Fractured God

“Hey dad, you know what I think?” Ezekiel said as he delivered a blow to the gut of the demonic-looking man on the table.

“What do you think, boy?”

“I think that son of bitch was trying to screw us over.”

“Hoh, really, what makes you say that?” Mr. Bentley remarked in faux shock, with his hands on his cheeks.

“Hmph. You know with the cultists being such a problem it's quite convenient that this group dedicated to killing them suddenly did enough to make waves for only him to hear about. You'd think the king and his court would all be praising them publicly if that was the case.”

“Maybe the King's just a modest man, who knows, perhaps he enjoys keeping his achievements to himself, like any good politician.” Mr. Bentley chuckled while answering.

“So have you heard anything from him? This was something we both planned together, so you'd think he'd send a letter or something to confirm if we did everything correctly.”

“Not a peep.” Mr. Bentley said as he got out of his seat. “Let's stop fooling around and prepare ourselves.”

“For what?”

“Our exit.”

Ezekiel tensed up at the suggestion and hastily walked towards the old man.

“Woah, woah, don't you think you're being a bit too cautious here? Can't we just kill the asshole and call it a day?”

“Ezekiel, with the amount of money we have saved up, you could throw a dart at any parish on a map and we could comfortably live there. Don't worry about my dreams or any of those, seeing a girl like Elizabeth has left me more than satisfied with the future of adventuring in this parish.”

“But what about the girls? Besides, wouldn't it be better to kill him and act like nothing happened?”

Mr. Bentley shook his head and tapped Ezekiel’s shoulder, almost sympathetic.

“Boy, as long as we remain here, Elizabeth will always have the chance of finding out about our misdeeds. Her nose is far too sharp to leave something like this to chance. And besides, we'll have to kill the priest to ensure he doesn't tell our comrades of anything they ought not to know.”

Ezekiel looked to the floor, thinking of something.

“No matter what you think of, there's no chance of us bringing them with us.”

Ezekiel clicked his tongue and looked back to Mr. Bentley.

“Is leaving really the only way?” He asked as he began tapping his foot impatiently.

“Boy, for the love off- who says you can't come back to visit them?”

“Wha-”

“If they don't figure out what happened after you leave, in say a year, you can always pull the old twin sibling trick.”

“Trick? Oh, I've heard that, you mean the thing where some assassins pretend they had an identical brother to reconnect with their family? I mean… shit I guess it'd be worth a shot.” Ezekiel was looking for the smallest shot of him interacting with the girls again and this was more than enough to give him some reprieve. After all, a year was nothing compared to never seeing someone again.

“Good, good, now let's discuss this subject further upstairs. We need to move quickly before that priest has any more plans.” He said before rushing towards his office.

Sitting at the other end of the desk was Ezekiel with his face planted into the table.

Mr. Bentley looked somewhat concerned but tried to keep a cheery expression on his face, his stressed smile looking like it'd crack at a moment's notice.

“No-now, now, boy I'm sure they'll be able to get over it quickly. Trust me, you've brought them up stronger than that, right?”

“Ughhhhhhhh.” His displeasure was on display for anyone to see. What had left him in such a state?

“Can't we at least leave my death a bit ambiguous? It seems kinda cruel to leave my body there. Even if they're tough, I'd probably cry like a baby if I saw your body.” He begged. He slowly lifted his head and turned to his father.

“Well, knowing Elizabeth, maybe you can at the very least be rest assured she takes care of them, right? She probably won't let them take part in the violence. I don't imagine they'd stand much of a chance against the priest so them sitting it out would be for the better.”

Their discussions continued and he pouted like a child as he listened to Mr. Bentley.

“Old man… can't you be the one to fake your death?”

“Oh for the love of- it'd take far too much time, boy! The only reason we're even faking your death first is because we found a body a similar size to yours with long hair.”

“Whatever,” Ezekiel responded before kicking his feet up on Mr. Bentley’s desk.

“And will you take the wig off, I'll be fixing his hair to look like that mop you wear on your head, I need it as a reference… no one knows that's a wig, correct?”

Ezekiel reluctantly began pulling on his dreads, revealing them to be a cap and handed them over to the old man, like a punished child handing a toy to their father.

“Tch, of course. I'm surprised no one ever questioned me on how I kept it so clean. Hair’s a hell of a lot easier to take care of when you can take it off to wash it.”

It initially started as a way to make his regular appearance far too different from his appearance as an assassin to be considered a suspect but he soon grew fond of it in his earlier years and continued wearing it. He liked the way it flowed in combat and the wild look it gave him, though he'd keep this fact to the grave if he could.