36 A Sanctified Impetus

I went to sleep two hours past midnight, making sure that everyone else was entrapped in their own ignorant slumbers before resting my eyes. For me, sleeping was an unneeded luxury - my functions could go unimpeded for up to a month with an occasional Holy Energy enhancement until my very mind began to betray me.

I know this because I tested it. Optimal efficiency throughout my training was needed, and I spent many a night and day practicing marksmanship or spellcraft.

Regardless, to make sure my towering intellect was always at peak capacity and efficacy, I had set a goal for myself: two hours a week. That was especially relevant here, as rest would be necessary for the trials before me.

Making use of that efficient machination, I awoke at four in the morning. I had taken a bottom bunk in case cheap communist architecture failed me and caved the roof in during a pious snooze, and while my choice was educated and foresighted, it made for an unbecoming first eyesore of the day: wooden beams upholding a gray mattress.

Though, it isn't as if plaster and a bland ceiling would have been much better. I must not doubt myself, whether in matters mundane or major.

I threw a depressingly gray blanket off my figure and swung my legs to the side, sitting up and seeing that Arthur and Marcelo were still asleep.

Although, something feels amiss…

"Try to be a little quieter next time, please," Lotfi mumbled.

Ah. Him. I keep forgetting about that boy.

My sight landed on Lotfi's bunk. Mine was at the furthest wall from the door, that way I could easily escape through it if misfortune befell us, and his was in the middle. Seemingly frail but thick plywood held up gray mattresses and gray sheets on every one. Three columns of ten each, one column on either wall and one in the middle.

Lotfi lay in the middlemost bunk by all factors, his blanket in disuse on the ground. It seems he slept without it, for whatever reason. Additionally, all of the men had gone to sleep with their uniforms on, and he was no exception.

He had a point, however. My bed was creaky, as something had cracked when I tucked myself in, and I hadn't bothered to fix it.

"I do not know what you speak of."

I'd rather not admit that a whelp like him is correct, however. That would be a disrespect to myself, bringing my intellectual status lower than even a Tunisian like him.

Lotfi simply rolled over and ignored me as I walked out, boots pattering against the concrete floor. Why the floor was concrete rather than wood was baffling but not unappreciated, as it allowed for yet more security.

Exiting the barrack and blowing out a cloud of misty vapor in the crisp September air, I fastened my ushanka - ignoring its red star - and began walking. Guardtowers manned by fatigued soldiers lethargically shone their spotlights in both darkened corners and outside the camp in search of any possible intruders, and others on night watch conversed in the light of lanterns and lightbulbs throughout the main pathways. One of those casual outposts was in my view, and I was about to walk by.

Apparently, however, a curfew was in place. I had not been made aware of such a fact, but it was fairly unimportant to me either way - the knowledge was irrelevant. If I had known, I would have done the same thing. I am no vermin to scurry around in the shadows, and no arbitrary rule constructed and enforced by plebeians shall restrict me.

"Hey!" a soldier barked, mustache bristling. "What're you doing, man? It's well past curfew. Latrine? Aren't there any near your barrack?"

My self-confidence in my decision did not change the fact that it was irritating, though.

I stopped and turned to look at the duo. The one with the mustache had some rough black hair poking out from the back of his ushanka and a stocky face, but was otherwise normal. The other had brown hair, no mustache, and a more angular face. We all wore the same uniform.

There were no true similarities between us, however. Only superficial ones, for their souls were blackened by depravity - I could sense it.

"There's no need to be nervous, you know," the other piped up, mistaking my wayward indifference as skittish timidity. "Feels obvious to me that you're not doin' anything really all that wrong. Wouldn't walk down the main pathways if you were fixin' to plant a bomb in General Ruskovsky's chambers. Or something," he added after a glance from his partner.

I could care less for this drivel. Luckily, there is an interest all soldiers in wartime share, which would speed this little charade along faster than callous insouciance.

Such things may be unbecoming of me, but the one with the angular face has too nasal a voice. I cannot bear it, and I wish to leave their presence. With fools such as they, words are meaningless - forcefulness is out of the question for a truly righteous man such as myself, and only a numbing appeal can subdue them.

Proverbs, chapter twenty-nine, verse nine: 'If a wise man has an argument with a fool, the fool only rages and laughs, and there is no quiet.'

"I was visiting the missus," I grunted.

The two looked at each other and smiled, unwittingly deciding to keep my indignance to fester.

"Well, why didn't you just say so! Lucky dog! Can't believe you found yourself an assistant to entertain. While I don't want my sister to be thrown into this muck… they should really let some women into our ranks. A man can only hold himself off for so long, you know? The hand does wonders, but it's just not the same," the mustached one chortled.

"Visited for quite a while, didn't ya?" the other one remarked, clapping his hands for me. "She must be a real fiend in the sheets."

I curled my lip and barely restrained my righteous fury, but I bore through its overwhelming heat. These are the trials I had prepared myself for, and learning to be the master of myself is simply proper. Even if the Lord will always take that place.

Proverbs, chapter twenty-nine, verse eleven: 'A fool uttereth all his mind: but a wise man keepeth it in till afterwards.'

The Book of Proverbs is truly a mighty source of guidance in a chaotic world.

"Speaking of all this," the first one said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and mustache stretched in contemplation, "I was on post outside the General's tent yesterday. And then, just as I was about to close my eyes and wander off to my dreams, they came right to me instead! This group walked out of the place, and two of these lasses were the finest… uh, I needn't say more. But imagine this." He outstretched his gloved hands and mimed an hourglass figure. "One of them specifically, though, the tall one… All I'll say is that I wish she were one of our enemies. You get what I mean?"

I allowed them to continue condemning themselves.

"Ha! Oh, trust me, I've heard o' all them. The grapevine has its roots everywhere, you know. I've heard from Petrenko tha' they were more exquisite than even the ladies he saw in Bolshoi [1] - he went there one time, d'ya know that? He said the tall one you mentioned had legs thicker and stronger than an oxen's, but still curvy and smooth… I need ta see it to believe it, personally."

"Don't even get me started there!" he exclaimed, vigorously rubbing his hands together. "Petrenko always was a poet. You can trust his words, I can tell you that!"

"You mean Dubravka?" I questioned, perplexity overshadowing my anger, as I held no attachment to that Romanian associate of mine. I could not see the apparent appeal in her that these chortling scoundrels did, even if they were blinded by earthly lust.

"Ah, is that the beauty's name? Wait," the man's mustache perked up. "You know her? Oh, thank God, you know her! I recognize you now - you were in that procession I mentioned! Please, put in a good word for me, to both the brunette and the blonde - tell them that Viktor Vladmyrovich is a respectable gentleman," he walked over and clasped my hand, "who treats his friends and relatives well and his maidens even better."

I slapped his hand off, my sneer fully on display now. I could not restrain myself. "Do not touch me, do not use the Lord's name in vain, and keep your minds cleansed of that blazing lust, for it is all-consuming!" I declared. "I will warn you only this once to embark on the path of repentance, before it is too late for your wayward souls. Stay faithful to your mistresses, and banish these devilish courtesans from your thoughts. My companions are not worth the damning of the soul, and you must replace this reverence you have for ungodly flesh with a devotion to scripture."

"Hey," the other one said, uncrossing his arms, "who're you to start preachin' at us like that? You just came back from some animalistic, hours-long session! I can't even last ten minutes, and you're damning us as some duo of depravity?"

"I was slumbering and decided to go on an early morning walk, you base cur, but just as I thought, your sacrilegious proclivities would allow you to more easily accept an engagement in profane wickedness than an innocuous appreciation of nature's tranquil solitude and serenity." I lobbed a spit at his boot. "You dare to condemn me of such ignoble fallacies? Me, your soulful savior? Learn some respect for your betters, vermin."

"Who do you think you are, loudmouth? Our local pastor?" Viktor snarled, walking up even closer. "We were having a nice conversation, and then you started treating us like the scum of the earth! You blabber about how we're 'condemning you of ignoble fallacies' while talking about how you lied to us! I never went to church as a child, like everyone else in this place, but I read some of that Bible copy the government gave me, and I remember something about how 'thou shalt not bear false witness'! Stop acting all self-righteous, hypocrite!" he yelled, raising his hands and attempting to push me to the ground.

He met a stone wall, confusedly looked up to meet my eyes, and then glanced downward when a shimmer around my hand drew his attention.

"Hey, where'd those gloves come from?"

My fist flew and crunched into his skull, embedding itself into the brain cavity and shattering any and all frontal bones along the way. Viscera splattered onto my uniform everywhere above my waist, and using the hold achieved by squishing through his gray matter and latching onto his brain stem and gripping my other around a leg, I hefted Viktor the heathen up and threw him at his nearby partner, still right next to the wall. He was staring, slack-jawed at the blood, brain, bones and teeth coating my form, and so I had ample time to do so. He cried out in shock and pain, slamming against the wall and falling to the ground after tripping over Viktor's cadaver.

I jumped over and stomped the man's head once, twice, thrice to a pulpy, chunky smear in the dirt.

I let out a contented sigh.

Closing my eyes, I thought about the chemical and atomic bonds of water as well as its controllable traits, summoning a ball of the liquid. I brought it over my form, controlling its finer aspects to absorb any stained blood or other associated viscera into its mass without wetting my uniform.

Finishing up, I waved the ball of gore away, splashing it onto the duo.

Making the sign of the cross, I gave them a last glance.

"I warned you," I breathed, de-summoning my Sacred Gear and beginning to walk away after extinguishing the lantern and crushing the nearby lightbulb, casting these beasts into the darkness they so belong.

My ruminations as I walked, now simply casting a relatively basic invisibility spell under the principle of the bending of light, were thoughtful. Before, I simply wished to take a walk to escape my wretched companions, and perhaps determine a goal to accomplish here along the way. I had done one, and I could do both, with what was just shown to me.

This camp is simply foul, condemned by the souls of men. Filled with the infernal influence of Satan. How can I trust them to do anything just in the struggle against evil, when they themselves are wicked?

They are practically begging for salvation. They require a shepherd to guide them from the wickedness and snares of the Devil, evidently, and I am more than up to the task.

It is simply blasphemous that these Papal officials would have me tarry in spreading the Word of the Lord, waiting until we had established ourselves among them. These soldiering mongrels silently plead for reclamation, deep within their shriveled, twisted hearts.

And am I not the deliverance they seek, whether it be in the form of righteous retribution or pious guidance?

…

Six hours later, my preparations were completed, and the time was ripe. Whispers and unease had been spreading throughout the camp, the discovery of two brutalized corpses darkening the day with a miasmic gloom.

"What's that moron doing?" I heard murmured from across the field, and I paid it no mind. People derided Christ too, did they not? Only I and the truth matter, though the two go hand in hand.

I finished setting up my podium, one cobbled together with discarded planks and spellcraft, and looked at my audience.

The soldiers were crowded around a field tent dispensing their lunches, eating hearty meals of canned, stewed beef and pork, slices of rye bread, and barley porridge - all luxuries afforded to those at a central command like this one. [2] Any who had already received their rations sat around on the packed, frosty dirt of the field in front of the tent, many now looking curiously at me while shoveling food into their mouths. I had positioned myself so that no soldiers sat behind me.

"Ahem," I rumbled, beginning to amplify the effects of my speech with soundwave augmentation Magic. More eyes turned to face me. "My brethren, my countrymen, my beloved herd - I understand you all. I truly do," I lied. "We are united in so, so many ways - in blood and ancestry, in belief and determination, in the reason for our presence on this somber morning. We stand at war, and indeed, in the flames of conflict, the tough iron of the Russians smolders and liquefies, cleansed of all impurities and forged into a true union - a fierce amalgamation, an unfaltering war machine with many a cog doing its individual duties, inevitably crushing our adversaries beneath our boots."

I stomped my foot into the ground at the same time I said 'boots', creating an indent within the earth and a resounding bang that startled a few soldiers. Some chuckled and threw out their remarks.

"Good way to put it, brother!"

"Hear, hear!"

"But," I interrupted, "that collective brotherhood, that bond we all share in every aspect, means we feel the agony when a comrade is lost, like a knife piercing the heart. What is a mere statistic to the plump eagles residing in their lofty perches is another heartbreaking casualty to those of us in the muck and blood. And that was seen especially strongly this morning, when two beloved comrades of ours were found mutilated beyond belief."

They were riled up at the reminder, murmuring amongst themselves.

"Their souls cried out in pain and fear, and we all felt the devastation upon news of their death. The precedent and premonition and message sent with their demise was universally understandable - and universally cruel, as well. It is a misdeed proclaiming that our enemies will not even allow us to relax in our own homes, not even in the comforting presence of our friends. Must they desecrate all rules of war and common decency? They send spies and scoundrels, these criminals, aiming to crush our morale and pound fissures into our tireless coalition. They are afraid, and I am here to tell you that you should follow in their footsteps in that regard."

I leaned forward. "Do not despair! Do not be entrapped by their snare! Do away with these detestable conspiracy theories of internal betrayal. No comrade of ours would stoop to such devilry, and we all know it. None of us are capable of such cruelty. God gazes down upon us with kind eyes and a gracious smile, so how could any heretics be concealing themselves among our ranks?" I asked, pressing down on the podium.

My audience asked back:

"How do you know all this, then, if you want to tell the truth so badly?"

"We can't just ignore the possibility!"

"Calm yourselves, brothers," I remarked, straightening back up to my full height. "We are the makings of His new covenant, and there is no doubt about that. We are a rampart against our vile enemies, who would ruthlessly maul goodhearted men like Viktor Vladmyrovich. He was a friend! A brother! Everyone knew that, so how could any among us eviscerate him so atrociously? We are not savages. Tell me, brothers. Tell me who the savages are!"

"The Germans?" one said, unsure.

"The Germans!" I replied. "Tell me again, all of you!"

"The Germans!"

"The fascists!"

"The Nazis!"

"That's right," I said. "That's right! They have torn you from your homes and families. They seek to plunder and pillage our lands. They seek to despoil and devastate, ransack and raid! They will leave our fields smoldering hells, our cities festering mass graves - nothing but mountains of rubble. It bereaves me! It bereaves you! What will you do? What will we do? How will we avenge our brethren, both the two that have fallen in our midst, here, and the ones currently suffering on the front lines of our crusade?"

"Fight back!" some yelled.

"Yes, exactly that! I have said that we are the makings of the Lord's new covenant, a people favored by Him. That is because we are a bulwark, remember, a rampart! We are resisting the archfiends and demons of this realm, and that is why we are chosen as the harbingers of celestial wrath! We shall smite our enemies - nay, we shall go further, my brothers in Christ, for with the strength of the Lord, anything is possible. Tell me, how will we avenge our brethren? How will we defend against and beat back the blight that threatens this land!? How will we emerge victorious in history?!"

"Kill 'em!"

"Beat them back to the Rhine!"

"Crush them!"

"Yes! They are demons and creatures of the night! How will we uphold our honor and that of Christendom?!"

"Destroy their armies!"

"YES!" I affirmed, slamming a fist against the rough podium. "Annihilate the fascist bandit armies! You must arm yourselves - no, WE must arm OURSELVES, brothers, for how else will we enact our heavenly duty? Arm yourselves with guns, bombs, artillery and steadfast faith! Your enemies falter in the face of the Lord, for they are inhumane and wicked - they hesitate, they fear, they shall submit before the wrath of the Almighty. Use that! Shout for the safeguarding bestowal of the armor of God! Plead for Saint Michael the Archangel to defend us in battle! Opine the parables and truths of Christ as your war cry! While we showcase our bravery and devotion, they shall tremble as the mongrels they are! Carve the message into the very souls of your foes: We shall prevail! We shall fight! We shall leave you crushed in the wake of our tread! Cowardice and impiety are the traits of the rabble and scum, the defeated!"

I cleared my throat, letting a dramatic pause settle over the audience for a scant second or two. I was at the forefront of their attention, and all gazes were upon me.

It was an enjoyable sensation, to hold such sway over these gullible peons.

"I am here to set your hearts ablaze, and you shall continue that work. Spread the word among the brotherhood. Spread it all throughout the war machine. Tell them all that our beatific duty is to drive back the diabolical armies of tyranny and corruption. The demons and fiends march and march and march, leaving villages and towns and cities to run with rivers of blood. We must eradicate them! We must extinguish their flames of unholiness! We must KILL THEM! Take up arms! For, should we exert our mountainous brawn with a greater purpose in mind, strength bolstered by faith and love, they shall tremble! The Devils fight not for truth or justice, but for vague ideals of primitive jingoism, for their vile nation and arrogant race. We fight for God! We fight for our families, our homes! We fight to defend our friends and relatives from this suffering, to keep them from ending up like poor Viktor Vladmyrovich!"

I turned to wipe my eyes, pretending to shed a tear, before turning back. "They shall stop at nothing, for they are savages! The blood of sons, fathers and grandfathers will run through the streets if they reach our populace! Our daughters and wives must be kept away from their salacious paws! They wish to rend this world asunder, and the Union is first on the chopping block. We shall stop them by any means, for both the purpose of defense and extermination, by God's will! Deus vult!"

I took a breath, sighing that my rhetoric after the wind down was of a more middling impact than before. Objectively, it was fine, but not by my standards.

There was nothing to worry about, however. I would learn from this. It seems that I had not studied His Eminence Abercio's argumentation to a sufficient degree. Regardless, it was time to finish this business all up.

"So tell me, do you fight to defend your families at home, countrymen?"

""Yes!"" shouted the crowd.

"Do you fight to uphold your dignity as men, whether that be of the household, of the cloth, or of the nation?"

""Yes!"" shouted the crowd, louder and more numerous this time.

"Do you fight to vanquish the fascist scourge, which seeks to leave your homes as naught but rubble, your compatriots as naught but rotting cadavers, and the world at large as naught but a carrion plagued by their malevolence?!"

""YES!""

"THEN REMEMBER YOUR IMPETUS! REMEMBER THE LORD! REMEMBER SCRIPTURE! For the unwavering, nimble quills of the Apostles have prophesied the Nazi blight!"

I brought my fists down, turning my podium to a shattered mass of splinters.

Spreading my arms wide, I staunchly proclaimed, "BEHOLD THE BOOK OF ISAIAH, CHAPTER THIRTEEN! 'EVERY ONE THAT IS FOUND SHALL BE THRUST THROUGH; AND EVERY ONE JOINED UNTO THEM SHALL FALL BY THE SWORD! THEIR CHILDREN ALSO SHALL BE DASHED TO PIECES BEFORE THEIR EYES; THEIR HOUSES SHALL BE SPOILED, AND THEIR WIVES RAVISHED! THEIR BOWS ALSO SHALL DASH THE YOUNG MEN TO PIECES; AND THEY SHALL HAVE NO PITY ON THE FRUIT OF THE WOMB; THEIR EYES SHALL NOT SPARE CHILDREN!' REMEMBER IT NOW, AND REMEMBER IT WHEN YOU SEE THE FACE OF EVIL! HAVE NO PITY IN YOUR HEART WHEN YOU STRIKE DOWN THE DEVILS!"

The crowd cheered, hooted, and hollered, breaking out into applause and pious averment.

"So remember, my brothers, that the Lord looks down fondly upon all of us on this day! But His covenant comes with expectations! The expectation that we shall bask in his resplendent embrace rather than indulge in sin, and the expectation that we SMITE THE DEVILS! For they come veiled in unholy flames and vile sorceries, and we shall give them no quarter! All they shall receive is an unending barrage of fire and brimstone! That is what I am here to tell you! That is what you must keep in mind!"

"That's what I'm saying! Did you hear the man, Akim?! Pop open that Bible of yours!"

"Someone give me a pen and paper to write all this down!"

"Indeed!" I exclaimed. "Give the man his writing utensils. As I said, you all must spread the word! Distribute your pamphlets, tell your tales! Go forth, brothers! Go forth!"

I left the crowd to eat, drink, be merry and praise the Lord after being awakened from their ignoble atheism. Turning to the right, I saw Arthur and Wilhelmine a ways away, seemingly waiting for me.

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[1] The Bolshoi Theater is a very famous, well, theater in Moscow, constructed in 1821. You can just look it up if you want.

[2] All these foods I mentioned are actually the higher quality rations a Russian soldier could've had during WW2.

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Real quick 4.5k word count chapter. We've actually just about reached 110k word count total in the story with this, in only 36 or so chapters, which is more than I thought I'd ever get to. Pretty weird to think about.

A little funny how the MC never directly asked the majority atheist crowd to affirm their faith. He would mention the Lord and righteousness and all that a lot, but every time he asked a question and expected an answer, it was about some other topic, like who the enemy is and what they'll do to combat them.

And if you're confused about how MC starts talking to the ordinary soldiers about Devils coming veiled in unholy flames, he starts out by comparing the Germans to demons and monsters, then just moves on with calling them Devils and demons and stuff permanently. The soldiers assume he's talking about their enemies (which was his goal with all that rhetoric), the Germans, by calling them Devils, which he is, but not in the sense they think. It's clever trickery when you think about it.

Also, it's come to my attention that I've been moving things along too quickly, with not much detail, description, development, or real thought being put into the events happening. Just a sequence of scene changes after scene changes caused by the pace of the three fight scenes in quick succession, which made them set as my default, and I'll be trying to get back to a more well-adjusted form of writing.

This arc will be the experiment ground to fix some of those problems, and this chapter is the first instance of it. Expect less dopamine-scraping, lowest common denominator-type stuff in the future, and more detail like here, since I actually plan to do something with these characters and this setting for once. The plot has kinda been just drifting along, and I need to place some sort of anchor now that I've noticed.

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