Shahim nodded, “Very well, I forgive you for your accusations.” The man struggled a moment longer but then paused, trying to see if his attacker was really going to let him live. A look of childlike hope filled his face, a hope he had never given the hundreds of people he had murdered, raped, and abused in the course of his patently hypocritical life.

The rest of the people in the room were reeling at the cowardly display. Shahim was not just killing the cleric, he was destroying him. As a sense of disgust washed through the audience at the display of the pleading cleric, each one of the onlookers couldn’t help but wonder how they would behave in the face of such righteous fury. Having seen this, no man present would ever stand against this warrior in the future, he had purchased their fealty with the threat of utter humiliation. His resolve was clearly absolute, his wrath terrifying.

Shahim stopped talking to the broken man in front of him and addressed the whole room, “Here me, tribunal, I forgive this man for his statements against me. But I tell you now that if any of you ever question my faith again I will not be so lenient. Is that clear?” The room’s silence was his answer, and Shahim looked back at the man in his grip and smiled.

“That said, the punishment for renouncing Allah’s holy jihad in order to protect your own irrelevant life is and should be immediate death. Wouldn’t you agree, Cleric Wa-Alahd?” The cleric’s fear surged up inside him once more and erupted in a final scream as he looked into the vicious smile of the warrior, but his curdling wail was cut off as Shahim’s hand tightened around his throat once more.

The crowd stared in shock as the man’s head turned purple, and they recoiled in horror as each of the gurgling man’s eyes popped from his head, the pressure forcing the tissue from his neck up into his skull to crush his brain.

After a final squeeze to drive any hint of remaining life from the little shit’s body, Shahim tossed the man’s limp frame aside, and wiped his hands on the shawl that still lay around his waist. Then he pulled the shawl back up over his shoulders, restoring some measure his dignity, and slung the dead guard’s rifle over his shoulder.

“Now, I believe this tribunal was summoned to vote on whether I should be considered a faithful servant of the jihad. Are there any among you who wish to say I am not?” He looked at each of the remaining men in turn and they each shook their heads vehemently.