The prayer ended.
Christabella's voice rang through the sanctuary, sharp and clear. "People of God, it is time once again to offer a sacrifice!"
A heavy silence fell over the congregation. Sacrifice meant death. Though they were believers in demons and dark gods, they were not immune to the primal fear of their own mortality. During every ritual, a current of anxiety would ripple through the crowd as they waited to see who the unlucky victim would be.
"Do not be afraid," Christabella announced, a thin smile on her lips. "For this offering, we have two new sacrifices. There will be no need to choose from among our own."
A collective sigh of relief washed over the cultists. All eyes turned to the bound forms of Bruce and Oliver, and a wave of undisguised, gloating satisfaction filled the church. As long as it wasn't them, who cared who died?
"Bruce, what do we do?" Oliver whispered, his voice tight.
"Oliver… leave it to fate," Bruce replied grimly.
They were tied in circles, the ropes digging into their flesh so tightly that their limbs had gone numb. Escape was impossible. Their only hope was that Alan, by some miracle, would descend from the heavens to save them. A fantasy, it seemed.
Christabella strode over to them, casually pointing the Blade of Redemption back and forth between the two captives. "I will give you a choice," she said. "Whoever offers to be the first sacrifice, the other may live for five more years."
Both men bowed their heads in silence. Neither could bring themselves to decide the fate of the other; the moral compass in their hearts would not allow it. And to volunteer for self-sacrifice required a courage that was hard to summon.
"Kill me first," Bruce said finally, slowly raising his head. "Oliver, if you can, please… take my remains back to Wayne Manor. Bury them next to my parents."
"Why are you always the hero?" Oliver roared, his own fear eclipsed by a sudden, fierce loyalty. "Kill me! I should have died at sea with my father anyway. Let me return to my original ending!"
"No, listen to me. As long as you're alive, there's hope. You have a family waiting for you. I'm just an orphan."
"Bullshit! You think being an orphan makes you noble? Lets you act the hero?"
The two men argued, their faces red, both willing to die for the other. This unexpected display of nobility silenced the watching cultists. No one interrupted. They couldn't help but feel a pang of shame as they recognized the men's profound character, while they themselves could only think of their own miserable survival.
"Shut up," Christabella snapped impatiently. "If you must fight to the death, I will make the choice for you." She pointed the blade at Bruce. "You die first."
Bruce's face went ashen, but his expression was calm. "I hope you can make it quick," he pleaded.
"I'm sorry," she said, a cruel light in her eyes. "The ritual requires you to die in agony."
This was why the cultists feared the sacrifice. It wasn't a quick death; it was a process worse than death itself. Several guards untied Bruce and dragged him toward the golden fragment on the altar, preparing him for the inhumane torture.
"You should feel honored to be in God's arms," Christabella said, holding the Blade of Redemption aloft, her expression solemn, as if she were about to begin a grand ceremony.
"The only honor I feel is being reunited with my family," Bruce replied with quiet disdain, ready to die.
Wasting no more time, Christabella slowly brought the Blade of Redemption toward Bruce's face. The first step was flaying.
Just as the blade was about to touch his cheek, Christabella frowned. She struggled to press the blade down, but it refused to touch his skin, as if blocked by an invisible wall.
What's going on? Is God not satisfied with the sacrifice?
The next second, a tremendous force slammed into her from the side. She flew through the air without even having time to react, crashing into a nearby pillar.
At the same moment, Bruce's eyes widened. Alan had appeared out of thin air.
"Hey, hey! Didn't expect me to be invisible, did you?"
How could a normal person possibly imagine that? For that matter, how could an abnormal person?
"Kill him! Take back the Blade of Redemption!" Christabella shrieked, scrambling to her feet. Only then did she realize the blade was already in Alan's hands.
Alan turned and snatched the other fragment from the altar. He tapped it with the blade, producing a crisp, metallic ring. "You know," he said playfully, "I think square pieces are more interesting. Circles are just so boring."
"Don't be afraid! The fragments cannot be damaged! Take back the holy relics!" Christabella urged her followers.
But Alan simply took out the other fragment from his pocket. He brought the two pieces together, and they clicked into place, reforming the complete, glowing emblem of Flauros.
The church fell silent. No one dared to move. Their lifeline was now in the hands of a madman.
"Release Green Arrow," Alan threatened, "or I'll smash this badge into eight pieces."
"If you destroy the emblem, Alessa won't let you go," Christabella warned coldly.
"She's the one who sent me."
"…"
Well, it turns out they're accomplices.
Christabella was speechless. Then, a desperate idea came to her. "Exchange him for your badge," she suggested.
Alan looked from the shimmering gold emblem to Oliver, then said with absolute resolve, "Kill him. I will not hand over the gold I have acquired."
Before Christabella could panic, Oliver, who had just regained a glimmer of hope, shouted, "Alan! I'm the heir to the Queen Consolidated! Save me, and I'll have one hundred million dollars transferred to your account!"
"What does this mean?" Alan said, his voice laced with mock seriousness. "Am I the kind of person who gives up his friends for money? Release him right now, or I'll invite our heroine to make her grand entrance."
He pressed the Blade of Redemption against the golden emblem, the force of it seeming to strike at the heart of every person in the room. Under the invisible pressure, Christabella finally nodded in agreement.
Oliver was freed and immediately rushed to untie Bruce.
"What else do you want?" Christabella asked, the feeling of being manipulated making her skin crawl.
Alan's frivolous smile returned, a sure sign he was about to do something utterly contrary to common sense.
"Kneel down and call me daddy."
As soon as the words were out, Bruce and Oliver turned to stare at him, a silent, shared thought passing between them. Does he have to take it this far?
Judging by her appearance, she could be his grandmother. Her actual age was probably closer to his great-great-great-grandmother's. The cultists couldn't help but marvel at Alan's unique and questionable taste.
Christabella gritted her teeth. "I would rather die than let you humiliate me."
If you don't want to be decent, someone will help you be decent. The cultists didn't care. After all, he wasn't their father. They all began to persuade her.
"Leader, just say it. It's no big deal."
"Master, your humiliation in exchange for everyone's survival is a great and holy act."
"Leader, don't force me to kneel down and beg you. There's no harm in shouting it once."
"Yes, yes! If you shout, at worst, we'll all just call you Mom!"
"Leader, you may be willing to die, but we are not!"
The words of moral blackmail made Christabella's indignation burn like fire in her eyes, especially when the guard holding the stun baton began to approach her, his expression pleading.
Suddenly, she felt a profound sense of humiliation and abandonment. She had been betrayed by her own flock.
***********
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