✝️ Niketas, the Crossbearer
Father Niketas of Trebizond moved through the war-torn city, wooden cross secured to his back. Though heavy, he bore it without complaint. A small wooden cross, worn smooth by prayer, rested in his left hand. His right gripped a battered scimitar, its edge notched from street fighting in the Crusade.
Around him lay smoking ruins of stone and timber. The air hung thick with war's essence—gunpowder, decay, and burning flesh. Though no soldier, Niketas had seen more combat than he cared to count. A priest by calling, he had learned that even holy men must sometimes take up arms.
He threaded through debris-filled streets, his robes stained with soot and blood. Ahead waited the Varangian Reclaimers—hardened fighters in makeshift armor, armed with clubs, axes, and salvaged guns. Once elite mercenaries from disbanded armies, now they were just another band of desperate souls holding the line. Niketas stayed with them, healing, blessing, and when necessary, fighting.
Gunshots split the air. The enemy approached. Dark shapes flickered between hollow buildings, barely visible through the haze. Footsteps crunching on rubble sent shivers through him.
Lifting his cross, he called out: "Brothers, steel yourselves! The Lord's judgment is upon us!"
The Reclaimers surged forward with a roar, clashing with their foes in narrow, crumbling passages.
Niketas followed, blade ready, prayers on his lips. He harbored no delusions—this was no holy war. No redemption waited at battle's end.
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