A shaved head shorn with a broken bottle. A man you’d call mad to lonely corners. For the rest of the world was taken with his madness in form of salvation.

Malachi Brown— a devil in the flesh. Carrying a cursed piece of silver. One of thirty that have traveled years upon miles upon nightmares. The throng of supplicants screamed in ecstasy as Malachi waved at them. A nimble man of discerning height, he glided across the stage like the memory of a ghost.

“My friends, my friends,” he said tapping the mic, motioning for them to calm down. The crowd obeyed. A sea of expectant, watery eyes waiting. “There’s a great terror upon us. A scourge of the faithful! Everywhere you look— you can see good men and women attacked by faithless heretics,” Malachi paused. Holding a shaking hand as he took a breath in. “We are beset on all sides. The government, the media, the supposed ‘fair and proper’ democratic process. It is a sham!” The crowd rumbled with cheers. “We must fight against this injustice! We must take to the streets. Take to the airwaves. The world needs our message now more than ever!” With each proclamation the crowd grew rowdier. Screaming with a savage joy, the horde of everyday citizens resembled the hordes of hell. Malachi’s heart blazed like a furnace. “Head towards the heart of this city,” he shouted, pointing to the Washington monument “Bring down the pillars of corruption! Bring down these demons!”

The crowd broke into the streets. They poured from the amphitheater towards the monument and unsuspecting tourists. Eyes widened by righteous anger. Mouths open from heavy breath. End of days had never looked so good, Malachi thought.