The Shepherd X

"For our God is a consuming fire."

— Hebrews 12:29

Part I – The Baptism of Iron

Rain fell softly over the city as Samuel walked through the church basement. It was a dark, damp place, filled with the scent of earth and metal. There, among old crates and rusted crucifixes, he had built a training room.

Mateo stood before him. No hood. No Bible. Just trembling hands and a determined gaze.

"What do you feel?" Samuel asked.

Mateo held his stare.

"Fear. Pain. And something else…"

"What?"

"Anticipation. Like… I'm ready for this."

Samuel nodded slowly.

"Good. That means you're no longer just a boy looking for a father. You are a man seeking purpose."

He handed Mateo a knife. Small. Sharp. Scarred from use.

"Take it. Not as a weapon — as a tool of justice."

Mateo extended his hand. He took it. Felt its weight. Its reality.

"How do I know when to use it?"

Samuel stepped closer. Spoke directly into his ear.

"When you can no longer pray for them. Only then."

Part II – The Words That Kill

That night, Samuel gave Mateo his first theological lesson:

"Words don't only heal," he said. "They also kill. A verse can be a comfort… or a sentence."

He pointed to an open passage in the Bible:

"For the Lord will judge His people and have compassion on His servants, when He sees that their strength is gone and there is none remaining, bond or free."

— Deuteronomy 32:36

Mateo read it several times. Aloud. In silence. Until he felt the weight of its letters.

"Does this… justify what we do?"

Samuel closed his eyes.

"It doesn't justify. It reveals. God does not bless violence… but He does not ignore it either."

He showed Mateo a handwritten note taken from one of his past targets:

"He doesn't kill out of vengeance. He kills as judgment."

Mateo swallowed hard.

"And who decides who deserves punishment?"

Samuel looked at him firmly.

"You do. With your heart. Your pain. Your memory."

A long silence followed.

"Then…" Mateo said, "if I remember those who suffered… I can know who must die."

Samuel smiled sadly.

"You understand."

Part III – The First Blood Training

In the basement, Samuel taught Mateo hand-to-hand combat techniques. Precise movements. Bone-breaking strikes. Silent takedowns.

"This isn't fighting," he told him. "It's execution."

He showed Mateo how to use the blade. How to cut tendons. How to wound without killing… and how to kill without hesitation.

"The human body has weak points," he explained. "The throat. The solar plexus. The kidneys. Learn to see them as extensions of your will."

Mateo practiced on straw dummies filled with sand. Then on training mannequins used by police and soldiers. Finally, on a corpse brought from a secret graveyard.

"Isn't this cruel?" Mateo asked, wiping blood from his hands.

"It's necessary," Samuel replied. "If not us, no one will act. And the wicked will keep sleeping peacefully while the innocent scream in silence."

Mateo nodded.

"I want to learn to use the rifle too."

Samuel studied him for a moment. Then he pulled a black case from the cabinet.

"Then prepare yourself. Because today, you begin to kill."

Part IV – The Night Mission

It was 3:00 AM.

This time, the target was Javier Reyes , a child trafficker working directly under Lorenzo Marquez. He had been seen trading thirteen-year-old girls for pure drugs.

Samuel and Mateo found him in an abandoned motel on the edge of town. He was with a girl chained to the wall. She trembled. Burn marks scarred her skin.

"Stand up," Samuel ordered.

Javier backed away.

"You can't do this!"

"Confess Jesus Christ as your Savior," Samuel said. "And die in peace."

"I do! I do!" Javier screamed. "Forgive me!"

Samuel gestured toward the girl.

"Will you let her go?"

"Yes! I swear!"

Samuel stared at him.

"Then, my son… receive your reward."

He fired.

Mateo didn't move. Didn't blink.

"Now," Samuel said, "take the Bible. Find a verse. Write it where it can be seen."

Mateo opened the worn book. His finger traced the pages until it stopped.

"Cursed is the man who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength."

— Jeremiah 17:5

With black ink, he wrote the verse on the wall above the corpse.

Samuel watched him.

"Why that verse?"

Mateo looked at him coldly.

"Because he trusted in the power of others. And that's what killed him."

Samuel smiled.

"Welcome to the dark ministry, disciple."

Part V – The Beast Grows

In Lorenzo Marquez's mansion, shadowy figures gathered from nearby cities. Italians. Mexicans. Ukrainians. All with blood-stained pasts. All with predator's eyes.

"The Pastor is cleaning our territory," Lorenzo said coldly. "We can't find him. But we can make sure that when he comes… he won't leave alive."

A Ukrainian leader stood.

"We've begun new shipments. Young girls. Minors. Some as young as twelve. No questions. No searches. No survivors."

Lorenzo nodded.

"Let them know I am not alone. I am all of us. And if he comes… he dies alone."

He turned to one of his men.

"Prepare everything. Let it be a war worthy of him."

Part VI – Searching Shadows

Lucas and Rebecca visited churches one by one. Small, large, traditional, modern. Pastors young, old, charismatic, quiet.

"This is like looking for a needle in a haystack," Lucas muttered in frustration.

"But there has to be something," Rebecca insisted. "A coincidence. A pattern. Anything."

At a small evangelical church in the south side of town, they found a clue.

A mural painted on the main wall, with a religious phrase that caught both their attention:

"Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear."

— Psalm 27:3

Rebecca wrote the church down in her notebook.

"This can't be a coincidence," she whispered. "It's the same verse he used on Victor Kaine."

Lucas nodded slowly.

"Then we're close."

But they couldn't imagine they were following cold trails. The Pastor no longer acted in those places.

Now he moved in absolute darkness.

Where no one could see him coming