The Gray Reapers. Not the Black Reapers. Not those conniving, lying, backstabbing assholes.
After the priest had read a few Bible verses, he invited me to deliver my speech. I had actually gone to bed the night before having not written anything, preferring to speak from the heart. I figured that that would be the best way to honor my father. Not by reading in a dry monotone from a piece of paper, but with emotion.
Two hours before, though, I realized that would just lead to me speaking in circles in a boring, sad speech, so I wrote down on a note three things to talk about: honor, father, and perseverance.
Part of me really wanted to take the chance to attack the Black Reapers. But given that Father Marcellus was the only one present and given that he was the only remaining friend I had in that world, I didn’t think it was the place.
And besides, the Black Reapers had taken enough. They didn’t need to take a moment of mourning and remembrance from my father.
I rose, cleared my throat, and tried to keep my posture upright as I approached the lectern. I looked out over the crowd as all eyes settled on me or gazed to the ground. I couldn’t ever recall commanding a room in a solemn situation like this. Fortunately, thanks to my father, I had the ability to handle it.
“Thank you all for coming this afternoon,” I said. “Many of you knew my father by his codename in his club: Red Raven. He received this name because, like a bird, he could see all. He was one of the wisest people that any of us knew, and whenever someone in the club needed guidance, they would go to him or the club founder.”
I tried not to say the name “Carter.” Even if it was in reference to Roger Carter, a man that I admired and liked, saying that name would also bring to mind Lane—and that was a guest who would be less welcome than Satan himself.
At least I knew Satan had malicious intentions.
“But I knew him by a different name. Dad.”
It was the first moment in the speech in which I had to pause to collect myself.
“Dad... Dad was a man who would just as soon whup my ass if I misbehaved as he would give me a high five and a hug for catching a nice fish.”
The audience gave a gentle laugh. It was enough to soothe me and make speaking about him a little easier.
“Dad was a man of honor and perseverance.”Well, just shot everything in one sentence. Guess I’m going to be making up the rest of this.“Dad... he raised me on his own. It would have been very easy for him to take a detached approach, to raise me like pet to fend for myself. But Dad... he didn’t do that. He...”
The doors to the back opened.
And I saw a sight that felt so mocking and so condescending that I could scarcely believe what I was seeing.
Butch, Lane, and Axle all walked in.
“He... umm... he did a lot.”
The audience had their eyes on me, not on the back. The door hadn’t made a lot of noise when it opened, and in any case, the three Black Reapers silently stood at the back, barely moving past the door.
But my God...
“He was a good man,” I said. “A good man... and...”
To the audience, it probably looked like I was just losing my emotional control and needed a second. They weren’t wrong; they just weren’t right in the way they thought they were.
Seeing the three of them... I could have had them killed if I wanted. There were enough Gray Reapers present that the three of them would get overwhelmed and crushed. I could have ended it. Maybe I’d put a bullet through their skulls, one by one, saving Butch for last.
The only reason I didn’t was because I refused to be goaded into causing violence at an actual church. That was a line that none of us Gray Reapers were willing to cross, even if we weren’t necessarily religious. To do so would be to stoop to their level, perhaps even to the level of the Fallen Saints.
God, no. I was not going to do that. Besides, if it got Father Marcellus in the line of fire, that wasn’t something I wanted to do.
But that sure as shit didn’t mean I was going to just smile and let this moment go by that easily. They wanted to come? Fine. They would come to their own damning.
“And he was a good man consumed by a dark, dark culture.”
Whatever possibility there was of me crying had disappeared. I didn’t feel sad at this point. I just felt utter determination and rage to see the Black Reapers wiped out.
And this moment? This would be the moment when I honored my father’s passing by beginning the crusade to end the Black Reapers, my father’s killers.
“He joined a club that, at the time, stood for something meaningful,” I said. “It stood for loyalty. It stood for brotherhood. It stood for freedom. But over time, despite his best efforts, that club became poisoned by the weak and the selfish. See, that’s the awful thing about darkness and evil. Because it is aggressive and unflinching in its efforts, it usually gets its way, even when good stands up to it.”
