Warning: Blood, sexuality, possibly disturbing imagery and blasphemy.
Luke 23:44 And it was, as it were, the sixth hour, and darkness came over all the land till the ninth hour, 45 and the sun was darkened, and the vail of the sanctuary was rent in the midst, 46 and having cried with a loud voice, Jesus said, "Father, to Thy hands I commit my spirit;" and these things having said, he breathed forth the spirit.
John 19:32 The soldiers, therefore, came, and of the first indeed they did break the legs, and of the other who was crucified with him, 33 and having come to Jesus, when they saw him already having been dead, they did not break his legs; 34 but one of the soldiers with a spear did pierce his side, and immediately there came forth blood and water; 35 and he who hath seen hath testified, and his testimony is true, and that one hath known that true things he speaketh, that ye also may believe.
Thin fingers passed over wooden beads, having cycled around to the last decade of the rosary again. How many times he had recited these words and recalled these mysteries, he could no longer say. Hours had passed and little more than the flickering candle-light illuminated the church. The priests no longer paid Sebastian any notice as he sat there, having stopped passing and glancing at him much earlier that evening. He didn't know what time it was nor how long he had been kneeling there.
But another Our Father passed through his lips and one Hail Mary after another followed it until warm chain was underneath his fingers again. He mouthed the words to the Glory Be, his mind still concentrating on the image of Christ on the cross, the spear in his side and the centurion who hailed his divinity with such compassion and adoration for the Lord.
As his fingers reached for the metal finding that joined the rosary in a circle, the cathedral bell tolled and startled him from his prayers with a gasp and a sudden racing of his heart for the briefest moment. One. But he continued praying, "O my Jesus, forgive us our sins," Sebastian breathed to himself. Two. "save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to Heaven," Three. "especially those in most need of Your Mercy." Four. "Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope." Five. "To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve." Six. "To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears." Seven. "Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercytowards us." Eight. "And after this our exile, show unto us the blessed Fruit of thy womb, Jesus." Nine. "O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary." Sebastian felt a slight pain in his chest, as though he were on the verge of tears again. But it was nothing new to him that evening. Ten. "Pray for us, O holy Mother of God." Eleven. "That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ." A breath, hands shaking for reasons he could only contribute to the cold. Twelve. "Amen."
Stillness. A perfect, peaceful quiet. As Sebastian lowered his hands towards his lap, he glanced up at the crucifixion before him. The nails in Christ's hands and the blood weeping from his side. He pulled in a deep breath and stilled his shaking hands enough to rest his rosary on his lap and peel back the black fingerless gloves he wore; white bandage stained in red lying underneath.
His nails slid under the tape, slowly unraveled gauze stuck together with dried and drying blood and mentally prepared himself for the sight he had been enduring for months now: wounds in his hands like gouges, straight through and yet somehow manging to miss every major vein, artery, bone and tendon that ran through his palm. The pain was bad enough, but the sight was what turned his stomach. Old bandage wrapped around the fingers of his other hand, falling into his lap, until finally his hand was uncovered and he turned his glance to look at the damage.
The sight gave him pause. There was nothing there. The skin of his palm was so pale that bright blue veins showed through to the surface, but there was no wound. Sebastian's breath caught and he could do nothing but stare at his hand in disbelief before quickly pulling off the other glove and unwinding the sullied bandage with haste, finding that his other hand was, as the first had been, healed. Stuffing the bandages into the pocket of his coat, he marveled at his hands, glancing only momentarily up at the crucifix once more before reaching to check his side. Shirt was pulled up, bandaged peeled back and there was nothing but smooth, pale skin below them. A shudder of a breath answered the finding and Sebastian ran a hand through lank brown hair and slumped forward until his forehead rest on the bench in front of him.
He wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time, the radiant feeling of being healed washing over him and making him forget, temporarily, about the pain in his chest that was now working its way into his neck. It was eclipsed by warmth and an all-over peace within him.
But as Sebastian had learned recently, these blessed things did not last long.
As startling as chiming of the cathedral bells had been, so was the jolt of indescribable pain up his spine. Had he not been already curled in on himself as he was, he would have only doubled over more. His rosary began to slide from his lap and he shot out a hand to grab it before it fell to the floor. Clutching the rosary in his fist, he wrapped one arm around himself and braced the other hand on the back of the bench in front of him, gripping so hard his nails clawed into the wood and his knuckles went white. He could feel his shirt growing damp under his palm just before everything went black.
He pain faded into a numb buzzing all over his body, heat prickling his skin. A warm light shown through his eyelids and Sebastian forced his eyes open to find a vast desolation all around him, pain in his wrists, back and arms. His head lulled back and hit something solid behind him. Craning his neck around a little he caught sight of the twisted and gnarled tree his hands and feet were tied to. Despite the heat, a chill ran through him and Sebastian shivered, unsure if he should curse or praise God for giving him this.
He could see them now, off in the distance, the legion of his soldiers on their mounts, bows drawn taut. He groaned, trembling, anticipation and the memory of his martyrdom flooding back to him and causing every nerve in his body to stand at attention. Sebastian licked his lips and held his breath, waiting. From the distance he could hear a man's voice: Renounce your god and kneel before me! The saint's gaze lifted towards the red sky above him and a faint smile of satisfaction passed his lips before he yelled back, Never. The snapping of bow-strings echoed in the air, followed by the whoosh of arrows flying towards him. He inhaled deeply, eyes heavenward and bliss baited at the edge of his expression...
As arrows gathered over head, the red sky turned dark and thunder boomed in the distance, colliding with the sound of a battle around him, swords clashing together as the thunder crashed, clouds crawling in front of his vision where a mass of arrows should have been instead. The dry heat turned cold and he was suddenly aware of his own nudity. Pain shot through his limbs, ending in his wrists and ankles with an excruciating nerve-deep throbbing. His back felt like it was on fire, caked in something dry and flaking - blood; the tree behind him digging into the wounds there. But the pain in his body was nothing compared to what he felt deeper, like a hand had reached up through some unseen wound and was clawing at his heart and lungs. It was a wretched kind of despair, utter agony awash in rage and hope where it did not seem to belong.
Lowering his gaze from the storm cloud-filled sky, he could see a sea of people in front of him, common people and soldiers, men and women weeping and cheering and shouting jeers towards him. He looked to his left and saw a man, dead. To his right, another dead man. The moment realization hit him, he felt something sharp bury itself into his side. He wanted to call out, but his voice refused to work and his body refused to do anything other than hang there for a moment before some man loosened his hands and feet and he went limp over the man's shoulder, aware but unable to respond.
As his body came to rest on the ground, he watched the man rub a bloodied hand across his face to wipe away sweat, blood getting into his eye, then look at the young corpse before him with an expression of astonishment. Dark eyes sparkled as another sound of thunder crashed in the sky above and he leaned down...
A blink and the image was gone again and he was standing on the doorstep of a small house on the edge of a village, watching a procession of Roman soldiers pass by with a smug smile resting on his lips. He recognized their faces, could name each one of them even two-thousand years later. And at the middle of the parade was a man fifteen years his elder, on a sandy-colored horse. Smile shifted into a smirk and Sebastian took a step away from the house, a swagger in his step as he called out the name of the general. The man's head turned and he looked, then paled as though he saw a ghost. It was all so vivid that it was almost as though he were there again, the look of abject horror on the general's face as he stared down the man he'd just had killed. With a look that may have hid the devil himself, Sebastian dropped the bit of cloth hanging loosely around his waist.
In a flurry, the man dismounted and charged towards Sebastian, who turned and sprinted off the step, running in the opposite direction, cool grass underfoot. He was just about to look behind him, expecting to see Diocletian closing in on him, prepared to drag him back to the ranks to order his men to beat the young man to death. But as his body twisted, he felt a sharp pain in his side like the spear that had only just broken skin, or the arrows that had pierced his flesh before that. His hand came down and he felt flesh and fur beneath his palm, the smooth bone of a tusk digging into his side just before a hand closed around his neck and dragged him back in the direction he had been running from. He could hear Diocletian's voice close to his ear, but his words were all lost in the haze closing in over him.
Sebastian fell to the ground, hard dirt underneath him and a moment of almost-stillness before a blow landed to his ribs, shattering them with a bloody, sickening crack. His eyes shot open in shock and above the Hippodrome he could see a cloud of arrows flying through the air.
He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation and a breath later, Sebastian could feel those sharp tips finding their way home. His back arched, hands once again strung taut above his head and the taste of blood on his lips. Nails raked down his chest and lips brushed over wounded skin for a fraction of a moment before they were gone and he found himself alone in the stillness, strung up once more on that tree with blood streaming over bare flesh. Arrows in his hands and sides and digging deep in his inner thigh. Every move sent a wave of pain, a wave of euphoria.
Then it all dissolved in a flash of stark white. The pain seeped away until only a twinge remained in the places where the arrows had dug deepest. Once more Sebastian was on his knees, curled in on himself with his arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He forced his eyes open, staring at a wood floor with a warm glow all around him. Hesitantly, almost frightened, he looked up and saw the crucifix hanging in the front of the cathedral. With a start, he gasped and stood, knocking into the bench behind him and almost toppling over himself as a rush of sensation washed over his body and left him standing there staring wide-eyed and trembling.
As he sunk down onto the seat, he looked around the empty cathedral, every candle in the room lit and flickering where only his had been before. Terrified of what he would see, he loosened his arms and slowly looked down at his hands. Covered in blood from the wounds in his palms and his side, blood seeping through his jeans at his inner thigh. And the rosary that had once been made of silver and pale blonde wood beads had now become brass and bloody red olive wood.