FicWad

WARNING: SEVERE RELIGIOUS CONTENT

The author does not claim any anti-religious sentiment to be taken seriously from the following fiction. Religion was used for emphasis and should not be interpreted literally. The author abstains from any religious statements.

I'm trying something experimental in this fic, and I'll later repost the revision. I'm posting the draft to see how people will respond to the story, and if my experiment was successful.

Done to the music "The Bells of Notre Dame" from Disney's "The Hunchback of Notre Dame". It is recommended you listen to this opening song (the opening song of the movie "The Hunchback of Notre Dame") or are familiar with the song or the movie before reading this fic.

Sonic and related characters are copyright SEGA. "The Bells of Notre Dame" is copyrighted disney. The author claims no ownership of any copyrighted materials used in the fiction.

Of the whole human race they are the only ones who have been redeemed. They are the men who have kept themselves...They follow the Lamb wherever he goes. They have been redeemed from the rest of the human race and are the first ones to be offered to God and to the Lamb. They have never been known to tell lies; they are faultless. (REVELATION 14:3-5)

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith ... not by works. (EPHESIANS 2:8-9)



Dust clouds floated lazily up from the floor, stirred from their rest by a procession of men in formal robes. The leader wore a garment of white, the ends gradually turning brown from dragging on the ground. Behind him were two men, cloaked in red over their white robes, walking side by side, each holding up a straight wooden pole engraved with symbols and inscriptions. Behind those men were another two, completely red, also walking side by side in the same fashion. Instead of wooden poles these men held lanterns on chains, lanterns that emitted smoke instead of light. The lanterns swayed side to side, leaving a smoke trail that evaporated in seconds but left behind a smell. All of these men were chanting, eyes closed in concentration, incense trailing in their path.

They were a holy group, in charge of purifying the abbey. It did not seem to matter to the men that the mass hall was wrecked beyond repair. They were firm believers in their faith, and knew even in a desolate church God could still be found.

This was the belief of the people in the village; God was everywhere. Whether God had left the people at any point before was a disputed rumor.

Whether God had permitted the Purging was a greater mystery.



The chants penetrated the walls of the church, echoing through the town and the empty bell tower. The people all listened, grateful for the holy music but also shuddered at the music's reminder. Quivering rays of light spread out from the horizon, signaling the dawn of a new day. A new chance. A fresh chance to make amends for the mistakes of yesterdays. Another day after the end of the Purging.

Gong/. A strong yet soothing clang resounded from the church. /Gong. The people all looked up, listening more than watching. Gong. The grand bells still resided in the church, the only reminder of the Purging the people were glad to keep. Gong. Some attempted to sing along with the bells, imitating the notes. The effect was a sad, but confident chorus. Gong. The bells were strong yet did not deafen the ears; were loud enough to awaken the sleeping yet soothing enough to lull a baby to sleep come night. Gong. 6 o'clock. The bells rang when the Purging had ended, long ago. The air fell silent again, the Latin chant of the priests dominating in the bells absence.

Slowly, a new sound wafted through the air. Unlike the old and mystical theme of the church chant the new music had an air of gaiety and magic; music of Peter Piper. The source was an organ grinder box near the heart of the village. It sat on a wooden crate upturned to create a table.

A blue hedgehog sat idly, his back leaning against the town fountain-which had gone dry during the Purging and was yet to be restored-his feet crossed propped up on the box. The hedgehog was obviously feigning sleep, grinning and twitching his feet to the lingering bells' rhythm. He wore nothing but rags covered in patches, as did his partner, an orange fox.

They were considered nothing but street urchins, but did not deny it. The blue hedgehog stretched his arms, thrusting them into the air and yawning. The fox, much younger than the hedgehog-maybe half the hedgehog's age-narrowed his eyes in embarrassment and looked away pretending to attend some other business. The blue hedgehog went into another relaxed position, humming the organ tune.

Opening his mouth, the hedgehog spoke in a singing way, going by the box's tune. /"Born in New Paris, the city awakes to the bells of Notre Dame..."/ the hedgehog's tone was neither despair or as praising as the chorus of voices during the bells' chime. It was a sarcastic tone, one of mock admiration, sanctimonious. It caught some attention, but people drove themselves elsewhere, determined not to show their interest in the two ragged animals.

The hedgehog opened one sleepy eye, surveying the bustle around him for inspiration. /"The fisherman fishes, the baker man bakes to the bells of Notre Dame..."/ the hedgehog commented, catching some disapproving looks from those around him. The hedgehog only smirked, amused he had gathered some attention-although negative-and continued.

The fox sighed a tired and overused reprimand, "Give it up. They're not buying it."

The hedgehog cast a sneaky eye to his partner, jumping to his feet and singing his next words loudly and with vigor. /"To the big bells as loud as the thunder,"/ the hedgehog spread his arms as if they were wings, singing to the sky, the words rumbling from his throat. Several people stopped to stare at him, some agitated and others silently commenting on his smooth singing voice.

The hedgehog gave a brief scan of the crowd he'd brought together, planning his next move. He recalled his arms so they crossed over his chest, as if holding his heart in. Then, in a delicate yet clearly audible voice, he sang, /"To the little bells soft as a sound."/

Some gasps of awe escaped the crowd. The hedgehog broke his act for a second, giving an eye movement to his partner. The fox immediately nodded, scurrying off while all eyes were on the hedgehog. No one noticed the fox's leave.

The hedgehog went back to singing, making a big show with his arms and his voice. /"And some say the soul of the city's the toll of the bells."/ The hedgehog drifted into a strong, long note, capturing the crowd. Most activity had stopped in the city square, all clustered around the hedgehog, forming a semicircle in front of him.

Slowly, the fox, pretending to be dumb and naïve, wandered into the semicircle of space in front of the hedgehog and sat down. Then the fox watched as if in a trance, eyes wide and mouth open. Soon other children followed his example, creating a small crowd in the larger crowd.

The hedgehog and the fox made eye contact, giving the faintest trace of a wink to each other, before resuming their roles.

/"The bells of Notre Dame..."/ the hedgehog proclaimed in a rich baritone. The words rolled off his tongue so easily, so fluently, and each motion of his hands enhanced the performance. The hedgehog bent over the crate, looking down on the children and smiling, the smile of a magician before he pulls off his finale.

The hedgehog, to everyone's surprise, choose a casual tone. /"Listen, they're beautiful, no?"/ the hedgehog cupped a hand around his ear, closing his eyes as if serenely listening to the bells once more. In his head the hedgehog knew the crowd was well under his spell.

/"So many colors and sounds, so many changing moods,"/ he went on, hamming up his acting. Eyes throughout the crowd shined at his words, quietly agreeing whole-heartedly.

/"Because you know," the hedgehog took a sudden serious air, "they don't ring all by themselves..."/

The sitting children stared at him curiously, some agape. The young did not know too well of the story of the bells, only having heard them as babies after the Purging was over.

/"They don't?"/ questioned a high-pitched youngster. The hedgehog looked down at his fox partner, keeping a straight face but laughing loudly on the inside.

/"No, silly boy." The hedgehog waved the fox off as if they had never met before. The hedgehog turned and pointed to the highest point in the church, a rectangular tower stretching out from the roof of the church. The children followed the hedgehog's hand, letting their jaws drop as their heads tilted upwards. "Up there, high, high in the dark bell tower, is the mysterious bell ringer."/ The hedgehog's voice took on a foreboding quality, some of the children looking fearfully at the church tower.

The hedgehog did not scare them any further then he needed to. /"Who is this creature?" /he asked in a lighter tone.

/"Who?" /the fox parroted, his voice squeaking.

/"What is he?" /the hedgehog further questioned, peaking interest in the crowd.

/"What?" /the fox continued.

/"How did he come to be there?"/

/"How?"/

/"Hush," the hedgehog finally hissed, the fox's eyes trailing the ground and looking crestfallen. The hedgehog knew that beneath that bowed head the fox held a grin like crescent moon. Acting as if he'd been interrupted, the hedgehog faked irritation and pressed forward. "And Sonic will tell you. It is a tale, a tale of a man"-The hedgehog's voice became deeper and more sinister. The background organ music lost its dance-worthy joy and mirrored the hedgehog's change, becoming as gnarled and twisted as the branches of a dead tree infected with witches' brooms-"and a monster..."/






Slowly sloshing through the sewage waters, a tiny boat rode onward, pushed against the current. At the bow was a cloaked figure, hood covering their face. All of the riders wore burlap sack robes, only their muzzles and noses protruding. The rider in the center sat stock still, a statue not moving even as the current jostled the boat. An item, wrapped in a burlap sack as well, sat on the rider's lap, covered by the long sleeves of the rider's robe. The other rider, swaying precariously with each resisting wave, gripped the boat's side to remain steady. The boatman, and the guide, pushed onwards as if rowing a gondola through the closed pipe. Pinpricks of light danced across the boat, sneaking through the edges of manholes.

The passengers were glad for whatever light came. Animals hated enclosed spaces.

/Dark was the night when our tale was begun on the docks near Notre Dame/

A turn came in the pipe. The boatman stuck his wooden pole to the corner, pushing off to steer the boat. As the boat completed the turn the stern knocked against the concrete edge. All three riders were thrown off balance, grabbing onto the boat sides. Frightened and terrified eyes glowed in the dark, searching to see if a danger had been roused. Fur prickled, sweat beads dripped their course. A second was wasted frantically checking.

A baby cried.

/"Shut it up will you!" "We'll be spotted!" /raised the frightened cries of the passengers.

The passenger holding the bundle hurriedly tried to assuage the baby. Her hood slipped backward enough to reveal her eyes. /"Hush little one!"/ she whispered, holding it close to her chest and running her hands over its face. She held it to her shoulder and began to rock gently. "Please stop crying, please stop crying," she prayed. The crying subsided, and the boat continued cautiously down its way.

/Four frightened gypsies slipped silently under the docks near Notre Dame/

Slowly, the fragrance of the night air overcame the smell of sewage. The pipe emptied in a river, colored gray from accumulated waste disposal. The boatman guided the boat to the river shore opposite the pipe. The two other passengers disembarked. Both glanced up at the sky. It was the first sky they hadn't seen through a cage.

The woman hugged her baby tightly, and the other passenger embraced them both.

"We're free, we're really free," he whispered in her ear. She sobbed through a nod.

The boatman hobbled out of the boat and offered a warty hand to the couple. /"Four Gilders for safe passage out of Paris."/

The taller passenger nodded, and fumbled under his robe for the payment. He had accumulated it illegally, and in private. He'd purposefully miscalculated numbers and stolen. It was a small price to pay for the well-being of his family. He just got the coin purse out when he was shot in his side.

/But a trap had been laid for the gypsies/

The boatman swung up his oar in defense. The mother screamed. The air around them fizzled like the aura of a fire. The boatman dropped his oar and fell to his knees, prostrating. The woman ran to her husband's side, knelt by him and covered her baby as much as she could. She shut her eyes and began mumbling. Only prayer could help them now.

/And they gazed up in fear and alarm at a figure whose clutches were iron as much as the bells/

The husband hissed in pain. The lower half of his body had gone completely numb. He was vaguely aware of the large hole in his ribs, and the skin rotting at the pit's edges. A fever burned his ears. It was like someone had driven electric scissors into his lungs.

He gathered up enough strength to lean on one elbow. With only one eye open, he growled, /"Shadow..."/

/The bells of Notre Dame/

The tattered remains of a burned glove fell to the ground. The fingers of the blow curled into a fist and pulsed purple. The husband fell back down with a shriek.

The black hedgehog strode over to the pair. His shoulders were even with his hips, and his chest curled forward. His hands emanated heat like suns; the landscape swirled like a mirage behind them. His spikes were like Satan's horns and jabbed into the night sky. His eyes were hell's embers, and danced at the pair's plight.

/Kyrie Eleison (Lord have mercy)/

"What do we have here?" he said with biting kindness. "Emigrants? No, that couldn't be. No one would dare escape the holy city."

The woman bit her lip fiercely. Holy city? More like Pandemonium, the city of the damned angels. Her mother had been chained to the altar, and given bread only once she had prayed the rosary in all its entirety. The poor old woman died of starvation with an Our Father on her lips.

And the black hedgehog had instituted it all. Had swept their town clean with energy blasts and 'prayers'. Had tied nooses of death made from prayer beads, and removed heretics from the company of the blessed. He who had one day marched in with an army of robots and slaughtered over a hundred people.

"You fanatic psychopath! Overzealous pious bastard!" she screeched at him.

Shadow looked as if a rock had whizzed right under his nose. "Such...advanced...words from one who has decided to shun God's light. I wonder how such an uncommitted individual came to know such words. I know I eradicated such forms of sin in my holy city."

"I am not going to render myself dumb because you think it is God's will," she back lashed, her fury overcoming her fear.

"Such trivialities are not needed by those protected by God's love," Shadow spat. He bit back the urge to fry the pair, and straightened himself in strained sagacity. "Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God."

"Blessed are those who suffer persecution for justice's sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven," the mother retorted automatically. The verse brought back images of a decaying wood altar and the twisted metal crucifix that stood to remind them of the physical agonies needed for redemption.

/Lord Shadow longed to purge the world of vice and sin and he saw corruption everywhere except within/

Shadow scowled. A string inside him snapped at being contradicted by an infidel. "Perhaps it is right of you to leave, not as an escapee but in exile. My city needs not the likes of you." His fingers began to crackle with white lightning.

The woman's eyes widened in fear. Eradication, the sentence for heretics. She held her husband and child close, crying and praying.

/Kyrie Eleison (Lord have mercy)/

Shadow smiled maliciously, increasing the energy display to make them cower more. Such idiots. He had offered them salvation, and promised them audience with the communion of the saints upon their death. Their resistance was futile, but multiplying. Shadow would never be able to realize his dreams if he killed everyone. The pious were dwindling, and the sinners increasing despite his efforts. What the people needed was a display of the Lord's smite. A public one, with incineration.

/"Bring these gypsy vermin to the palace of justice,"/ Shadow snapped his fingers. His two robot escorts shuffled forward and grabbed the husband and wife. They were his newest models, with heads like jelly fish, pincer fingers and engines that could invoke the roar of the heavens, or the silence of angel flight. The jelly fish heads had tentacles protruding out of them, used to gather sensory information and occasionally taser a loose practitioner.

And the sharp forked wings protruding from their backs. They served no functional purpose, but Shadow thought they strengthened morale on those that saw them.

The robot holding the woman jerked her arm backwards. She fumbled with her child.

/"You there! What're you hiding?"/ blared one robot. Tears came to the woman's eyes. The pain, the discovery, the loss of her world stabbed like a dagger in her heart.

Shadow took three slow steps in front of her. Her eyes glistened with tears, praying for a divine intervention, for the touch of the almighty to deposit just a brief moment of kindness in the black hedgehog and spare her.

She received no dues ex machina. /" Stolen goods, no doubt," tsked Shadow. He looked up at the robot's scanning tentacles, then went right into the woman's face. A devil's sneer decorated his face. "Take them from her," /he instructed the robot while the fires danced again. Shadow spun on his heel and started for the city.

The woman wrenched at her bonds, terrified. No. Not her baby. Anything but her child. No. Let Lucifer have her body and Satan her soul if her child just be spared from Shadow alone. A tentacle latched onto her cheek and spat out a shock. Her knees crumpled underneath her. A pincer let go of her limp arm and clutched the baby. A newborn shriek issued from the change of hands. Inside the woman, a maternal vein pulsed and brought her to her feet. She slammed her elbow backwards into the robot, which went flying eight feet into the river. She caught her baby from the surprised robot, and brought it to her cheek. The baby stopped crying.

"Let they be praised. Thank God. Thank the Son. Thank the Virgin. By the Walkers..."

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" roared Shadow. He fired a blast at where the woman stood, charring a small crater in the river bank. The woman took to her heels, not getting far before the other robot dropped her crippled husband and blocked her path. Shadow edged closer with another blast on the tips of his fingers.

She had no choice. She waded into the river.

/She ran.../

Shadow let the blast go just as she tripped and sidestepped the blast. She couldn't swim and risk drowning the baby. Suddenly, before she could think about it, she was breast stroking with one arm. A latent aquatic ability had awakened, but she did not dwell on it for long. She plunged forward into the pipe.

Shadow growled in rage. She had tossed a 300 pound robot like a doll! No, he would not have it. He could not have it. He could not afford for one to awaken at such a time.

Shadow clicked his heels together. He rose off the ground slowly and hovered at 6 inches. "Send an immediate order to capture her. Get every guard robot in the city to put apprehending her top priority. Take the road. I'll follow her myself."

/Dies irae, dies illa (Day of wrath, that day)/

The current was weak, and her progress steady. The smell of excrements and disposed fuel burned her eyes and the foul water burned her mouth when she rose to gulp air. The sewage was mostly watery, with patches of muck that she avoided, knowing they would never let her go lest she swim into one. She propelled herself forward in strong strokes, eyes darting from the next bend in the pipe to her baby's face.

She heard the growing sound of splashing water. The Shadow's approach! She clamored for the nearest ladder, pulling herself out of the sewage and hoisting herself upwards. The manhole lid weighed at least fifty pounds. She punched it up with one fist. She pulled herself up and shoved the lid back into place, a small hope of stopping the Shadow's chase.

/Solvet saeclum in favilla (Shall consume the world in ashes)/

She threw off her burlap sack, too wet for her to carry with her. It left her with her soaked, but lighter, ceremonial robes of Walker worship. She kept her baby still wrapped up. She was back in the city of Paris, Shadow's christened Holy City. After all the hard work of fleeing she had returned to the imprisonment, the rattling of metal and psalms, and those accursed bells. The dangers in the city were immense; where could she possibly find safety?

/Teste David cum sibylla (As prophesied by David and the sibyl)/

A buzz. So small, but she heard it. She spun around and hit a robot with the heel of her palm. It flew, just like the one she had hit before. She backed away from the kill like a wounded animal, then took to running. There was only one place in the entire city with any hope of safety for her now.

Another robot. She punched it as she ran, her hand going through the robot. She fell to the ground with it, pulling her hand free with a yell of pain. Bits of metal still stuck in her hand, but she clenched it in a fist should any more robots come.

/Quantus tremor est futurus (What trembling is to be)/

She kept running. How many robots had Shadow sent after her? A troop? A squad? All of them? She did not know. They could pop out from behind any street corner, a pincer stab her as she ran past any alley. The cobblestones became a blur underneath her feet.

Finally, she looked up and saw them. The two towers of the church. Notre Dame. Shadow had built the church like a fortress, with windows perfect for turrets and gargoyles to scowl down at the congregation as they left and entered. The church framed her nightmares. Yet she could not forget the kind archdeacon who watched over their services. A strong man whose words even Shadow heeded. A true man of God.

/Quando Judex est venturus (When the Judge is come)/

She scrambled to the steps, tripping and wheezing. She caught herself from falling by pounding her bloody fist at Notre Dame's door. /"Sanctuary! Please give us sanctuary!"/ she screamed, splintering the door. The wood broke as if she was driving in a battering ram.

An energy blast knocked her in the back. She collapsed against the door.

/Quando Judex est venturus (When the Judge is come)/

The energy had blown away a chunk of her back. She could feel herself bleeding, yet was strangely numb to all of it. The energy coiled up her spine and cracked at the edges of her brain, making her twitch spastically. It was as if someone had grabbed her brain and was shaking it.

Shadow grabbed her by the ruff of her collar and threw her down the stairs. The sting of the energy died down to the pain in her skull. She opened one eye a crack, which seemed like the hardest thing for her to do.

"You dare praise those idols of yours," said Shadow scathingly. "I knew it was their foul work that awoke you. I will consider your extermination holy judgment." Shadow leveled a blast at her sprawled figure. "Die, evil witch."

/Quando Judex est venturus (When the Judge is come)/

It was a reflex. The blast fired and her hand whipped up to intercept it. The wear and tear of the chaos blast faded from her system. She was propping herself up with one hand while the other extended forward. A green aura clothed her, and the blast stopped right in front of her hand. Shadow watched, amazed, hand still poised from the attack. The woman squinted, strained, and slowly the ball of chaos energy began to edge backwards to Shadow.

Terror extinguished the flames, washed away by the woman's light. Shadow had never seen anyone ascend that far before. No one had ever tapped into the energy to such an extent, at least not before he killed them. It was a sight to behold. Then Shadow regained his senses. He extruded his own chaos energy, pushing the ball back at her. The woman's face was desperate; she clutched her baby tighter and the ball inched toward Shadow once more. Shadow's eyes widened in shock. This could not be happening. No, the chosen people would not rise against him!

Shadow fired a punch of chaos energy at the woman's defense. It penetrated, and hit her face. Then she no longer had one. The baby fell to the ground and began to bawl.

/Dies irae (Day of wrath)/

Shadow panted and cracked his knuckles. "This ancient source is stronger than I expected. I will make sure to never let such a thing happen in the future." He flexed his fingers worriedly. His arm was sore, and his wrist cracked loudly. Such resistance would be deadly if such an awakening progressed farther.

Shadow turned his annoyance to the bundle. He picked it up with the swing of his arm. "Now...let us see what the heretical power tried to save." Shadow pulled the cloth away from the baby's face.

/"A baby?" he asked, puzzled. A claw came out and slashed across Shadow's face. Shadow reeled backward, forcing the thrashing child to arm's length. He eyed the child's hands; two sharp claws jutted out over the fingers. "A monster!" /Shadow yelled in rage. He hurled the child at the street.

The baby hit with a wet thud and quieted. Shadow smiled in satisfaction. Then a small whimper caught his ears. It grew into a cry. Shadow's eyes widened in terror.

/Solvet saeclum in favilla (Shall consume the world in ashes)/

"This durability means nothing! You are not blessed! Your people are cursed! You and your idols and trinkets of sin shall be struck down by our Lord and Savior! I have nothing to fear from you!" Shadow shrieked at the child. "Your baleful practices, your squalid beliefs, I will not have them taint my city!"

A blast of the same level used to kill the woman built again at his fingertips. "Let us see your Walkers protect you now," Shadow chortled.

/Dies irae, dies illa (Day of wrath, that day)/

The doors of the church burst open. /"Stop!" cried the Archdeacon./

Shadow froze, scowling at the white furred man in holy robes. The decoration was enough to get Shadow to dissolve the blast in his hand.

The Archdeacon looked at the dead woman's body, then at Shadow. "What happened here, Lord Shadow?" he demanded.

Shadow glared at the Archdeacon. Hell's fires met the heaven's sky. The Archdeacon did not blink or flinch, and his gaze remained level. Shadow shrugged off. /"This is an unholy demon. I'm sending it back to hell where it belongs,"/ Shadow explained reluctantly. The Archdeacon's eyes narrowed at Shadow. Heaven conquered Hell-Shadow looked away.

The Archdeacon turned his attention to the woman's body. He flicked one last angry look at Shadow before walking to the body's side. He saw the baby, picked it up and cradled it. He lifted up the remains of the woman's head, and noticed her clothing. /"See the innocent blood you have spilt on the steps of Notre Dame,"/ he sighed sadly, closing his eyes in regret.

/"I am guiltless. She ran. I pursued,"/ Shadow said with an upturned nose and uneasy step. He swatted the baby out of the Archdeacon's hands. "Watch out for that thing, it will slash you," Shadow muttered arrogantly, holding the child arm's length from his bleeding face.

The Archdeacon was agast, pleading, /" Now you would add this child's blood to your guilt, on the steps of Notre Dame?"/

/" My conscience is clear!" /Shadow declared. "And make sure none of the loyal leave their houses!" he barked at the robots. Several heads ducked under windowsills at his words.

The Archdeacon rounded on Shadow, accusing, /"You can lie to yourself and your minions! You can claim that you haven't a qualm. But you never can run from nor hide what you've done from the eyes!" the Archdeacon pointed at the carvings adorning the exterior of Notre Dame. Angels, gargoyles and the saints alike stared downwards. "The very eyes of Notre Dame!"/

The stares bore down on Shadow, twisting into malice, contempt and disappointment. Angels' eyes widened in disgust. Gargoyles' mouths opened and salivated at the prospect of his soul. Saints' eyes contorted to ones of judgment with punishment severe. Above the scores of heaven's occupants and guardians, the holy family frowned down at him. The Virgin knotted her brows, while the prodigal son glowered in her arms.

It was not that a conscience flicked in the darkness of Shadow. The threats of damnation he had hurled at the people for so long lodged in his throat.

/Kyrie Eleison (Lord have mercy)/

The scars in Shadow's face throbbed like a punch. Was it true? Was the almighty power not on his side? This bile rising in his throat and threatening to retch, was this sin? Shadow had never cowered in the presence of the power, had never shielded his eyes in shame or weakness. He was God's sword! Such a loyal follower could not be struck down, could he?

And for one time in his life of power and control

Kyrie Eleison (Lord have mercy)

Shadow felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul

Shadow fell to his knees, the weight of the heavens bearing upon his shoulders and boring into his head. After all his service, was he really no better than the congregation he threatened and scolded?

Could the whip of temptation strike him as well?

/"What must I do?"/ he muttered pathetically to the cobblestones.

The Archdeacon picked up the body of the dead woman, and walked over to where Shadow knelt. The Archdeacon gave no mercy to Shadow, and glared down on his like an angel of Notre Dame. /" Care for the child, and raise it as your own,"/ he stated matter-of-factly.

Shadow reared up his head. /"What? I'm to be saddled with this misshapen..." Shadow caught sight of the statues beyond the Archdeacon's head. He quieted. "...very well," Shadow acquiesced. He gazed upwards at the towers, searching for a loophole. "I'll let him live with you in your church,"/ Shadow stated finally.

/"Live here? Where?"/ angrily remarked the Archdeacon.

/"Anywhere,"/ Shadow trailed off, looking up at the towers and considering what rooms were available. "Just so he's kept locked away where no one else can see. The bell tower, perhaps, and who knows? Our Lord works in mysterious ways. Even this foul creature may yet prove one day to be of use to me."

And Shadow gave the child a cruel name; a name taken after the child's deformity: Knuckles.

Now here is a riddle to guess if you can sing the bells of Notre Dame.

Who is the monster and who is the man?

Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells of Notre Dame.



Reviews and feedback greatly appreciated. The story will be uploaded in full at a later date.