The Hunter knelt in the center of the room, pausing for a moment as he raised his hands in front of him and clasped them together. His rosary was wrapped around his right hand, the small crucifix dangling from the beaded cord as he sighed, closed his eyes and spoke.
"Lord, I come before you with a humble heart, seeking your guidance and strength.....I don't often pray to you, I wouldn't presume to ask you of anything...But I find myself in need of guidance." His fingernails dug into his hands as he spoke, his arms trembling gently as he screwed his eyes shut. "I....I don't know what to do, for years I have fought to keep Humanity safe no matter the cost, I have completed every mission and task set before me but I.....Whenever I look into the eyes of my target I do not see a monster, I see a person, a poor frightened soul begging for help....only to find death at my hands."
A warm hand rested on the back of the young Hunter's shoulder. That guiding hand which orchestrated the lives of every member of the Order, familiar in all its comfort and direction.
"Son of Peter, your prayer is heard. Lay your troubled heart at my feet, child, and I will see your burdens lifted."
The Van Helsings were truly one of his greatest works. A family built from the ground up to serve as his army on earth, descended from one of his son's most loyal companions. They were his masterwork- one of his greatest prides.
What kind of God would leave his favorites to suffer alone?