John. "This one shall reach the Atonement."

His other hand came up, moving it to the back of John's head and pulling him closer until their foreheads touched. "Or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John."

John's breathing stopped, or at least, you swore it did. But his eyes stayed closed, with his forehead still against his brother's.

"Yes, Joseph."

Joseph's palm stayed on the back of his head for a while longer before he turned and walked into the night. Suddenly, he was gone. John stood there in silence as he watched his brother leave, staring at where he had been standing before he faced you.

"You will confess. Every sin you've ever committed, no matter how petty, no matter how small. I will pull them from you, one by one. I will hold them up to the light and name them, and you will watch them burn. Then we'll see if you're worthy of Atonement."

Continuing to stare into your eyes for a while before he lifted his chin, a Peggie came up right at your side.

"Put her in the van."

The cultist's fist grabbed you way too hard, even though you were too tired to resist and too weak to fight. He didn't care at all. You let yourself be brought toward the van with the open doors and the other waiting victims of Eden's Gate inside.

"No."

The man stopped as John walked over, looking at the others, only to focus on you.

"Not with others." He reached past you and pushed the van door shut. "She comes with me."

The cultist let go of you, and John immediately grabbed your arm, yanking at it. "My car. Now."

Dragging you away from the river and the van, you stumbled after him. The car waited near some of the many trees, and John quickly opened the passenger door and pushed you inside. He sat down in the driver's seat next, turned on the engine, and pulled out onto the dark road without looking back. Meanwhile, you were watching the night in Hope County, with no idea where he was taking you and no voice left to ask.

You are not beyond salvation.

All the way, the car drove in silence. And it was the silence of a man talking to himself in his own head, not liking what he heard or what he was told.

You have to love them, John.

John wouldn't even look at you the entire way to wherever he was driving. His hands were holding the steering wheel, occasionally stroking his beard from time to time, and his eyes were staring at the road in front of him. The book you'd seen him holding at the river with the symbol of the Project at Eden's Gate was on the console between you, now closed.

You thought about grabbing it and throwing it at his head. Or maybe just opening the door and throwing yourself out into the dark.

But you wouldn't move. And even if you could fight, where exactly would you go? You didn't know this road in Hope County, and you certainly didn't know this part of the woods. John slowed down the car when the road changed, his eyes looking into the darkness ahead, and you saw it: John's Gate.

Black Horse Peak.

When he stopped the engine, he opened his door and got out.

You thought that, if you stayed very quiet and made yourself very small, he would maybe forget about you. That he would go inside and do whatever it was he did down there, and you could find a way to escape to Fall's End.

A moment later, your door was opened by him, with a look on his face that was ever so unreadable.

"Get out."

Watching how you refused to listen, he grabbed your arm and pulled you out, though he kept you from falling.

"Walk."

You stood still, staring at the entrance of the bunker. "Where are we?"

John wouldn't answer, grabbing the back of your neck to push you toward the door.

"I said walk."

Walking up the path and through a steel door he unlocked with a key he wore on a chain around his neck, you had a feeling that this was definitely a place people didn't just leave.

John pushed you deeper into the bunker, past closed doors and through big corridors. While you walked, you tried to memorize the turns. Left. Right. Another left. But since the Bliss had messed with your sense of direction, everything literally looked the same. Huge and endless.

"Move." He shoved you forward.

"Just let go of me!" You stumbled and caught yourself against another door, but your plea sounded pathetic, even to you.

John laughed in return when you reached another one of those blast doors as he turned the wheel to open it. Was this part of the bunker some private wing? You couldn't tell, nor did you want to know. All you wanted was to get the hell out of this place.

"No. Stop fighting."

"Fuck you!" This answer made you expect a reaction from him, though all he did was to shove you further through a long corridor.

After a while, he stopped at another door. Not much different from any of the others you'd seen so far, except that when he pushed it open, the smell hit you first.

Bleach and iron. Dark stains on the floor. Red lights everywhere… It was the smell and the sight of blood that had dried and that had been scrubbed clean over and over and never quite disappeared.

In the center of the room stood a large, heavy steel table; bolted to its surface was a flat cross with leather restraints at the four corners. It looked less like a bed and more like an altar for a very specific kind of sacrifice.

It was the shape of the crux decussata, the Roman ten. Saint Andrew was begging for it, a martyr who didn't feel holy enough to die upright. On a table like that, you weren't just killed; you were shown off in a state of surrender, spread out on it until there was nothing left to give.

It was a Saltire.

John Seed had taken a symbol of sacrifice and turned it into an altar where your soul was supposed to end and his 'Atonement' was meant to begin.

The sight of it made you stop walking.

"No." You couldn't help but whisper in fear. "No, no, no, no!"

For a moment, you thought and hoped that John was letting you leave as he let go of you, but then he turned, and his fingers squeezed your jaw, forcing your face up to look into his eyes.

"No?" His voice sounded way gentler than before. "That's not the word you are supposed to use."

Letting go of you and stepping back, the gentleness you thought you'd just heard went away.

"Get on it."

John wasn't angry yet, at least, and seemed more curious while trying very hard to pretend he wasn't.

"I said… Get. On. It."

Your back hit the wall. You hadn't meant to move, yet you couldn't help pushing yourself against it like it could save you somehow.

John was right there, with his fist in your hair, pulling you across the room before he stopped near the crux decussata. Thinking he was about to bend you over on it as his other hand grabbed your shoulder and pushed forward, you fell. Right in front of it.

"There. That's where you belong."

You stayed on your knees because your legs had given up again.

Even though you couldn't see it, he was smiling. "No one fights anymore." John let go of your hair. "Not really… I bring them to the water, and they're already done with fighting. They are already saying Yes before I even ask. It's efficient, I suppose. It's grace." He started to walk in circles around you. "But it's not very satisfying."

That's when you heard him stop behind you. "You," he continued, "are very satisfying."

"What do you want from me!?" You screamed at him, louder, desperate to just run and get out of here, just before John came around to face you.

"Want?" He crouched down to look into your eyes. "I don't want anything from you, Deputy. I want everything for you. There's a difference."

Slowly, he held out an arm, and his fingers brushed your cheek, making you flinch away from his touch.

"Salvation. Atonement. Freedom from your sins." His fingers moved along your jaw and your throat and stopped right underneath it. "I want to give, and show you, the Power of Yes... Just say it."

"I don't fucking want it!" Nonetheless, you were hoping that talking might help the situation you were stuck in, but John only gave you the same smile from the river, looking somehow beautiful and horrible at the same time, yet very much sincere.

Standing up, he turned from you to face the crux decussata, only to look at the small table right next to it. On it were tools that looked like they would rather belong in a hospital. Though you couldn't see all of them from where you knelt, you definitely saw enough. Blades. Clamps. Needles. And more such tools, whatever they were. That alone made you want to throw up, but you swallowed and forced it back down.

"Please." You were begging now. "Please..."

"Oh, please?" He repeated your plea as he looked through the tools. "Please don't save you? Please don't cleanse you? Please don't love you?"

Deciding to take a knife, you realized it looked like one a surgeon might use. A scalpel, but with a different kind of handle and not the one you would usually expect in a hospital. This one was thicker, with an angled and longer handle.

"Joseph said I have to love you," he reminded you. "And I do. I've loved you since the first time I saw you. Since the first time you looked at me with hate and so full of wrath."

That was when he turned around, needing to make sure you were actually listening.

"And I love the way you refuse to say Yes. I love that you're still trying to find a way out. Away from God." Grabbing you, he threw you backward while you were on the floor. "I'm going to love every sin. I'm going to cut them out of you one by one, and then I'm going to fill you with Yes."

You couldn't move because his hand was on your throat, keeping you still. And then you felt it, the blade, cutting through your shirt and slicing it open right down the middle.

"And when you're clean, when you're finally cleansed, you're going to thank me for saving you from Hell."

Once he was done, his fingers touched and slid down between your tits. You tried to push him away with your legs, to escape somehow, even if there was nowhere to go. It only made John's smirk grow.

"Stay still. This will be so much easier for you if you stay still."

"Don't." Your voice was shaking. "Don't fucking touch me! Don't you dare fucking touch me!"

The hand he'd used to touch your skin moved to hold one of your hands.

"You're the one who came to Hope County. You're the one who fought us, killed our people, and took some of our properties. Only to refuse, over and over, to say, 'Yes!'" His fingers slid softly over your palm. "You did this. Not me. You."

Bringing up the scalpel, he pressed it against your wrist.

"When the Father says I have to love you, then I will. You should understand that by now, Deputy. Accept it." John moved the scalpel up your forearm, over the inside of your elbow, and toward your wrist again.

You watched him slice the blade through the long sleeve of your shirt. "Please. Please, I'll do anything. Just, please! Don't!"

"Anything?" He stopped when he was close to your shoulder. "Would you say Yes?"

Opening your mouth, you let John wait for an answer that wouldn't come, so he just continued to cut open your shirt, now the other sleeve. Every time the blade cut a little bit of your skin, he let out a small and satisfied sigh. He did it on purpose, cutting you and making you flinch to try to escape the pain. When you were sobbing, his other hand grabbed both your wrists to put them above your head.

"Good… Good. Feel it. Feel every sin leaving your soul."

After the rest of your shirt and also your bra were thrown aside by him, leaving you half-naked, you couldn't even cross your arms to hide yourself. Tightly holding your wrists once more, as well as the scalpel, he pressed the tip against your belly.

"You really are beautiful. All that rage, all that violence. Do you know how many of our men you killed? Do you remember their faces?"

You refused to answer.

"No matter…" He moved the knife higher, between your tits, and up to your throat. "You were always meant to be here. With me. Beneath me."

John let go of your wrists. "Stand up."

Not moving as fast as he wanted you to, he grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet, holding you against his chest, letting you feel the scratch of his beard where his chin pressed against your temple.

"Shhh," he whispered against your head. "Shhh. I know... I know it hurts. Believe me, the pain is grace. Now, look at me."

Trembling, you shook your head.

"I said… look at me."

This time, you dared to look at the man who had taken you with him, yet you couldn't help but look over at the waiting crux decussata. Up close, you could see the restraints at each corner. Black leather cuffs on chains.

Out of nowhere, John threw you hard, making you hit it with your back and a cry of pain. You immediately tried to roll to the other side, yet he was already there, his body pushing your legs down as he sat on them and his hands finding your wrists, putting them over your head just like he'd done before on the floor.

"No!" You cried out. "No!"

"Yes!" John laughed against your ear, already moving again. "Yes, yes, yes!"

The first cuff closed around your left wrist, though he was very careful while using it. Your right wrist followed before he got off you and stepped back to take a good and long look at you. Then his eyes stopped on your thighs, specifically your wet pants.

Without a word, he set the scalpel aside and reached to open them, yanking them down roughly off your legs. You were left in just your soaked panties when John's smile returned, looking ever so amused before he restrained your left ankle and then your right.

Spread out with your arms stretched over your head and to the sides and your legs forced wide apart, your body was trembling helplessly. You pulled at them, thinking maybe you could rip them off, which you tried until your wrists and your ankles hurt, although you hadn't moved an inch. There was no escaping this. But it was all you had left, that pathetic little bit of fight you just couldn't let go.

So you watched how John watched you, his eyes looking at your body like you were some offering on his altar to God.

"Why?" Yelling desperately at him, you already knew that he wouldn't care. "Why the fuck are you doing this to me!?"

John tilted his head. "But you already know why, Deputy."

Picking up his tool of choice, he dragged it slowly across his own palm, yet it wasn't deep enough to make him bleed. "This is what love has always looked like. And what it is… to say Yes. My parents were the first ones to teach me about the Power of Yes. One night, they took me into the kitchen, and they threw me on the ground, and I experienced pain after pain after pain after pain. And when I didn't think I could take anymore, I did. Something broke free inside. I wasn't scared; I was... clear. I looked up at them, and I started to laugh. All I could say was... Yes. You have to understand, my dear Deputy. Love is discipline. Love is correction."

He stepped closer. "And they taught me the Power of Yes. Every time I said it, the pain stopped. Every time I accepted my punishment, accepted my sin, and accepted that I deserved everything they did to me, I understood that I was loved. That I was finally, finally, worthy of love."

"No!" You shook your head, starting to feel the tears running down your cheeks. "You're insane!"

He smirked, ignoring your words like they were nothing. The knife returned to press into your skin, right between your tits, sliding down until it stopped just underneath the left. "So you see… I'm not hurting you. I'm showing you the way that saved me. The way that will save you, too."

And then he did it. The blade cut into your skin, and you cried out, your body arching off the crux decussata when the pain came. "Fuck! Stop! God, please stop!"

"'For all have sinned!'" He quoted Chapter 3 and Verse 23 of Romans with a rising voice. "'And fall short of the glory of God!'"

The letter L took shape slowly, a clean line downward, then a shorter line at the bottom. To him, it looked perfect, like he was signing his name on your soul. The blood welled up immediately, running along your side, and John leaned in, closing his eyes. He dragged his tongue over the fresh cut, tasting it from bottom to top, and licking up the blood before it could drip onto the crux decussata underneath you.

"Mhm… Sweet. So sweet. You even taste like sin..." He licked his mouth clean, groaning and opening his eyes to stare at the letter L. "One down. Three to go."

You were shaking while the tears were still coming, yet you spat at him anyway. "Go to Hell! Go to fucking Hell! You and your whole fucking family! Fuck you!"

John still couldn't care less about what you had to say as he positioned the scalpel just above your skin again. The blade of it cut in for the U, slower this time. Biting your lip, you let out a whimper.

"Don't move, Deputy," John was whispering now, his free hand grabbing your side to keep you from moving. "Don't move. Don't fight. Let God in. Let me in."

As he worked, he positioned himself differently, maybe on purpose, maybe not, who the fuck knew with him? His thigh pressed between your legs, shoving forward until it pushed right against your pussy. And you felt him. Hard as hell, his cock throbbing as it rubbed against the inside of your thigh.

John moaned at the feeling, closing his eyes. "God," he gasped with a smile. "God, you feel…"

He trailed off as he put his forehead to your shoulder, with the knife held loosely between his fingers, before he bucked his hips forward repeatedly. You could feel every inch of his twitching cock, pulsing with need as he moved against you. He was already breathing faster, yet moving with slow thrusts that made his whole body tremble.

"My brother said to love you. But he didn't say how. He didn't say… Joseph never tells me how!"

Despite yourself, your hips bucked harder, and you gasped. You hated it, hated how his cock was so close, how the feeling of him went through your soaked panties.

"Get off me!" You tried to move in the restraints, which only made his cock leak more. "You're so fucking disgusting! Stop!"

His free hand slid back up to the cuts, smearing the blood around as he kept grinding against your thigh.

Slowly, he opened his eyes after a while. "I have to. I have to finish this."

Taking the scalpel, the knife, or whatever it was—you didn't give a shit about that tool anymore apart from wanting to slit his throat with it—John started on the letter S.

They were just slices that made your blood drip faster across your ribs, with him grinding in time with each cut. The pain was turning on his lust. And as you screamed, it only made him moan.

"God, yes!" He leaned down to lick the blood away with his tongue again, laughing loudly and sucking lightly with his mouth as he cleaned it. The taste must have driven him wild because his hips bucked harder, and a wet spot formed on his pants, the precum that was slowly soaking through.

You whimpered, hating the sound, hating how your pussy clenched at such a feeling between your legs. "Shit! Stop!" Your voice turned into sobs. "That hurts! Please! Get off me!"

Stopping, John's eyes stared right between your thighs. You were unable to understand it at first, too lost in the pain and fear, until you tried to follow his line of sight as best as you could. Past your tits and past your bloody ribs, to where your legs were spread wide on the crux decussata.

And even though you realized that your panties were still drenched from the river water, there was another spot—a darker one.

Your pussy was wet. Very wet. Your body had reacted to everything that was happening, to the torture and the terrible feeling of his bulge, and there was no hiding it.

John looked as if he stopped breathing when he reached out, his fingers touching the wet spot before he whispered in adoration. "Look at you, Deputy. So, so willing now…" He pressed a little harder, rubbing your panties against your clit, and your hips bucked without meaning to.

"No, don't," you cried out, as if this would somehow stop him after all the things he'd done already. "I'm not... It's not what you think! Get the fuck away from me! Fuck off!"

"Jeremiah, Chapter 17, Verse 9… 'More torturous than anything is the human heart,'" In an amused voice, he quoted again, with his fingers circling your clit ever so softly, "'and beyond remedy; who can understand it?'"

"Stop! Fuck, please! I don't want this!" Your voice was begging, yet he ignored it as his fingers slipped under the edge of your panties.

It was obvious. You were shamefully wet. And for a man like John Seed, this was more than just an invitation.

"Oh, Deputy," He pushed a finger inside your clenching pussy, even if it wasn't very deep, pumping in and out a little. "You're feeling so nice." He added another finger, stretching you a little wider with a groan.

"No, no, I hate you," you whimpered, moving against his touch despite everything. "You're a fucking monster…"

"'Watch and pray.'" Quoting Matthew, Chapter 26, Verse 41, he ignored your pleas as he fingered you harder, pushing in deeper and knowing exactly where it felt good. "'The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.'"

Unable to deny it, you were getting close… God, you were so close to an orgasm while John was teasing you, even though the word underneath your left tit still wasn't finished yet.

Without any warning, John removed his hand because he had already grabbed the knife once more, with his fingers still wet from your pussy as he took it. The T came next, the last letter, as he continued to grind against you. The upper part was first, then the part downward, and more fresh blood was running along your skin. You screamed, bucking wildly, which only pressed his cock harder against you, making him hiss.

John moved faster after he finished the T. "Yes, yes, fight me!" Breathing harder, he then pulled away and stared at the complete word.

LUST

Four letters were cut into your flesh beneath your left tit, and each was swollen and bleeding. Reaching out again, he touched them lightly with his fingertip, smearing the blood around some more, leaving you to cry quietly.

"Please... it burns! Just let me go. Let me leave, and I'll never go near Holland Valley again! I'll never even return to Hope County, I swear! I swear! Listen to me!"

"Quiet now… Look, look. There it is. One of your sins." He leaned closer, fully kissing the wound before he decided to lick the T as well. Afterward, his mouth kissed over each letter, sucking gently at the cuts. "Have you ever heard of sacramental wine during communion?" He bit a little into your skin around the edges of the cuts, pushing out fresh blood that he immediately licked off. "It's delicious."

His cock still throbbed in his pants, and the wet spot of precum was growing bigger, but he didn't touch himself yet. "First Corinthians, Chapter 10, Verse 16… 'The chalice of benediction, which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ?' You see what your body confesses? What it knows, even when your words sound like the lies coming from a serpent?"

Turning your head to the side, you couldn't look at him anymore.

When his fingers grabbed your chin and turned it in his direction, he quickly pressed with his thumb against your lips until your mouth opened slightly. "I'm going to miss that, you know, when it's gone. When you finally say Yes and all that beautiful rage has been cleansed away."

Once he let go of your face, his eyes went down to look at your pussy. "But you haven't said it yet. You haven't given me the word." Looking back up, the word LUST was staring back at John. "Say it." His voice got louder. "Say Yes, Deputy. Say it!"

You shook your head, biting your tongue. "No... I won't! No!"

That was enough for John. Gone was the Inquisitor preaching and quoting scripture from the Bible. He quickly picked up the forgotten scalpel from the crux decussata and jumped at you, yelling into your face.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no! You will! You'll say it! I promise you! You will!"

He grabbed the edge of your panties with his fist, pulling them aside from your body, and ripped them off with the blade in fast cuts, making you scream in shock. Pieces of it were thrown to the floor by him, and then he was about to throw the scalpel aside, too. Though in the end, he only held it tighter.

"The Book of Revelation! Chapter 17, Verse 1! 'And there came one of the seven angels, which had the seven vials, and talked with me, saying unto me, Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters!'" He was laughing as he stared at your naked pussy that was looking ever so wet under the red lights. "Verse 16! 'And the ten horns which thou sawest upon the beast, these shall hate the whore and shall make her desolate and naked and shall eat her flesh and burn her with fire!' And you still won't say Yes? To God? To me!? You're mine to save! Joseph said love you! Love you!"

Before you could even think about what he said and meant, he climbed onto the crux decussata with you, his knees pushing your hips down. The scalpel was back at your skin, this time higher, moving up your chest, over the bloody LUST, and up to your throat.

"Revelation, Chapter 18, Verse 24! 'And in her was found the blood of prophets and of saints and of all who have been slaughtered on earth!' And you think you can deny me!?" John yelled into your face. "Deny Him? Deny the Atonement?!"

Putting the knife into his left hand this time, he moved it lower and pushed it into the side of your right ribs, between the bones where the flesh gives way. He cut into it, though not deep enough to kill.

Because John Seed needed you alive for salvation.

But it was definitely deep enough that you felt every inch of the blade sliding through your flesh and through a bit of the layer of fat. Blood leaked out immediately, running over your skin again as you whined in fear and pain.

"The Gospel of John, Chapter 19, Verse 34." His free hand reached out and stopped just over the wound without touching it yet. "'Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus' side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water!'"

"Stop! God, please! It hurts! It hurts so damn much!" You finally managed to scream back at him, but John didn't stop. "Yes, Deputy!" His eyes were wide. "Scream every single one of your sins out!"

His mouth was on the new wound, sucking hard at the deep cut, moaning against your skin as he drank from it. Licking, sucking, and biting around it to make more blood leak out. The pull hurt more than anything, opening it up further, but his mouth kept going.

"Taste of wrath... taste of lust..." John pulled away with red-smeared lips, blood dripping a little from his chin as he tried to talk.

Leaning back down to gather more blood, he filled his mouth until he had enough. Without warning, his hands grabbed your thighs hard, holding you still from flinching around underneath him.

You knew what was coming, but it didn't prepare you at all before John spat after he leaned back down, making your own blood run over your clit and your pussy. It was disgusting, and yet your pussy clenched at the feeling, betraying you again as it had done before.

"No!" You pulled wildly at chains, screaming in fear. "Stop! You sick fuck! You're fucking crazy! I'll kill you! I will kill you!"

Not stopping, John buried his face between your legs with his tongue licking everywhere. Right across your clit and even sucking on it.

"Mhm, yes," he growled against your pussy. "This! This is communion!"

Hating every second of this nightmare, you continued to scream. John's tongue thrust inside you, fucking you with it and licking up more of the blood until he pulled back.

"Do you want me to help you?" He lifted his head, laughing. "Tell me! Do you want this to end? Say the word, Deputy!"

Feeling how your pussy throbbed after he had teased you, you were still able to shake your head. "No... I mean, FUCK!"

The pain from the wound at your side was now mixed with sweat, while his mouth worked you over. "Say it! Yes or no?! Give me the Power of Yes!"

"No! No!" Your screams turned to whimpers, but your hips bucked up toward his mouth anyway, not caring about how much you hated him.

"Liar!" John bit your inner thigh hard enough to make it bleed there, too. "The Book of Psalms! Chapter 34, Verse 8! 'Taste and see that the Lord is good!'" Eating you out, his tongue pushed back in deep, then out again to lick your clit, over and over, devouring you.

The orgasm you didn't want? It was coming. Forced out by him. "Please... John, I…"

"Do you want this to end!? Say Yes if you want my grace! Say Yes to God!" He yelled again, two fingers getting pushed inside your pussy next, before he continued to suck on your clit.

You couldn't hold it back any longer, screaming as the orgasm came ever so hard, with your pussy clenching around his fingers. "Yes! Fuck, yes, stop, no… yes!"

Pulling back almost immediately, John laughed with wide eyes, licking his lips clean. "There it is! The first 'Yes;' Deputy! Praise be!"

Trembling, you squeezed your eyes shut in shame, unable to look at the man whose mouth was smeared red with your own blood.

Inside your head, you weren't in the bunker anymore.

You were a child, sitting on a bench in your local church, with your Grandma's hand gripping your wrist too tightly because you'd squirmed during the reading. Grandma had been dead for a few years now. But her voice wasn't. You also remembered her hand patting your knee during the scary parts. "It's just a story, sweetheart. A warning. God loves you."

'The Apocalypse of John,' she'd always called the Book of Revelation. "The only book that tells the truth about what's coming."

God loves you…

The words were still there. Deep inside of you, under years of not believing and of skipping church the second you moved away. But not even John Seed could cut those words out of your skin.

"Revelation, Chapter 14 and Verse 10!" You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut as you yelled at him. And you continued, louder this time. "'He will drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out full strength into the cup of His indignation. He shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels...'"

John didn't move after you confessed the verse you remembered, and when you opened your eyes, his hands started to tremble. His own looked empty in a way that scared you more than his anger had.

"You... You know the Word?" He looked confused and hurt, and crawling back onto you, he touched your face softly.

"You know," he whispered in wonder and awe, as you'd just revealed yourself as an angel. "You know and you still… And you still fight me? Us? Why, Deputy… Why?"

His forehead pressed against yours, letting you feel his shaky breath against your lips.

"You're so beautiful." It wasn't sounding the way he'd said it before. "You know… You know Him…"

His lips found your tears first, kissing them away one by one. Your cheeks, too. Each kiss felt gentle, yet for you, it was somehow worse. Worse than the cuts or the way he'd just made you come all over his face.

"I could love you so deeply. I do love you. I have to love you. I already do. I do. But…" Pulling back with wet eyes, he whispered. "Why didn't you say Yes before? I want you to see. To understand… Is that so wrong? Is wanting to save someone from the Collapse wrong?"

John genuinely didn't seem to understand why anyone would choose to fight over surrender, especially you.

You ignored him just like he'd ignored you before. "Chapter 13 and Verses 5 to 6! The Book of Revelation! 'And the Beast was given a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies, and he was given authority to continue… Then he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme His name, His tabernacle, and those who dwell in heaven!'" The wonder in his eyes was gone. "The Apocalypse of John…"

John sat back, making you think he might be done. Maybe your words had reached something, after all.

"Blasphemy?" He let out a laugh, and his hands moved to his belt. "But… Deputy. You really didn’t listen to the verses afterward, did you? 'It was allowed to make war on the saints and to conquer them. And all that dwells upon the earth shall worship the Beast.'"

Watching him reach inside his pants and take out his cock, you couldn't look away. Couldn't close your eyes. Couldn't do anything except lie there and see what you had done to him. He was so hard. Thick and throbbing, still leaking precum. Not once had it gone soft.

He wrapped his hand around himself and pumped once, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You know the Word. You know. So why do you make me do this?"

His hand moved again, slower this time. He was thinking about something inside himself that he didn't understand.

"When Joseph said, 'love you'... I thought it would be easy." A broken laugh escaped him. "I thought you'd fight, and I'd win, and then you'd say Yes, and I could... I could..."

His free hand came up to touch the cuts on your ribs. LUST. It was still bleeding, but his touch was softer this time.

"But you're not like the other sinners. You know Him. You know the Word. And you still..." His jaw tightened. "You still choose wrath over grace. You still choose sin over me."

Moving his hand to your side, he grabbed it tightly.

"I can't let you do that, Deputy." His voice turned into a whisper. "I can't. Not when I know what you could be. What we could be."

And his mouth found yours.

Bloody lips sliding against your own with no patience until his tongue pushed past your teeth, making you taste it.

"I'll take your sins into my body. I'll carry them for you. That's what love does, Deputy."

His hand left your side and found his cock, still sticky from your blood, pumping it faster before he slapped the tip against your swollen pussy a few times, smearing his precum over your pussy lips, teasing himself.

And he thrust into you without mercy.

One deep thrust, letting him push every inch of his cock into you, and John moaned at the feeling, your pussy squeezing him ever so tight. You clenched hard around him, fighting, trying to push him back out, but he was too damn deep, and too thick, stretching you around him until you felt the burn uselessly.

You screamed in agony once he was all the way inside of you, his balls pressing against your ass, with his hips grinding hard near your clit to make sure you really felt every inch.

John let out a broken moan, with his head dropping to your shoulder. Then a laugh came, his whole body shuddering while he stayed inside your clenching pussy.

"Yes… Oh, yes!" He rolled his hips slowly, moving himself deeper to feel you resist.

Quickly, it turned into harder thrusts. Each one drove him balls-deep. John groaned like it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard when he heard you whimper louder. Another deep thrust. He pulled back to watch his cock slide in and out of you.

"Look at what you do to me… What I do to you."

More thrusts followed, fucking the air out of your lungs, which made your pussy get wetter around him despite the pain.

"'The wages of sin are death. But the gift of God…'" His teeth grazed your shoulder. "'…is eternal life…'"

John bit into your skin. He sucked at your flesh, groaning, while his hips lost their rhythm. They were stuttering, then pounding faster, desperately.

"'…through Jesus Christ, our Lord!'"

One hand made its way to your throat, not choking you, but holding its palm over your hammering pulse, feeling it race because of him. For him.

You couldn't speak anymore, only shaking, leaking, and bleeding. All the while, John stared down at you with a smile.

Thrust after thrust, pounding the 'Yes' out of your body until any resistance was gone and all you could do was take him, take the grace he forced inside you. But underneath the pain, underneath the hate, your body kept betraying you. Just like it had done before. Every thrust pushed against that spot inside that made your pussy wetter around him, even as you wished you could go dry.

He felt too good, and you hated it, hated how your hips started to meet his without meaning to, and hated the wet sounds your body made for him.

"Et dabo vobis cor novum..." His voice cracked with each pound of his hips. "Et spiritum novum ponam in medio vestri..." His hand slid down to your tit again, teasing your nipple once, twice, then pinching it roughly. "Et auferam cor lapideum de carne vestra... Et dabo vobis cor carneum…"

His voice was trembling and on the edge of breaking when he started to translate, irritated by the fact that you wouldn't answer him with words anymore.

"A new heart…" His forehead pressed against yours, and his beard tickled your skin. "I will give you. And a new spirit will I put within you... I will take away the heart of stone from you... And give you a heart of flesh…"

He thrust deeper on the last word, grinding right against that certain spot once more, your pussy clenching ever so tight.

"And you shall be my people… And I will be your God."

One of his hands slid down your body, over the bleeding LUST, until his fingers found your clit. He circled it slowly, softly, moving them in time with his hips.

And his rhythm changed. It was slower now, yet still deep. He was savoring this, you realized. Drawing it out and making himself last. But his eyes? His eyes were begging.

"Please," John whispered. "Please, Deputy. Fight me. Scream at me. Don't go quiet. Don't just leave me."

His mouth found your neck, pressing kisses against it, tasting the salt of your sweat, while you kept staring at the ceiling as you'd already left your body behind.

Pulling back, John's hand slapped down onto the crux decussata right beside your head.

"Talk to me!"

You didn't.

John's hips stopped moving, and he grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to look into his. "You know the Word, Deputy! You proved that!"

Nothing. Just your breath was the answer, coming out shallow and fast.

"I will give you a new heart! A new spirit! I will take away your heart of stone!" He thrust back in so hard on that word that it was making you gasp. "And give you a heart of flesh!"

Watching you closely, John waited, knowing you'd answer anyway. "Show me you're still there..."

"Ezekiel…" Your voice was wrecked from screaming and crying. But it was yours. Then you spat in his face. "Chapter 36, Verses 26 and 28."

All you heard at first was a laugh. John actually laughed like you'd given him a gift.

"There you are! There you are, my dear Deputy!" He wiped his cheek against his shoulder, smiling. "I knew you weren't gone… And when you're finally, finally clean, when every sin has been carved out of you and replaced with grace? I will take you to Joseph. I will present you to him, whole and healed and saved, and he will see what I've made of you. He will see that I loved you the way he commanded. He will see that I am worthy."

His hips bucked forward. Thrusting harder again. The slap of his hips against yours, the sound of his cock sliding through your soaked pussy, his ragged breathing… You could hear how wet you were. John could hear it too. And he moaned every single time.

"And the Gates of Eden will open for me. And I will walk through them, and you will walk beside me, and we will stand together in the light of God!"

With his breath coming in pants against your throat, he couldn't help but fuck you faster again. John was getting close… You could feel it in the way his cock twitched inside you and the way his hips stuttered and slowed only to pound into you again.

Though he didn't come. Pulling out, his fist was wrapped around his cock roughly, squeezing, and stopping himself with his eyes closed in concentration.

"Iterum…" He whispered. "Again… Once more. I need to love you."

And when he thrust back in, it was as if he had forever, like he meant what he said about walking through Eden with you by his side.

"Iterum," he breathed. "Again."

Another thrust. Another cry.

"Iterum." Again.

"Iterum." Again.

"Iterum!" Again!

Each repetition of this word was timed to a punishing buck of hips, fucking you as if absolution depended on it. John's voice got louder after a while, falling back into scripture.

"Propter quod dico tibi…"

'Therefore I say to thee…'

THRUST.

"…remittentur ei peccata multa…"

'…many sins are forgiven her…'

THRUST.

"…quoniam dilexit multum…"

'…because she loved much…'

THRUST.

"…cui autem minus dimittitur…"

'…but to whom less is forgiven…'

THRUST.

"…minus diligit."

'…he loveth less.'

John moaned as he fucked you as hard as he could, yet he still denied himself, feeling undeserving. He didn't allow himself to come until you said the one word he wished for. Until you really meant it.

"To whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little... Deputy, I have been forgiven much."

His hand slid along your throat, up to your jaw.

"You're my atonement. You're my proof. You're the evidence I'll lay at my brother's feet. But if you willingly say Yes, without needing my help, then everything I've done, everything I've suffered, everything I've become…"

His whole body was shaking again, trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

"…it won't just be for nothing."

Looking at John, this man who had carved a sin into your skin, who had drowned you and restrained you, who was buried inside your bleeding body, you said the only thing you could say.

"No."

This time, John's face didn't change. He just looked at you. Through you. He looked at something you couldn't see, something far away.

"Eventually…"

One word he gave you as an answer was all you got before he leaned down, pressing his lips to your forehead, only to move lower. But the bite happened before John could even process that you'd moved your head.

One second, he was there with his forehead pressed to yours and with lips so close, smelling her own blood still on his tongue from when he'd sucked it into his mouth. He was being gentle now. Gentle. Like you were worth saving more than ever.

And then your teeth bit into his lower lip.

Not hard enough to rip a piece away from his skin, but hard enough to hurt and hard enough to make it bleed. John jerked his head back fast, pulling out of you, and his hand flew to his mouth before he stared at the blood on his fingers as you'd just shown him the face of Lucifer himself.

For a while, there was nothing. Just John Seed standing there, bleeding from the lip, looking more confused than angry, with his cock still hard.

Then his face changed.

"What… What did you do?!"

Barely able to breathe through the pain still coming from every cut, every wound, and all the things he'd done to you, you didn't answer.

"I was… I was trying to love you. And you?"

John yanked your face up to his, close enough that you could see the blood still welling from the bite mark on his lip.

"You bit me!"

The laugh that came out of him now wasn't right. Letting go of your face, he stepped back, both hands coming up to slide through his hair.

"I give you everything! I give you grace! I give you atonement!" He turned back to face you, though this time, he stepped toward the small table next to the crux decussata. "And you bite me? You bite me!?"

Something fell to the floor, metal, glass—you couldn't tell and didn't care. When his hand returned, it held a small vial.

Liquid.

"You know what this is. You've been there before. You've seen it before. The Bliss took you once, and you fought it. You fought her. You fought Faith."

John opened the vial with his teeth, spitting the stopper onto the floor. Grabbing your nose, he squeezed, making your mouth open automatically, and he poured.

The Bliss went down your throat, and you gagged, choked, and tried to spit it back out, but his hand was over your mouth now, holding it closed, forcing you to swallow it.

For a moment, nothing changed. John was still there, coming closer and crawling onto the crux decussata, still bleeding from the lip. The bunker was still the bunker. The pain was still the pain.

Then the red lights started to blur around you. And the bunker was gone. It was gone in the way sugar dissolves in water, the way salt dissolves on the tongue. One second there, the next second gone, leaving nothing behind but the memory of John smiling down at you…

Suddenly, you were standing on a road.

The kind of road that led somewhere private. White particles drifted through the air like snow, like ash, falling from a sky you couldn't quite see.

Looking down at yourself, you realized you were wearing a dress. White and simple. The kind of dress you wore to church when you were a child, together with your grandmother.

At the end of the road in front of you stood a ranch.

It looked familiar. You knew it. You knew it the way you knew things in dreams, without knowing how you knew. The lodge had two stories, and next to it sat an aircraft hangar. But standing at the edge of that courtyard, waiting for you…

John Seed.

Though not the one you knew. This John stood with his head slightly tilted, watching you approach with an expression you'd never seen on his face before.

Peace.

He looked peaceful. His mouth? The mouth that had bitten and sucked and drunk your blood showed you a warm smile. And even his eyes, those blue eyes that had gone crazy and wet and hungry, were calm now.

He even wore white. A shirt made of the finest silk velvet, open at the collar and trimmed with dark‑blue damask fabric at both the throat and sleeves. White pants and shoes, too. And he looked like a saint at the gates of his own small paradise.

You started to walk toward him, right in his direction.

The white particles were floating past your face, and you couldn't help but reach for one, watching it dissolve without a trace. Colors glitched at the edges of your eyes again, just like they had before, at the river.

When you were close enough, he finally started to speak.

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."

You stopped in front of him. Up close, his eyes were even more beautiful.

Reaching out slowly, he cupped your face in both hands. They were warm, yet soft—the hands of a man who worked, yes, but who worked with care.

"I've been waiting for you, Deputy."

You should've said something. Maybe you should've asked why you were here or why everything felt like a dream when it should've felt like a nightmare. But the words wouldn't come, and anyway, it didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter except the way he was looking at you, like you were the answer to a question he'd been asking his whole life.

"I know you're confused." His thumbs caressed your cheeks. "I know you don't understand. But you're here now. That's what matters. You're here."

Behind John, the ranch waited. The lodge with its many windows. The hangar... Somewhere, distantly, you even heard music. Not the cult's hymns, nor the preaching propaganda. Just slow, peaceful music.

'Darkness be over me, my rest a stone.

Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God, to Thee.'

John's hands slid from your face to your shoulders, down your arms, until he held your hands in his. "Come inside." Tugging a little at your hand, you decided to follow him one way or another. The front door to the lodge stood open when he led you there, and when you crossed the threshold, you felt safe.

The inside of the lodge was nothing like you'd expected. This was a home. And it felt like one. Letting go of one of your hands but keeping the other, he pulled you deeper into the house. Past the fireplace, up a set of stairs. Upstairs were doors, all closed but one. The one at the end. The one that stood open. And he led you inside.

It was a bedroom. Quite large, but not overwhelming. A bed stood in the center with a wooden frame and white sheets. A window that looked out over Holland Valley, though through it you could see sky in a way you'd never seen before, with clouds looking as if they didn't exist in any sky you knew.

Finally, John turned to face you.

"My beloved… Song of Solomon, Chapter 2, Verse 10. 'Rise, my love, my fair one, and come away.'"

Through the white dress, you felt his warmth once his hands found your waist.

"I will betroth you to me forever." His lips kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "Hosea, Chapter 2, Verse 19. 'I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy.' I will betroth you to me in faithfulness."

John's lips were on yours the second he stopped talking, feeling ever so soft. This was a kiss that waited, a kiss that gave you the time and permission to pull away from him whenever you wanted to.

Though you didn't want to.

Worshipfully, you opened your mouth against his until your tongues touched, and you felt yourself melt. John's hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer, and you went willingly.

Eagerly, even.

"'Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm, for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave. The coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.'" He quoted the Song of Solomon, Chapter 8, and Verses 6 to 7, against your mouth, between kisses. "'Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.'"

His fingers found the tie at the back of your dress, asking with a tug, and when you nodded against his mouth, he pulled. The white dress slid down your body, and you stood before him in nothing but yourself, naked.

Taking a few steps back far enough to look at you, his eyes showed nothing but awe—the adoration of a man seeing something holy for the first time.

"Isaiah, Chapter 61, Verse 10. 'I will rejoice greatly in the Lord; my soul will exult in my God, for He has clothed me with garments of salvation and wrapped me in a robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom wears a priestly headdress and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.'"

He reached out, and his fingers slid along your collarbone, downward, stopping just above your heart. "In aeternum… Ad infinitum…"

Forever… To infinity…

Without thinking clearly, your hand reached for him, for the collar of his white shirt, but his fingers were already working on the buttons, slowly opening it.

Nothing but smooth skin was visible once he took it off. John was pure here.

His hands slid up your arms right after, over your shoulders, until he stopped on either side of your neck, and his thumbs stroked your jaw softly.

"Ephesians, Chapter 5, Verses 25 through 27." He sounded certain in the way that only true believers ever sounded. "'Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.'"

John's lips found your neck, kissing you there. "Song of Solomon, Chapter 4, Verse 7." He whispered against your skin. "'You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.'"

Breathing in deeply, the smell of bleach burned your nose, and somewhere distant, you heard the rattle of a chain. But then it was gone.

"Isaiah, Chapter 61, Verse 3." He breathed the words against your collarbone. "'To bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.'"

His hands found your shoulders next, pushing until you let yourself fall backward onto the bed. John then knelt on the edge of the bed, his body blocking the view of the sky through the window—that sky. You could see it past his shoulder, purple, gold, and pink all at once, the colors of a sunset that never ended. It was the sunset of a new dawn that never quite arrived. Clouds that moved like you were dreaming, and behind them, a light that might have been holy.

"'I will present you as a pure virgin to Christ.'" Second Corinthians, Chapter 11, Verse 2.

Crawling right above you, his beard tickled you while he moved lower. Lower between your tits, kissing his way down the middle of your chest until he stopped where a crucifix might be, like the one you always wore before you decided to leave home.

Not kissing further, you could feel his smile against you before he spoke again. "Song of Solomon, Chapter 1, Verse 15." John's voice was a little quieter against your skin, but you heard it anyway. "'How beautiful you are, my darling. Oh, how beautiful. Your eyes are doves.'"

Moving back up, his body pressed against yours, and you could feel him. Hard and ready, letting you feel what you did to him. And his eyes were on yours. Blue and patient. And your body answered him.

You moved against him, desperate for his touch. And he noticed it; even though the movement was so quick and small, not even you would've noticed it if you weren't paying any attention.

Thighs. Hip. Waist. Ribs.

He caressed every part of you until his fingers found your tits, massaging them until your nipples were hard, leaving you to gasp quietly for more.

And his mouth replaced his fingers.

Sucking on your nipple like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be than here, doing this, worshiping you with his mouth, his other hand stayed busy playing with your other tit.

You moved again. This time, it was noticeable, your body wanting more of him, your hands finding his shoulders and pulling him closer.

Moving his palm away from your tit, he quickly replaced it with his mouth, giving it the same devotion. All the while, his right hand now slid down your body until his fingers found your pussy.

Wet. So wet. That's what you were for him.

Groaning once, his fingers found your clit, and he touched you there, watching your face for every reaction. One finger slid easily inside you. Quick. And a second finger joined the first, stretching you further, before he continued to thrust in and out. In and out…

"Isaiah, Chapter 62, Verse 5." The words came out faster. "'As a young man marries a young woman, so will your Builder marry you; as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you.'"

Out of nowhere, you felt pain in your side. Pain as if you'd been stabbed. Though as soon as it had been there, it was gone, too.

John's fingers were still inside you, still moving and worshiping. His face was close to yours, and if he'd noticed, he gave no sign. But his rhythm changed. Harder and deeper. Until he pulled back out.

With him standing back up from the bed, you watched as he opened his pants, stepping out of them. John was beautiful. He looked like a Seraph, you thought in silence to yourself.

After he positioned himself back over you, his cock pushed into you inch by inch, letting you feel every part of it. John moaned against your mouth when he was fully inside you, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath coming out shaky against your lips.

Your hands moved without thinking, sliding up his chest, wanting to feel his heartbeat beneath your palms, but you felt something else instead.

Letters. Scars.

Carved into his flesh. Your fingers touched them without meaning to—five letters—but you couldn't make out the word just yet. Opening your eyes, you noticed the word SLOTH, cut deep into his chest. Blinking in confusion several times, you wanted to get a better look at it, but it was gone all of a sudden. His chest was smooth again. Pure. Your palms pressed against nothing but warm skin.

But he was still fucking you and still talking scripture.

"Colossians, Chapter 3, Verse 14." His voice was still sounding like honey. "'And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.'"

John's cock was so deep now. Deeper than before, if that were even possible, and you felt every thick inch of him filling you up. The angle changed when he hooked one arm under your knee, pushing one of your legs higher, spreading you wider for him, and your pussy clenched around him, trying to push him out, but it only made him groan and pound you, groaning loudly against your skin.

The white sheets underneath you, ever so comforting, were what you meant to reach out for. To grab them and to hold onto them, as you continued to moan. Reaching out, you noticed how cold they were. Cold and hard under your back. And pain... You felt actual pain from somewhere in your side, from somewhere near your ribs, but the sheets were warm again once one of his hands moved to your chin to make you look into his eyes.

Those blue eyes, so beautiful, looking so wrong in the red lights above you…

Several quick, shallow pumps followed before he slowed down, then one deep, grinding thrust that pressed his body against your clit, over and over. His hand left your leg and found your tit, squeezing roughly, playing with your nipple, and pinching it just enough to make you cry out in need. Then his hand slid up toward your face, and his thumb found your mouth, pushing past your lips, making you taste sweat and precum as he let you suck on his thumb in the same rhythm his cock was fucking your pussy.

Changing the angle again, and pulling both your legs over his shoulders, he was making you watch his cock disappear inside you, making you watch how your pussy stretched wide around it. His hand quickly moved from your mouth between your legs, and his fingers found your clit, so wet and swollen, and he touched it in time with his thrusts, too. Fast little touches when he pushed in deep, slow and rougher when he pulled back. And John's eyes were watching your face for every reaction.

And you screamed. No, you moaned… You were moaning. You were sure of it.

He pushed your legs back down to your chest to pound into you harder, and his fingers scratched over the steel underneath your back. Steel? You felt steel underneath you… But none of that mattered right now, because his cock was hitting that spot inside you over and over and over. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto your tits, and he leaned down and licked it off, turning his groan into a moan. Your pussy was soaked from your own lust and from the precum that leaked from the tip of his cock with every thrust, and the sounds your bodies made were almost louder than both of your moans. His balls were already so tight, and you could feel them twitch against your ass with each desperate pump of his hips.

"Romans, Chapter 8." He groaned after he lifted his head to yours, speaking directly against your lips. "Verses 38 and 39." He was getting closer. You could feel it in the way his cock throbbed inside of you. "'For I am convinced that neither death nor life…'"

Your wrists hurt again... As if they were restrained by something. Handcuffs? You weren't sure.

"'Neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future…'"

John's thrusts turned sloppy, and his control was slipping further when he pounded into you so deeply that you even met the headboard of the bed, and he slid his hand to the back of your head to hold it and keep it safe, though he kept going without mercy.

"'Nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation…'"

His teeth were suddenly on your shoulder again, biting you—no, kissing you. He was kissing you there.

"'Will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'"

Your legs trembled uncontrollably when you clenched around him with every thrust, trying to hold him inside, trying to push him out, unable to decide what it wanted. But your body knew. Your body was soaking his cock with every thrust. You were fucking him back, and John loved it. You could see it in his eyes, in his smile, and hear it in the way he moaned out loud.

"Say it. Say Yes, Deputy. Say Yes to me. Say Yes to us."

Yes? … Deputy?

Unable to understand what he meant, you only realized how his repetition of that particular word became unbearably confusing. Every second, another word of Yes, another truth, another lie, and you couldn't tell anymore which was which, or which one you wanted to be real.

Before you could question him, his lips were back on yours, moving against them like he had all the time in the world, like 'eternity' was the word he'd meant, and this kiss was its meaning. Then his tongue was in your mouth, and it tasted like the inside of a wound, and you swallowed without meaning to, without wanting to, and it slid down your throat like a promise you hadn't asked for.

"Say Yes, Deputy. Say Yes to me… To me only."

His hips still slapped against yours, grinding that thick cock against every spot that made you feel good, and his fingers on your clit never stopped moving, worshipping you closer to what you so desperately wanted.

"Yes." The word came out as a quiet, broken moan.

John's whole body shuddered above you. "Again…"

"Yes."

You said it louder this time, with your hips trying to buck up to meet his, fucking yourself on his cock, needing it even more now.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

The word didn't come out of your mouth anymore, only moans and gasps, but your body said it for you. Your pussy clenched around him so tight you felt him tremble once again. "Say it!" He was begging now, feeling how close the two of you were. Way too close. And you already came.

"YES! GOD, YES, JOHN! YES!"

Coming around him, you felt the exact moment he lost it as well. He couldn't even warn you when his mouth fell open, and his eyes went wide before his cum shot into your pussy and filled you up. He kept thrusting through it, pushing it deeper with every twitch. His cock pulsed so hard, like this was the only thing he'd ever wanted.

"Yes," he cried out in a groan. "Yes, yes, yes…"

Right afterward, John gently put your legs back down at the sides of his thighs, leaning back down over you, though his cock was still inside your pussy. His face pressed into your neck, and you felt him shaking. Crying, maybe. Laughing, maybe. Or both. His hips gave one last weak thrust, grinding his softening cock around and making you whimper. Looking at you, you saw how his eyes were wet. And somewhere, distantly, you thought you heard the rattle of chains as you'd heard before. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"The Gospel of John, Chapter 3, Verse 5." He kissed your forehead. "'Very truly I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit.'"

He pulled out of you and stood up from the bed. You watched him move to a small table in the corner of the bedroom. A table you didn't notice before. Right next to it. On it sat an alabaster bowl, white and beautifully made and decorated, with liquid in it.

"Holy water," John said, lifting it carefully with both hands. "As a blessing of this sacred act." Turning back toward you, he held the bowl against his chest. "The Water of Life."

Sitting down beside you, his hand found the place on your side—the place where, in some other world you couldn't quite remember, something felt wet and hurt. But here, there was nothing.

"'I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; from all your impurities and from all your idols I will cleanse you.'" Ezekiel, Chapter 36, Verse 25.

He tilted the alabaster bowl. Water slid out and moved in a slow path down your collarbone and over your tits and made your nipples harden before the water continued its way down your ribs.

Making you gasp, John leaned in and followed it with his mouth. His lips kissed away the water. "Blessed." He licked it away with his tongue. "Blessed are the pure in heart." Another kiss, letting his mouth move lower. "For they shall see God."

With one hand, he tilted the bowl again. More water dripped over your other tit, across your nipple, and he quickly moved his head to catch it, to drink it from your skin. His lips and his tongue were warm, and you groaned at the feeling without meaning to.

"Thou preparest a table before me," he quoted, "in the presence of mine enemies." His lips moved to your stomach, following the water's path. "Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."

The bowl got tilted once more, letting more of the water run slowly over your hip, your thigh, and slipping between your legs and toward your pussy, where his cum still leaked out of you. He positioned himself differently again to follow it down, kissing the inside of your thigh, your knee, and even your calf.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me." Breathing the words against your skin, he was working his way back up from your calf, tickling you with his beard. "All the days of my life." His mouth found your pussy, letting his tongue slide through the water and his cum, and closing his eyes as if this were salvation.

You were shaking. Floating. Dissolving. Just like the particles you'd seen before… At the river? No… The ranch. Outside. Right here, nowhere else.

And then John moved back up and returned to your side, setting the alabaster bowl down on the white sheets beside you. His hand touched and caressed your ribs, all the while looking into your eyes. His own looked so sincere. And so full of love.

"Behold," he whispered, "I make all things new..."

He lifted the bowl one last time and let the water drip down slowly. But something was wrong with the light. It looked red all over, yet not for long. You barely noticed, watching the water fall toward your skin.

You were happy. You were loved.

And the water touched your skin when you closed your eyes, letting out a deep sigh. But it didn't feel like the cold water from before. It was warm and thicker. That wasn't right... The water wasn't even running over your skin anymore. And the alabaster bowl wasn't there anymore, too. However, John watched you ever so closely, looking still beautiful and giving you the softest smile.

Until you noticed that you couldn't move anymore, something was restraining your ankles and wrists.

And the warmth on your side? The warmth was burning. It was heat. Unbearable heat right against your side, right where the slight pain had been. And you screamed. A scream that came out of you from your very soul after you quickly opened your eyes in pure terror and fear.

A branding iron got pressed into your flesh. This was skin burning. And you realized…

The ranch bedroom was gone. The white sheets, the impossible sky, John's smooth chest without any scars, the gentle hands, the alabaster bowl, the holy water—it was gone—all of it. You were in a bunker. On a crux decussata. Restrained by leather cuffs on chains, bleeding, covered in sweat and blood and cum, the word LUST carved under your tit throbbing with every beat of your heart.

And John Seed was standing over you, his face that of a man experiencing divine revelation and standing in the presence of God himself, while he held the branding iron against your right side. Against the wound, he'd cut deep into your flesh. Against the place he'd drunk your blood from. Against the place he was now sealing for Eden's Gate forever.

He held the iron there.

One second. Two. Three.

Each second was an eternity, leaving you with the knowledge that this would never come off and that you would carry this forever, whether you lived or died. You could hear and smell it, the sizzling sound of your own flesh burning under the iron and the smell of burning skin and the lightest layer of fat. And then he pulled it away.

The relief was almost as unbearable as the burn after the iron was gone, and he put it aside.

John's lips moved, yet you couldn't hear the words over your own screaming. Your throat was hurting already, but you couldn't stop because the pain was beyond anything, beyond the drowning at the river, beyond the cuts, beyond him having been inside of you.

You watched it through eyes full of tears and agony as the last bit of Bliss slowly left, leading you back to reality. John must've taken the iron from somewhere, next to the small table, from a brazier you hadn't noticed before. But you knew now. You'd been in the Bliss. You'd been gone. And while you were gone, he'd prepared this, gifting you the eight-pointed star in the name of God—the Project at Eden's Gate symbol. A vertical cross and saltire overlaid on the skin around it.

That was when John leaned closer.

His face was back above you, that beautiful, terrible face, and his beard was smeared with your blood and his own, still smiling. His lips formed words as before, but you couldn't hear them over the pounding of your heart, which was slowing now. But you read them ever so clearly.

"Expiatio… Propior, Deus meus, tibi, Deputy."

'Atonement... Nearer, my God, to Thee, Deputy.'

───────────────────────────────────────

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is my first Far Cry 5 oneshot, and I was honestly terrified to post it. English isn't my first language, so if you see any mistakes, please know that I tried my absolute best. And my fic is NOT meant to glorify anything! I can and do write other stuff and things! Different smut, fluff, and canon-divergent AUs. If this isn't your kind of story, that's completely okay. Please take care of yourself and click away. And the title is from the hymn "Nearer, My God, to Thee," by the way. The song that was played on the Titanic as it sank. Felt appropriate for a story about cleansing, salvation, and going down with the ship. If you made it this far, thank you.

The panic was yet to die down, she said nothing but Joseph could see it in her eyes how disturbed she was by the situation she had found herself in. Dutch’s rotting corpse needed to be discreetly dealt with whilst not incurring any radiation damage from the blast. Joseph looked as disturbed as the deputy did, his prophecy had come true, a sweeping sense of vindication was halted by the reminder that he alone survived with her. How strangely cruel God’s plan was for them both.

Whilst Joseph was calm and pragmatic about their situation, the deputy thought of nothing. She stared at the floor for a long time, forgetting to blink until a tear ran down her cheek, only lightly pulling her out of the trance she’d put herself in just to blink and once again be lulled back into her absent thoughts. The two of them sat in silence, Joseph stared at her whilst he thought of everything that needed to be done, his face twitching as his thoughts were interrupted with occasional reminders that his family was dead. Everyone was dead.

Joseph was the first to leave, quietly dragging the body away which she dared not watch. It was somewhat laborious for Joseph which made it all the more frightening for her, the longer the procession, the longer she had to stay in her trance save her brain would shut down completely from shock. Dutch was not a heavy man but he was not so light either and his clothes russelled against the concrete flooring until all that became of him was a muffled noise beyond the room. She did not know how long Joseph was gone, only that after a time, he returned. Time felt like nothing, so tangible was the concept that she felt as if reality were a dream and the rules of dream could take place. Dreams were where she would seek refuge, she hoped to dream so heavily that it would convince her the dream was real. But she had never been so awake in all her life and being held in an awkward sitting position meant sleep eluded her. Especially with Joseph in the room again, he was looking at her, she could see it in her peripheral vision as she had not moved her eyes from where they had rested since Joseph stood from his chair to dispose of Dutch.

Joseph was first to breach her comfortable silence, “come,” he saw the shock in her eyes and how she had calmed her breath now. He was comfortable enough to remove her handcuffs and watched as her wrists flopped to the ground. There was nothing behind her eyes, so hauntingly enchanting to him the eyes of a killer, so devoid of humanity, more machine than woman. And so when he held his hand out to her, she did not take it, she did not move as if she’d forgotten how to do so. Joseph took her hand in his and it stirred a reaction in her, so minute he would have missed it were he not studying her face. The slightest twitch of her eyebrows, a quick expression of disgust that flattened into a neutral expression. Her head unnaturally turned towards him and he recognised the look of fear. She beheld him with an almost lovecraftian fear, so humble yet so grand was he, a prophet sent by God or a madman willing to destroy everything to be proven right. She could not decide for still she could not think beyond reactions to what was presently happening. The deputy lived now only in the present, unable to look introspectively at anything beyond five seconds prior to now.

The deputy stood now, with the guidance of Joseph, as he escorted her into what would become their dining room. “There is little but enough to sustain ourselves for seven years if we ration properly, fortunately the water filtration works just fine so we can shower and drink plenty,” he said with his soft southern drawl. Seven years. She would have seven years alone with the father, she wouldn’t be the same person she was now and it frightened her, the possibilities of what she may become. Joseph now noticed how the deputy could only function in the present, unable to think of the past or look into the future. “Rest now,” he told her, knowing that now more than ever, she needed his guidance. She was at least able to stand up on her own and return to the bedroom where she had originally been bound. In a somewhat robotic fashion, she removed her shoes and got into bed. Whilst she wanted to dream and to be convinced of another reality, she did not want to try to sleep, the more she was allowed to think, the more her brain seemed to melt. Joseph could hear her now laboured breathing as he walked back into the room. He was like her haunting rather than the guardian he no doubt saw himself as she thought. He sat at the edge of the bed, stroking her arm, only barred by the layers of bed covers between them. “When we’re in our garden, we’ll grow plenty of flowers, start a new flock, a peaceful people, strong people,” he mused, his head raised and eyes shut as he imagined his idyllic paradise. A sigh left his lips as he smiled at the thought, she supposed he tried to soothe her, he stopped rubbing her arm and rested his forearms on his knees. “What flowers would you like us to grow?” He aired softly, turning his head back to her, prying at her, digging out the humanity so long hidden in her body.

“I don’t see flowers,” she said flatly. She saw only death, bodies upon bodies, some righteous in death and others humanly cowardly. Death greeted everyone despite their feelings about it. She had been sending bodies to death, so long a courier that never met her recipient yet now wished to be taken into their loving embrace. It was her punishment to live. To live with the knowledge that her hands were stained red, so deep was the stain that not even the removal of her skin could clear the mark present only to her gaze. “There are no gardens left for flowers to grow Father, oh God,” she said, her words strangely strung, poetically describing the images of her mind that fluctuated between nothingness and reminders of why she could only function under nothingness. But Joseph was also pleased she so readily called him Father. The deputy did not speak or behave like herself, the stress bringing on a delirium in her that encouraged Joseph to stay and continue. She pulled her hands from under the covers to show him her bloody hands but he only saw her palms and the look of beginning madness in her eye.

“I wish you saw the peace of the future that will come but maybe what’s best right now is if you get some rest,” he said softly, taking her clean hands and hoping this feverish rambling from the once near mute deputy would cease and that she would find serenity in his promises and wisdom. The deputy got under the covers again and she was quietened by Joseph, he read from the bible so that she did not think whilst she tried to sleep. Joseph listened to her laboured breathing, could see her grind her teeth and furrow her brow, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead and when sleep finally met her, she was corpse-like in appearance.

Joseph delicately closed his bible, placed it on the table behind and looked at her with a wild look in his eye, his child, his family killer and most hated. He loved her dearly and it cost him everything. His expression relaxed as his thoughts drifted to what he lost, not thinking of their killer though she was within his grasp. His brothers, his sister, so perfect, they were at rest, this was his only comfort, knowing they did not suffer through the years leading up to New Eden. The ache in his chest led to a tightening in his throat as he felt his saliva thicken and his eyes burn with all that was lost. God had always pushed him to the most extreme of tests, this was his final one, accept her, love her, forgive her and then, only then can there be heaven on earth. But what is heaven when you’re in Hell? It all seemed to mean so little in this moment as he looked at her again, trapped in a lonely hell not quite ready to accept the fact he would never see his family again. All the things he had planned for them were gone, it was not the loss of the hope of seeing them in New Eden but the confrontation that he would never know the feel of their hands in his, that he would with time forget what it felt like to hug them that frightened him most. A wave of fear rushed over him as he knew one day he would forget their voice. There was nothing left that had recorded it, all gone with God’s fury. The only tangible proof of their existence was a portrait on a pinboard that existed solely to aid in their killer's pursuit. The world would forget them, the only people alive with any memory of them resided in this very room. His family only existed in their memory now, among his many missions Joseph made note to write down more of his family so that they were not entirely forgotten with time like their voices would be. And whilst he thought of his, his eyes focussed on the restless deputy and all the emotions she stirred in him, most were unpleasant, some exceeded to the point of sin. He knew he could love her, after all that she’d done, he knew deep inside, it could be honestly forgiven, God never asked the impossible from him.

God had told him to open his heart to her and who was he but the Lord’s servant. So he raised a hand to her as her body thrashed suddenly in the midst of a violent dream whilst the tides of guilt and sin sunk deep into her bones, his holy hand gently touched her cheek and she stilled. Her breath still laboured and her face was still tight but her twitching stilled as The Father began to caress her cheek. She was cold to the touch and moist from sweat, God gave her sickness a physical manifestation. His thumb brushed back and forth, waiting for her face to soften, so beautiful when she submitted to him. Her laboured breaths became more like groans, those groans turned to cries and her face was splotchy with splashes red on her skin. The deputy abruptly woke and could only cry, it was beautiful, Joseph was pleased her pride had not consumed her to guiltlessness. It gave him hope. He stilled his caress and held her head as she turned her wet cheeks to his palms. “I’m sorry, for all of it, I’m so sorry, can you ever forgive me,” she whimpered against his skin. Joseph came closer to her and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.