Path to Paradise

This story is by Shaina Gabayeron and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Is it a sin to take a life in the house of god? Would it be considered sinful if it’s for the good of others?

For example, soldiers protect their land and people; therefore, killing is necessary to fulfill their duties. But are they condemned by doing so, or would they do worse by refusing, letting others suffer for their inaction? They’re vanquishing evil, so their endeavors are righteous. Right?

So, what is the sin?

Also, why am I questioning morality while my blade is deep inside a man’s eye socket? 

I watch with curiosity as his hands claw helplessly, searching for a divot to hook his fingers and pull, but he misses entirely. His guttural screams cause the candles to flicker, contorting the shadows, yet all I hear is the rush of my blood and the sharp ringing of adrenaline. He thrashes, almost dislodging my hold.

I push and twirl my knife like a pasta fork in his skull, twisting it in the viscous gelatin of his eye. He’s nothing but a dying husk— a tyrant undone. Unfortunately, Lord Alonsi De Hulio, second-born son of the De Hulio family, possesses a soul deemed unholy by the True Seers. Therefore, a Sister’s duty is to expunge it from existence.

I don’t choose recipients of death; I merely execute. 

Pink frothy foam spills from his mouth, a mixture of saliva and blood running down his cheek. His remaining eye locks onto my porcelain mask as if trying to memorize his killer for some afterlife retribution. Lord Alonsi’s gaze settles on mine, searching the empty windows of the mask. His final breath is near. The delicious demise of evil is imminent. The rush in my ears softens as I eagerly listen to his final words.

“Death is a gift,” he prays to the Mother with a soft exhale. I drive my dagger further until it reaches the edge of his cranium. 

A violent convulsion. Then, silent finality. 

The only heartbeat in the room thunders in my ears, and I count them as the light in his eye fades. 

After a moment, I pull the dagger out of his head with a squelch and stand over his body, assessing the deceased man. Lord Alonsi is a testament to the depravity that manifests in all of us. He’s wearing the finest silks and jewels, similar to a boar dressed as royalty, as if the fineries could mask the repugnant animal that he truly is. 

Was. 

Standing before the altar with a corpse by my feet, I meet the eyes of the statue: the Father. Scales pepper the marble sculpture of the serpentine god, his hands and feet curved into serrated talons, and his expression downcast. Solemn. At his feet, a statue of the Mother kneels. She’s the protector of her beloved and the souls that come after. In her arms, death is a gift. Death is rest. Around them, seven figures—the Virtus— prostrate in a semicircle, vowing their existence and lineage to uphold the principles of the Father and Mother. 

I sigh as duty calls. First, I must liquify the corpse in water mixed with powdered acid. Luckily, there’s a baptismal pool. I drag Lord Alonsi’s corpse to the edge before kicking it in with a splash, fascinated at the sight of the rotund body bobbing before settling on the surface. Then I procure a yellowing vial, carefully uncorking the top. Three shakes of the substance, and a second later, the water around his floating body begins to bubble. I patiently wait as the potent mixture completely dissolves a 400-pound man. After a minute, nothing remains but sludge and jewelry.

Even for the greater good, society demands discretion in our work. Common murderers leave evidence, but a refined servant of the Father spares innocent souls from ghastly sights that could impede their entrance to Paradise.

I drain the pool, emptying the muck into the sewers. Then I hop down to retrieve the jewelry—clear evidence of Lord Alonsi’s demise—before refilling the pool. Next, I have to melt the incriminating metals into a base for coins and use the jewels as tithing for Mass to erase the evidence, as no one questions the Church. 

“Sister Atarah,” A voice like a note from a bassoon came from a figure stepping out of the shadows. A man in white, a stark contrast to his complexion, greets me with a smile. He wears no mask.

“Brother Kyrion,” I say, bowing but watching his upturned lips. “Blessed be the Path.”

“May it lead to Paradise,” he answers, his grin unwavering. Brother Kyrion is a valued member of the Church, part of the Brotherhood who gathers intel and forcefully sows the seeds of faith into every villager. Odd we’ve crossed paths today. Last I heard, his work was to the West, by the sea. 

“How are you faring, Brother?” I ask, meeting his unnatural, feline-like, yellow eyes. 

His smile remains, but the air chills. “Pleasantries are unnecessary, Sister Atarah. The Elders sent me to deliver this.”

He hands me a thin strip of metal, rolled tight, similar to the material the True Seers print our targets’ names. Slowly and carefully, I unfurl it. Engraved in beautiful calligraphy on the metal is a name that can’t be real. I rub the indentation, trying to acknowledge the sharp, rough texture as proof of its existence. My breath quivers, but I force myself to inhale and exhale evenly.

The name staring back at me is a name that I’ve not seen in a long time.

Wyrnessa De Eros. 

The name I discarded before joining the Church. 

Before the Sisterhood honed my talents. 

Before I was permitted to kill for the greater good. 

Brother Kyrion then presents a sealed envelope bearing the Elder’s emblem.

“I apologize, Sister,” he whispers with pity, “But no one is above the Laws of the Path.”

 

The De Eros family partakes in every vice: drugs, embezzlement, human trafficking, and more. They are full of heretics who believe the Church is a load of bullshit forced down every citizen’s throat to easily control a mass population under a theocracy. The De Eros spat on the notion of a Path to Paradise and the exalting Laws of the Path, disregarding them along with six other families. Any members of the Church who stumble on their territory are immediately imprisoned and tortured.

Being a De Eros taught me to incapacitate and to hunt. To slowly flay flesh until I reach the threads of bare, bloody muscles that strain from pain. To enjoy the metallic scent of fresh blood. 

They also taught me that death truly is a gift.

When Brother Kyrion left, I slipped away, shaken. Even now, as I huddle in a dank, dark alleyway, my hands can’t stop trembling. A decade ago, the De Eros family abandoned my father and me as sacrificial lambs to the De Avarus, paying a debt only souls could appease. Their mistake was teaching their sacrifice how to handle a blade with utmost precision. 

I force myself to look at the envelope crushed in my right hand. If the Church discovered my true identity, they must also know of my transgressions. I’ve buried every ounce of guilt I had in a deep well of righteousness, so to feel it clawing its way out is taking a toll on my sanity. 

But how could they find out? I used my arsenal of knowledge to erase my past, and played my part perfectly as a true Sister. 

I tear open the envelope before my thoughts could rip me apart. I can mull over questions for days and recount the events of that faithful night until I can recreate it in my sleep, but neither changes the fact that I am a target of the Church, as the piece of metal states.

Inside the envelope are two burnt-edged papers. An ownership certificate for Wyrnessa De Eros, and an order to dispose of a De Avarus member, addressed to a Sister whose life I took in multiple ways.

Sister Atarah. 

No. 

I made sure to wait until these papers were ashes. So how—?

Another piece of paper falls out, and I barely catch it. 

 

We know who you are, Wyrnessa De Eros. We are aware of everything, including the extent of your crimes and your devotion. We summon you to dispose of a threat to the Church. Succeed, and only the Mother will present you with the gift of death once she deems it is your time, along with the privilege to be a Sister truly. Choose otherwise, and the Church will swiftly reward your decision. Head to the House of Caritas for your mark.

Blessed be your Path, and may it lead to Paradise,

Elders of Virtus

 

Fear chokes me. 

They know.

So now they offer me an illusion of choice: kill an innocent soul the Elders deem a threat, or die at the hands of another Sister. 

Self-preservation or duty.

I’ve killed to survive before.

What’s one more?