blessed
tirana, albania
all bastien palemonas heard was agony. the deafening blasts of firearms, the crashing of destroyed buildings, the pained screams of the innocent. the rebellion of the albanian government had cost hundreds of lives already, and the senior class of mons orléanais had been sent to save civilians from either side within the conflict.
this changed nothing. there were too many to save, and the fighting was too intense to stop. thirty-nine hours since the fighting had started, and bastien had witnessed six people die in his hands. to see the life slowly drain from a body, to feel the heartbeat slowly grind to a halt, had killed him six times over. he wouldn't describe himself as a religious man, but bastien convinced himself that there had to be some sort of justice, salvation, for these souls in a world after. there had to be.
the seventh was seven years and seven months old. bastien was not strong enough to bear this pain, but he was strong enough to stop it. he touched his right hand to the ground, and concrete enveloped his body. in the commotion, this camouflage was more than enough to get him to albania's parliament unseen.
naturally, the job was not to be simple. armed guards and professional heroes guarded the compound. this changed nothing - bastien was smarter than anyone stronger than him, stronger than anyone smarter than him. one hundred and seven noncombatants met their end in one minute and six seconds. by all means, this was a war crime of the highest degree. the deed was done, the war over.
in his moment of need, bastien opened his soul to Him. 'hephaestos' rechristened as the hero Ordained, 'biotic blend' as the Divine Conduit. the guilt of what he had done would forever weigh on bastien, but he knew that it was the right choice.