“Let’s get this over with.” grumbles the thick man. A large boot stamps down onto the first step of the cathedral. Another step and the massive doors before him groan. He pauses, watching as the wooden behemoths of wood slowly swing inward. He sets his foot down on to the third step, feeling the ground shudder as the doors come to a stop. Wide enough for a grown man to walk through, an even fatter one squeezes through, stumbling over to the giant man. “Ahh, brother Saul,” the portly man says, reaching a hand out in greeting. Saul takes it, his hand enveloping the priests significantly smaller ones. “I hope that everything is well, my son.”
Saul takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “it is Father Harold. I’ve got the fifteen cord's of black locust that you’ve requested.”
“Excellent, excellent.” say’s the father, his hand slipping free of sauls to wring together with nervous energy. “I’d suppose you’d like to negotiate a price then. Come in, Come in.”
Saul tilts his head as the priest squeezes back into the cathedral. Saul, following, pushes the towering doors aside with ease. Father Harolds eyes flash open in amazement, “It amazes me, every time, how you can so easily move those doors.” Saul just grunts before swinging both of the doors shut. A thunderous boom echoing throughout the sanctuary. Father Harold flinches each time the echo rebounds past us. Saul just grins at the frowning Priest.
“Must you do that every time?”
“I can’t help it,” Saul mumbles, “Those doors make me feel like a ranger warning the king of danger every time.” The smile fades and returns to the neutral line that it normally is, “sorry, that’ll be the last time.”
Father harold nods in appreciation before marching down the aisle towards the altar. “Now, how much does a cord of wood go for these days? Two-hundred? Two-fifty?”
Saul chuckles at the fathers words, “For black locust,” and walks up to the gold plated table that Father Harold stopped at. “That runs about four-twenty five per cord.”
The priest whips his head around to face saul. Shock permeating every pore on his bald head as sweat begins to run. “That,” he shudders a breath, “That may be a bit more than what my congregation has prepared for, I’m afraid.” Saul crosses his arms, displaying cords of muscle beneath his red flannel. “What I meant to say was,” the priest says tripping over his words, “could we perhaps negotiate something lower if my congregation and I transport it to the church ourselves?”
Saul pulls a toothpick from a pants pocket and puts it into his mouth. “I’ve already hauled it here.” The toothpick bouncing in his lips at every word. “We already talked about this, don’t you remember?”
Father Harold wobbled on unsteady knees, holding himself up with hands clenching to the altar. “That...um...is right...” Saul slaps a hand down onto the fathers shoulder, a deep bellowing laugh bursting out of him.
Father Harold stood there awkwardly, at first, as the giant man doubled over in hysterics. Yet the infectious sound soon spread to the priest, sending him falling to the ground in a fit of laughter himself. The laughter reverberated throughout the entire cathedral, and continued to bounce off of the stones even as the two men gathered themselves off of the floor.
“I’m just pulling your spleen.” said Saul, wiping tears from his eyes.
The portly priest dabbed at the sweat and tears on his face with the sleeves of his garb. “You had me there for a second,” he says patting Saul on his shoulder. “So what will it actually be?”
Saul smiles down at Father Harold, dwarfing the short man. “Just a confession; that’s all the payment I need Father.”
Father Harold claps his hands together, “Well, if that is all then.” and then gestures towards a confessional on the west wall of the church.
Saul just taps the altar that he is leaning on and looks around the sanctuary. “How about right here,” and he waves a massive hand in the air, “right in front of God and all of...this.”
At the mention of God, Father Harold’s eyes glaze over for a second, before re-focusing on Saul. “But...but without just cause—”
“I can assure you,” Saul says, cutting off the priest. “it is.” His fingers twisting the toothpick in his mouth. Sweat once again beads on Father Harolds forehead, while Saul showed no signs of discomfort despite the flannel and jeans.
“Fine, fine, fine.” Father Harold says, taking the rosary from around his neck. His hands tremble as he clumsily crosses himself.
Saul lazily crosses himself when the priest nods his head. “Bless me, father, for I have sinned.” He lets out a long sign, “it’s been...um...” and Saul begins to count on his fingers, “thirteen years since my last confession.” Father Harold nods his head. ”My sins include lying for personal gain,” The priest smirks but continues to nod his head while closing his eyes. “Manipulation of another being,” He begins to count off on his fingers again, “hatred, hatred of other beings, desires of murder, conception and plans for murder, murdering other beings.” The more Saul lists off, the smirk on the priest's lips slips into a grotesque smile. “And the execution of a false priest.” Father Harolds eyes snap wide open and looks up at a grinning Saul.
Saul takes the toothpick from his mouth and snaps it in half. “Gotcha, Faceless One.”
The fat man stumbles back a few steps, “Wait, wait,” he sputters out, spittle running down his chin, “your—”
Saul crushes the small pieces of wood in his hand, and in a flash an axe appears in his hand. “Take the shot, Ink.”
Glass shatters and the priest stumbles back. A hole rips through his chest, followed by a deafening crack. Two more holes punch into Father Harold, sending him to the ground. “Hold,” Saul commands while giving the ax a few practice swings. Then looking down at the body, he grunts, “Come on, we both know that was not enough to put you down.”
The body takes a deep breath, and lets out a gurgling laugh. It begins to seize, flailing limp limbs against the ground. Bones cracked and the meat the made up the father's body liquified. Pink flesh and red meat decayed into a black fluid that writhed and reformed into a longer and leaner shape. The laughter never stopped as it rose up on oily tentacles. Where a head should have been was replaced my a rounded mound of black viscous space filled with a gaping maw. Tentacles for arms continued to flail as it snapped it’s attention to Saul.
“How,” it rasped, “did you know?” Followed by another wet chuckle.
Saul gave the axe a few more practice chops, as if he was warming up his body with all of the twisting. “Simple really,” he huffed, setting the axe onto his shoulder, “The priest here never ordered fifteen cord’s of black locust.” Saul steps away from the altar, “and Babe can smell an outer god from miles away.”
The Viscous being frowned, “what—”
Wood splinters as the wall behind the altar bursts outward, knocking it and the creature into the pews behind it. A scream like wailing children echoes in the sanctuary as it wriggles back up. The maw of a face stares at the figure huffing and grunting next to Saul.
He looks up to the woman that towers over him, and lets a smile grace his lips. Colorful rays of light shine down from the shattered glass and dances off of her Ivory horns. She rips off her jean jackets torn sleeves to reveal glowing dark blue tattoos coating her tan arms.
“It’s Detective Ox,” she grunts, “when we are on duty.” Her eyes staring down the outer god before them.
Saul shrugs his shoulders, “You love the code name.” He takes several steps forward, “Otherwise—”
“How...” wailed the tangle of black mass, shifting it’s open maw down to where it’s torso should be. “Dare you! How dare you!” How dare you!” The voices of men and woman burning alive hurtling towards Saul and Detective Ox. Then all at once, it relaxed. Its tangle of tentacles calming, and its maw looking between the Detective and Saul. “Ahhhh,” it sighed, “that is how. I know who you are.”
“Aye,” Saul chuckles, “So why are you here, N?”
Detective Ox cracks her knuckles, her hooves clacking on the wood floor stepping up next to Saul. “And why did you think it was okay to meander into the midwest?” She huffs.
The maw of the outer god twists into a vertical smile that was begging for blood. “You know better than to ask,” it said, “this and that requires seeds to be sown.” The skinless one begins to sway, lashing it’s tentacles out to snuff the candles along the cathedrals walls. “What's a little fervor in the face of religious zeal.” It reaches up and rips out chandeliers from the ceiling while coating the windows in oily muck. “This is very fertile ground,” it rasps as it sways closer to Saul and the detective.
The maw twists again, its smile now frowning at the two still standing stoically before it. “Look at how the light fades,” it moans as it snuffs out the last rays of light in the room, “and yet you do not tremble, why?”
Saul can feel the outer gods presence trying to force itself into his mind as he stares it down. “Sam! Slim!” Detective Ox shouts, “Blow it!” Then she charges the black mass, her tattoo’s pulsing the last vestiges of light in the room. More wails of crying children scream as she hits the creature, sending it sprawling.
“Pitiful,” it cries, standing back up, “Your voices shall be added to—”
The ground shakes as several explosions ripple along the walls around them. Viscous oil bubbles and pops as stone rips through its veil, letting the light back into the room. With it, came marching in two arguing voices.
“We were supposed to blow the west wall, to use the sun, you moron.” Shouted a voice who was silhouetted by the sun.
“This is the west wall,” hollered the voice marching in from the east wall.
The two short, ugly, green goblins, waltzed into the room tossing up grenades in their hands like baseballs with various more being carried on their bodies.
“Bunyan,” shouted the one in the east wall, “this is the west wall isn’t it?”
The one in the west wall, pulls the pin of a grenade and tosses it into the writing black mass. “Slim,” he shouts, “Sun rises in the east and sets in the west.” then points at the sun behind him. The Faceless One absorbs the bomb, only a small bubble to show any sign of it affecting the avatar. It turned to Sam, “You dare ha—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you guys say the same thing every time.” Same looks at Saul, “Do the thing already before we all lose our minds.” He points over to Detective Ox who was dancing around tentacles lashing out at her, and ripping apart the ones she could catch.
The crawling mass of chaos whipped it’s maw back to Saul who met its gaze. “Thagn! Lä! Cthugha!” The axe in Sauls hand glows a reddish-orange, followed by a desire to gaze in the unearthly glow. The outer being screamed in a thousand different voices as the first rays of it’s light touched its flesh. Saul gives the axe another practice swing, feeling the weight of power now filling the tool. Chaos incarnate attempted to flee the light as Saul marched on down towards it.
Slim and Sam chucked the grenades in their hands towards the door that saul had first walked in, collapsing it with an explosive boom! Detective Ox snatches the two tentacles that were it’s arms, and digs her hooves into the wood. “Kill the damn thing,” she grunts as her tattoos flair and muscles bulge as she holds back the god. She stamps her feet in the grooves that she had carved into the grain, and slowly pulls the outer being back.
“Your not the first Avatar of N whose tried to enter my territory.” Saul says marching up to the masked messenger. “Here’s my message to those outer gods. There’s a reason why they were exiled and I was not.” He hefts the ax above his head, and brings it crashing down onto the creature.
*****
Red and blue lights flash while officers and firefighters examine the decimated cathedral. Several new reporters are being held off by FBI Agents and rookie cops at the parking lots entrance. A tent was set up on the lawn, where Saul and Detective Ox sit at a table. Both clinking glasses of amber liquid together. Slim and Sam passed out on the ground with empty bottles in their hands.
Ox throws the glass back, and lets out a laugh. She puffs out her chest, “Send the outer gods my regards,” then swings her arms down. “Yack,” flopping back into her chair, “You’re just like Paul.”
Saul spits out his drink, laughing, “Don’t compare me to him like that.” He takes another sip of his drink before pointing at his face. “He chose to be an actor. I, however, stare into the abyss and work twelve hour shifts.”
Ox just shakes her head before pouring herself another glass from the bottle that the two have been working on. Saul held his out letting the detective fill it as well. “You didn’t have to cosplay as a lumberjack though.” She gestured to his clothes, “You picked that willingly.”
“Color me nostalgic for the days when that’s all I was,” he said, eyes staring at the glass in his hands, reminiscing. Ox reaches over and gives his arm a gentle squeeze. He shudders and les out a slow shakey breath. “Thanks, Babe.” he says, looking up from the swirling liquid in his glass to her. She just nods, raises her glass to his, before they both tip the drink back.
Just as they both return their glasses to the table, the tent flap opens up and in flies a small fairy. Though small, he is heavily scared and carries several sharp blades upon his person. He looks between the pair, noticing how Detective Ox has her feet propped onto Sauls legs.
“Alright, Sergeant Bunyan and Detective Ox” he grunts and the pair adjusts to sit upright, facing him. “What mess did you make for me this time. Details only, don’t tell me a story, I get enough of that from Ink and Shanty Boy out there.”
“Sure thing, Helsen,” Says saul while lazily saluting the commander. “So, there I was, standing before the cathedral...”
Writing Battle: Verdant Owl Contest – Submitted April 18th, 2026
A.G. Flowers 