[Mock-Fiction] I - Requiescat In Pace

Note: Please read the Formal Notice movella. It should be on the list on the right hand side.
Have i succumbed to the inevitable... or just made a mockery of it?

Cover by Secrets Unfold


6. 5 – The All Souls’ Day Massacre

For the Brotherhood: Not all of you kept your word on NMD. As a subtle punishment, you lot get the chapter with the least action. But, hey, look on the bright side – you still get a chapter x3



The sun shone on the monastery as Liam and Louis walk through the courtyard. Harry was dead. Niall was dead. Zayn had managed to get himself killed in a train station.

What were the odds? Louis thought miserably.

The monastery at which the pair were staying was in the south of France – away from the UAF and away from Lodovico’s clearly determined assassins. The setting suited them both also, as they were both posing as Christian clerics and there was a whole lot of silence in monastery. The silence was good for making plans. Though, Louis was a little let down by the place. The nearest whore-house or even nunnery was nearly a mile off. And he couldn’t risk leaving the monastery, in the awful fright that someone might recognize him and report him to the UAF. Lodovico’s spies [as Louis found out a little too late] were everywhere.


‘What do you make of this one, Louis?’ asked Liam, as he started reciting a poem he had recently composed.

‘Oh, please!’ Louis responded angrily, ‘Your poems are all... bleugh!! They don’t rhyme, they don’t follow a sequence, and, hell, they don’t even make sense! What do I think? Just become a monk here, and keep quiet!’

‘You’ve been spending too much time with women,’ said Liam, calmly.


‘You’re so huffed up, it must be your time of the month,’ Liam rolled up his scroll, and turned his nose up in distaste.

‘LIAM!’ yelled Louis.

The nearby monks pressed their fingers to their lips, ‘Shh!’ they hissed collectively.


Louis looked around, his mouth gaping, but didn’t say more. Something caught the sunshine, and Louis’s head snapped in the direction, but it was gone. Whatever, it was he must have imagined it.

‘What are we going to do now?’ he said to Liam.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Liam, ‘Your temper’s always been fuming.’

‘No, not my temper!’ said Louis, restraining his voice from shouting, ‘About the WD. Three of our ringleaders are down.’

Liam shrugged, ‘Find new ringleaders.’

Louis stared at him, ‘Where do I find new ringleaders?’

‘Try looking in those whore-houses you spend so much time in.’

Louis was about to hit him, when he thought on the comment. It made sense. But he’d have to bide his time a little longer in the monastery, in the south of France so that the UAF lose his trail.


‘Is it just me?’ said Liam, his voice a little shaky, ‘Or are the monks closing in on us?’

Louis spun round to face Liam, ‘What the bloody hell are you –?’ Then he noticed the monks.

All their heads cowled, their long white robes swishing around their ankles, and their hands held humbly against their chests; the monks were indeed forming a tight circle around the pair of rebels. Some ran to the safety of the monastery, and hid there – clueless of what was going on – but the majority, perhaps twenty or thirty monks, continued making their circle around Louis and Liam.




There was silence. Not a muscle moved. Louis breathed unevenly – jagged, sharp breaths. His eyes searched wildly amid the crowd, but the uniformity was frightening and the silence eerie. There was sweat on his palms, and he could feel Liam quaking next to him.

‘What…?’ Louis plucked up the courage to say something, ‘What is the meaning of this?’

One by one, the monks removed their cowls. They were not strictly male, but that was the last thing on Louis’s mind [… come to think of it: no, it wasn’t]. They wore bandanas or chokers around their necks, that all said something.

Cookies. Lil Ms. IceCream. Rawrz. Richard. Vesp.

And the list went on. None of it made sense.

Standing directly in front of the pair, was something – someone – that startled them and terrified them at the same time.


It was the thing that caught the sunshine, Louis speculated.

A woman, 5ft 5” tall and lean as a greyhound, stared at them in her white monks’ robes. On her face she wore a cracked Venetian mask, golden and wreathed in black feathers. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. The black voids in the place of the woman’s eyes, created by the mask, showed she had none. Louis quickly read the word on her choker: Rogue.


A bird screeched above head, and Rogue looked up. She focused on the bird with such concentration, Louis began to think that was her only purpose: To watch the bird. It was a brown eagle, circling above them, the tips of its wings and rudder white. The eagle disappeared into the vast azure sky, and the blank gaze of the mysterious woman in the mask fell on the pair once more. Liam and Louis began to shiver once more.


‘Question,’ she said. Her voice was accent-less, strong and rung in the courtyard, ‘Today is All Souls’ Day, yes?’

Louis nodded.

‘This is the day monks pray for all the souls of the dead,’ she continued, ‘yes?’

Liam nodded.

Rogue reached into her robes, and brought out a heavy Damascus, scraping against the sheath as it left. The sword glimmered in the sweet sunshine.

There were tears in Liam’s eyes.

‘Then perhaps,’ said Rogue, her tone unforgiving, ‘you should start praying for your own.’


The hoard of monks brought out their weapons in unison and closed in, smiling…

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