[Writing] Shattered Faith

[Dishonored]

Father Brendan sighed to himself as he watched the last of his parishioners drive off into the steadily falling snow, then closed and locked the church door.
Satisfied that it was secure, he walked through the vestibule, thinking to himself, It's a pity to have to do that.
As he stepped inside the auditorium to turn off the lights, he noticed a strange humming. Curious, he followed it up to the front row of pews, noticing that the humming seemed to be getting louder.
As he stood before the altar, Father Brendan saw a miracle.
A ghostly, flickering blue light, about the size of a basketball, appeared underneath the cross. As he watched it faded in and out a few times, then started to solidify, eerie curls of blue-white static skittering across the globe.
Father Brendan crossed himself out of habit, and watched as forms took shape within, the shape of a sleeping man, and a small, standing winged figure.
For a few seconds, he could see both of them clearly, frozen in time like a hologram. The man was wearing a shredded uniform of some sort, and had silvery cloth wrapped around parts of his body. Ruggedly handsome, he seemed to be either asleep or unconscious, although he wore a troubled expression as though in pain.
The smaller figure was about two feet tall, obviously female, with curly, shoulder-length black hair and white wings like a butterfly on her back, although elongated. She was wearing a blue uniform like the man's, although in much better shape.
Father Brendan hesitantly reached his hand out to touch them as the static faded, stopped short, then let it go limp. He said, "What in the name of God?"
With an audible POP! the scene unfroze.
The girl screamed "Medtech! I need a medtech, STAT!"
Father Brendan literally jumped back a foot, surprised.
The girl paused to look around, and blinked as if surprised. Then she started smacking at a small object in her left hand and cursing loudly in a liquid tongue. "J'crayis-T'mai-K'vetris-Sayth!"
The girl suddenly looked up at Father Brendan, and said, "What're you lookin' at, halfscan?"
Brendan asked incredulously, "What are you?"
The girl grinned wickedly and wiggled her wings. "I'm an angel. Maybe you noticed?" She burst out laughing at the look on his face "Sorry. Just kinda burned." She hooked a thumb at the man, then pointed at herself. "Me an' him, we're soldiers." She fluttered down in front of him with her hand extended, tiny black gloves covering them. "I'm T'raisl of the Filaani. You can call me Theresa. What year is it?"
Brendan carefully took her hand in his, and she pumped it vigorously. "Uh, it's 2069. I'm Father Brendan Michaels, and this is St. Michael's in New York."
At the last, Theresa dropped his hand as though she were touching something distasteful. "You're a Catholic?" She shook her head. "Great, juuust great." She rubbed her eyes with her hand as though she had a migraine. "Of all the places that blasted thing could've left me, it had to be a Catholic church in 2069. Why couldn't it have just dropped me in the Devonian?"
She dropped to the floor, looking suddenly tired. "Do me a favor, huh? Don't holo anyone, don't go off the beam, and just keep quiet for a few hours. By then Sam should be healed enough I can access his Storm, and we'll be leaving."
Brendan frowned for a moment, then asked, "Is he going to be all right? What happened to him? And what's wrong with being a Catholic?"
Theresa looked at the man for a second, a look of concern and deep love crossing her face. "I hope he'll be okay. He took a pretty nasty hit from a buzzer..." She slumped into a sitting position, and began to sob softly.
A bit flustered by her swiftly changing moods, Brendan reached into his pocket, finding a handkerchief, and handed it to her. "Th-thanks," she sniffled. "I'm not usually this way."
Brendan nodded, not understanding at all. "I'm a good listener, if it'd help..?"
Theresa handed back his handkerchief, and smiled weakly. "We're paired. Whatever Sam feels, I feel, and the other way around." She frowned at his still form. "And right now I can barely feel him at all..." She shook her head.
"Anyways, what's up with you? She gestured around. "What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?"
Brendan almost chuckled. "I'm a priest. This is how I serve God, caring for His people, helping the sick, preaching the Word." Eying her wings carefully, he continued. "Have you heard of the Lord?"
Theresa stepped over to Sam, started fussing with his bandages. "My people have no gods. We tend to think you humans are silly." She turned and smiled briefly over her shoulder. "Strangely enough, I've always been fascinated by your crazy notions."
"So why the hostility towards Catholics? Surely we've done you no harm."
Theresa snorted, an indelicate sound from such a small person. "You've done quite enough, thank you. I'm actually surprised I didn't have to trank you to keep you out of my way."
Although he'd seen no weapons, her matter-of-fact tone sent a slight chill down Brendan's spine. "I'm glad to disappoint you in that way, then." He finally realized he'd been standing the whole time, and sat on the front pew, taking a bit of comfort from the smooth, carved hardwood. Not sure what else to say, he fell silent, watching her fuss over the man.
Abruptly, she turned towards him. "Ask, damn it. You know you want to."
Caught by surprise, Brendan repeated his earlier question. "What are you?"
Theresa smirked. "More like it. I'm a Filaani. We're from a planet circling the star your race calls Proxima Centauri." She went back to fussing with the man, talking over her shoulder. "You humans stumbled across the secret of time travel on our world. We kind of got sucked along for the ride."
She turned and put her hands on her hips, frowning at the look of disbelief on his face. "You humans. I swear.."
"What? I, um, I believe you," Brendan stammered.
She looked at him knowingly, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter anyways. Even if you had a chance to tell someone, they wouldn't believe you." She gave him an odd half-smile. "Ironic, huh?"
He frowned slightly. "I don't see the irony, actually."
A soft moan from the man caused Theresa to bite off whatever sharp remark she intended to say, as she whipped around and began stroking his forehead with a gloved hand. Her face took on an almost childlike innocence as she whispered something in that same oddly liquid tongue.
Whatever the words were, Brendan could see that they had a soothing effect on him, and she ran that same tiny device over him, nodding at the beeps and whirrs. "Good, good.."
Brendan cleared his throat delicately. "Is there anything I can do? Are you thirsty? Hungry?"
"Sorry. Even if I trusted you that much, I doubt it would do me any good," she answered in a flat tone.
He leaned forward, frustration forming his question almost before he realized he was going to ask it. "Why? If you don't believe in the Lord, why hate my beliefs so much?" He realized he was wadding his handkerchief in his hands, and absently placed it back in his pocket.
Her eyes fairly glowed as she spoke, in an angry, accusing tone. "Your beliefs have killed millions. Your beliefs caused the Crusades, created the Inquisition, and destroyed nations!" He became aware of an odd buzzing growl coming from her as her nostrils flared, like a cross between an angry cat and a maddened hornet. She poked one finger at him, her wings clenched tight, as though squeezed in invisible hands. "Well? What does your "god" have to say about it?"
  Brendan leaned back, shocked. "But, but, those were centuries ago!" he stammered.
Theresa rocked back a bit, her wings slowly unclenching behind her. "Not to me. I was there. You have no clue what it was like." The growling sound abruptly stopped, but her eyes continued to flash in anger.
He nodded, shaken by her vehemence. "Perhaps not. But the Church has changed. We're not like that anymore." His voice became almost pleading. "We've learned from our mistakes."
A soft chime from Theresa's little device caused them both to blink. "Recall signal," she said. "Looks like they'll have a lock on us in a couple minutes." She eyed the priest with an odd expression. "I don't believe in your "god", I don't trust your faith, and I certainly don't think you know the truth."
She pulled a clear gel-like patch from a pocket, and tossed it to Brendan, who barely managed to catch it. "I think you've been lied to, and that if you see the truth, you're worth saving. Come here."
Seeing his hesitation, she grew impatient. "I'm not going to hurt you, and we don't have much time. Come here." She pointed to a spot near her, by the altar.
As Brendan stood and moved hesitantly towards her, Theresa stripped off one of her gloves. She fluttered up to hover before him, her wings beating soft drafts of warm air past him. She gently reached out a tiny, cool hand, and placed it on his forehead.
He was barely aware of his body crashing to its' knees as he was overwhelmed by swirling visions. He saw World War Three beginning within the hour. He saw the misery and anguish on thousands of faces, crying out as their lives were destroyed. He saw the fireballs blooming across the world, weapons from heaven arcing down and laying waste to entire countries, smelled the scent of a world bathed in fire, the faces and scenes blurring and swirling around him until he felt as though his head would burst.
And everywhere he looked, he saw the hand of the Church, pushing the destruction, urging the fire onwards.
Brendan found himself on his knees, sobbing, tears streaming down his face, with Theresa still hovering before him. She landed softly, pulling on her glove, her eyes full of sympathy.
"I know," she said quietly. She stepped over to Sam, and laid a hand on his shoulder as she punched buttons on her device. "That patch will bring you to us, if you just believe."
As sirens began blaring outside, and a rising sound of panic became audible in the streets, Theresa and Sam disappeared.
And Father Brendan stayed on his knees, clutching his only hope of salvation tight in both hands, as fire fell from heaven.

THE END

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

There's a lot of backstory hanging around in this. I'm intrigued. If nothing else, there's the question of which church, exactly, pushed what. And who was in charge. And what might happen to Father Brendan, etc...

[Dishonored]

 It was just a short side story in my universe. Father Brendan was Catholic, as was the Church he saw.

I've always wanted to write a follow-up on Brendan, but just never had the right fit for him. He's a background character in another story, though.