I'll fill the empty space with bodies

The shockwave of Seth's death, the man that Natasha and Richard miss so much. Years before the healing, years before the news of their salvation. How the darkness and pain was turned outward.

Three years ago

He was dead. Their president was dead. Their founder was dead. Their prophet was dead. Their savior, he was dead. It was to dark to be true. The world was full of theft, lies, murder, and rape. The world was on fire, the world was a bloodbath arena where millions would flock to a place where everyone was armed and everything was seen. Anything to be safe, anything to breathe, anything to have a meal. He had led them to rise above their enemies. They had climbed mountains of bodies to build a safe haven; a stronghold that righteous men and women could go forth from to set the world right with fire, steel, and blood. There was doubt, there was questioning of where their master had gone. His most loyal soldiers had assembled around a statue made of the man who had sacrificed with them.

Natasha stood among them, close to the statue. As his adopted daughter, one of his confidants; she was heart-broken. Among her stood members of the "Fist of Humanity". Four billion people armed to the teeth, a culture of the gun, the book, and the burning heart. Children were taught how to shoot when they were thirteen, boys and girls. The National Defenders, stood guard in the tens of millions; with gear that was highly dependable. State of the art less then 15 years ago it had been, but now it was surplus in a world of arms races. Above that was the reserves, the actives, and the vanguards. Tiers of people ready to die for what they believed in, tiers of money, training, and hate. After that was just two last tiers: the Rangers who hid in the shadows and trained revolutions; the "Fist" who made men who saw themselves as Gods confront their mortality. 

Seth used to cross of names and x out pictures, while mass-murders the world over were found dead left and right. You could kill a Fist, but the explosion after would always kill you. Around the nation posters had been hung on walls or painted on, an image of a person cowering. On that image Seth stood with his hand on their head, shielding them with his standing body. He had a handgun out, a modified USP with a scope, a match-grade barrel, and a flash-hider. It was pointed at a smiling man in a suit, pointing a handgun at both of them. On his suit was the pin of a skull. A bullet was flying towards him. 

Her body was scarred and lean, she looked like a champion runner who got in a bad knife fight. She had no idea what happened to her chest over the years, even she couldn't figure out the pronoun when she looked in the mirror. Her vision was clear, she could hear soft footsteps, and her movements were like a seer. She had thrown a man to the ground and shoot two others with his gun, she knew exactly where they would stand.

"I admit it." She started "I miss my father. He was the only mentor I ever had. He convinced me to part of the blood, and I am proud to part of our people."

She unraveled the cloth she had tied around it and held it up, so that they could all see it.

"I will carry on the crusade!" Natasha called out "A hundred heads will roll to honor our friend, our brother, our father!"

"She has his sidearm." A Fist noticed

All of them bowed their heads and crossed their good arm over their chests diagonally.

"Hail." They all uttered 

Natasha looked around at them, they were all facing her now. She didn't expect them to salute her so quickly. 

"An executioner gives the knife to his replacement." She said, having learned the words this morning.

"And the traitors pay for their crimes." They all said

"The replacement crosses off the name!" Natasha yelled, 

"And the innocent get their revenge!" They yelled back

"The predators will die!" She exclaimed, her voice getting even louder

"And we will feast on their blood!" They shrieked 

Their faces were contorted and filled with heat, turning the color of blood. The disgust was written all over their faces, their hands tightened and their eyes dilated. She panted with them and looked over all of them. The pressure couldn't be released, something would have to be done.

"The exploiters, the binders of the Birth-Land." Natasha stated "A pile in the ground."

Their eyes matched hers, as she looked around at each of them. The funeral had turned into another call for blood. The regret and frustration, the emptiness; it was a ditch to be filled with harassers and kidnappers. 

Days later

"Six thousand people have gone missing so far." The President read "All records of their existence is gone. Just a night after they spoke out after the last election."

Vigor stared back at the thousands that had rallied for this press conference. To hear him speak about what was going to be done. The large man, who towered over almost all of them in size and age; looked over to Keith. The Grand Marshal stood up and walked over. They hugged for a moment and then Keith leaned into the mic. 

"It's going to require a great sacrifice to do stop this and I am not sure if I can give enough to win." Keith admitted, before being interrupted.

"I will make the sacrifice, I am Seth!" Someone yelled out

"I don't get enough sleep, I am Seth!" Someone else screamed

"I'm breathing, that means I'm not working hard enough! I am Seth!"

"I drink to forget the losses that weren't my fault! I am Seth!"

"I am Seth! I am Seth! I AM SETH! I AM SETH! I AM SETH! I AM SETH! I AM SETH! I AM SETH!"

The chanting only got louder and faster, was people joined in without thought. It got louder and louder. They spoke the name of a symbol, of an ideal. They spoke the name of a way of life. Tears streamed down their face, tears of loss and tears of vengeance. People found themselves repeating the words back in their living rooms, as they cried as well. The tears combined could make a lake, the pain could kill a million horses.

"Seth obeys the people!" Keith yelled out "And what do the people want!"

"Justice!" The mob replied "Overwhelming force! Longer shifts!"

Those were things he used to yell. He used to threaten states on national television and then he went back to work so that the war machine could surge outward. It was morning. When people finally got home, they made quick meals and then went to bed. 

This happened three more times. Billions of souls, black paint under their spirits' eyes in a horizontal line. 

Screams. Cries. Gates open to camps. A trial. A sentence. A wall. Blindfolds. Hundreds of blanks. Dozens of shots.

Author's Note

This is likely the darkest point mentioned in this entire story. I'm actually afraid that it's so dark that it might seem silly. My defense is that everything was uphill before this point and it would be years before anything went uphill again.