Darcio - Turncoat Pastor

A Protestant priest who leads a very small congregation. When faced with an edict to teach in line with the Nazi-supporting German Evangelical Church, will either resist and be executed for inciting sedition, or comply and become complicit in destroying the souls of the village. He will almost certainly comply.  

Introduction

The pews are straight, as they should be. Darcio frowns slightly, eyes searching the row of worn benches for any signs of rebellion among their ranks, but none give him cause for anger. The trucks and tanks have been rolling by all morning, and many hide in fear, but not Darcio. His furrowed brow turns to the window, to the members of his meagre congregation who are late. Which is to say, all of them.
"Do not forsake gathering yourselves together. Hebrews, ten twenty-five."
It is an accusation, not an exhortation, and the obedient pews are the only witness to the glare with which he delivers it. He moves toward the podium, ready to begin his sermon to an empty room, if necessary.
I alone will carry out God's will, if none other will.
BANG.
The clergyman jumps, whirling back toward the door as a bolt of adrenaline tells him he has been shot.
No. Not yet at least. His rational mind provides what reassurance it can, but does little to slow his pulse.
"You are the priest here?"
The words are clipped, and delivered with an air of impatient authority. The man speaking them is tall, imposing, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes, and wearing a grey Nazi uniform bedecked with appellations of high rank and certain zeal.
Darcio's voice, accustomed as it is to speaking firmly to his congregants, sticks in his throat now. His eyes fixate on the black Luger that dangles casually from the officer's right hand. His own hands prove braver than his voice, and he feels them gesturing at his Sunday vestments in answer to the question.
The figure strides forward purposefully, knocking one pew out of alignment as he closes on Darcio. His left hand extends a document bearing a boldly-inked title: 'The Nazi Platform.'
"Read article 24. All teaching must be in accordance with it. Understand?"
Reading. Yes, reading is good. Studying texts is Darcio's comfort zone, and he takes the parchment willingly, trying to focus on it instead of the man invading his sanctuary. He finds article 24 and begins reading, but his momentary reprieve from fear is shattered by the barrel of the commandant's pistol tapping the page.
"Aloud. So I know you understand."
Adrenaline surges, and words spill from Darcio's lips as if the velocity at which they exit can save him.

"We demand the freedom of all religious confessions in the state, insofar as they do not jeopardize the state's existence or conflict with the manners and moral sentiments of the Germanic race. The Party as such upholds the point of view of a positive Christianity without tying itself confessionally to any one confession. It combats the Jewish-materialistic spirit at home and abroad and is convinced that a permanent recovery of our people can only be achieved from within on the basis of the common good before individual good."

He reaches the end of the passage and looks up for approval, much more concerned with the man in front of him than the words on the page.
"You will be allowed to keep your position here. If you teach this." The barrel of the pistol suddenly dominates Darcio's field of view.
The hole at the end of the metal cylinder seems like a deep pit of death.
It will swallow me. It's going to swallow me whole.
The wellspring of blackness vibrates slightly and moves closer until his eyes have to cross to focus on it. Someone is saying something, but he can scarcely hear it.
"All of your sermons will conform to this truth, or I will come back. Understand?"
"Yes. YES! I understand, good Sir."
The devilish weapon is retracted, and the Commandant smiles amiably. "Excellent. Good man. Who says the church is stubborn?"
A few minutes after the uniformed invader leaves, Darcio takes a step forward. Then another.
Must maintain order.
His courage is returning, and he moves the pew that had been knocked askew back to its rightful place. He nods with satisfaction at the restored uniformity of the line of benches, then moves to a window.
A stern look enters his eyes as he gazes without, and a hint of anger invades the holy mantle his mind is accustomed to wearing. Soldiers march by, weapons of war propped on their shoulders, but his vitriol is not directed at them. A citizen scurries down a nearby alleyway, successfully avoiding the enemy's gaze, but easily caught by Darcio's glare.
The empty sanctuary at his back joins the ranks of his accusation. Do not forsake gathering yourself together!
The cowardice of his congregation makes him want to spit.  

Joel Cutter