For thousands of years, he alone had protected the holy text. Had given his life for it more than once, he had taken as many lives. Through each painful resurrection, every nightmare of the screams of his victims, he had been self-assured that he was doing the righteous thing, the needed thing, he was saving humanity.
He travelled the world, always under the cover of darkness, with nothing but the book and his wits, spreading the word of The Lord. Converting the ignorant, saving the sinners.
His job had seemed much easier, before the invention of technology. He thought it would have been easier to spread the word when information could be sent world-wide within seconds but that was not so.
Disbelief had spread through the population like a disease, one he was unequipped to fight. Not for them, not for himself.
For the very first time, he assessed his deeds, his life. Had he been wrong all along? The only way he could find out was to exit this dark world and step into the light but his history had proven that could never happen.
With a heavy sigh, he picked up the cursed book and carried on his way. One day, he prayed, he would know either way.