Weaving through the endless pathways, and the high stairs to the Temple were the many minions of the Cruent. Blood worshippers – they always knew that one day the Goddess of Death and her peaceful, calm worshippers at the end of their swords.
The stairs were littered with the heavy footfalls of the armoured minions, all ready to lay siege on the defenceless halls of the worshippers. And with the flimsiest of causes to back it. The soldiers – those mindless weapons of loyalty- stood firm as their captain walked, open steel garnishing the little light shining.
“We are the instruments of our Order…” His voice, laced with the same steel, rang out.
“We speak with steel…”
“We hear with plate…”
“We conquer with strength.”
The soldiers blew with the furious ruckus before the battle as the captain smiled eerily. His jet hair shone through the blue light of night as he waited for the answer.
--
The fight was magnanimous in scale, and microcosmic in nature. The horns bellowed, signalling the death of a hundred and one disciples. Again and again.
The captain’s voice, still laced with steel, now paralleled his sword in bloodthirst as he clamoured for the assassin’s life. Steel upon steel. Again.
All he heard was silence as the drum beats of the battle swung monotonously.
He heard them join in a radiant corona inside his head, with the moan of men’s voices forming the foreground. His blade lifted itself slowly as he walked out to face them.
Another low growl joined the sounds inside his head as the world moved in slow motion. He unsheathed his blade and ran out…
Sometimes you just don't know what you are doing. For the Disciple, this moment wasn't one. The hallowed hollow blackness of the temple's infinite ceiling seemed to breathe with the increasing beat of the rods pounding on its doors. The song of the choir ebbed and flowed around the vacuum all around. Pulsating through the vacant corridors of the temple. Echoing until its strength dissolved in the impassive walls.
You have to leave.
The words were running amok. Here and there. Down and back again. Jumbling up. Tumbling upon one another.
I do not know.
We will.
Not to fight?
Muddling up thoughts and swirling the black gooey mess inside the hearts with shards of the demon idol's glass eyes.
Have succeeded.
Will remain.
I have heard things.
Anything?
And like a sudden revealation, it was all too clear. The blind hungry blade glistening in the darkened claustrophobic sheath.
"I don't want to."
The old priest's face contorted into a undecipherable smile.
You can't win. Its pointless to keep fighting.
The Disciple could feel those pair of eyes on him.
The shadows looming above him.
The gates before him.
"It is but ultimately your choice. But I caution you once again. You have to leave..."
He was deaf by now. Shaking moments ago. An unassailable tower of rock now.
Is what you believe in, a drug?
A trance of falsity?
Crimson pools rested beside his naked feet. Increasing with every drop trickling down his matted body hair.
Was it inevitable?
Thoughts were bubbling away with the vapours of the burning sour incense. Mute, he trudged towards the source of the thudding sounds. His fists clenching the undrawn sword, he stood there alone. The cavernous depths of the temple breathed slowly.
It was time.
You have to leave.
The words were running amok. Here and there. Down and back again. Jumbling up. Tumbling upon one another.
I do not know.
We will.
Not to fight?
Muddling up thoughts and swirling the black gooey mess inside the hearts with shards of the demon idol's glass eyes.
Have succeeded.
Will remain.
I have heard things.
Anything?
And like a sudden revealation, it was all too clear. The blind hungry blade glistening in the darkened claustrophobic sheath.
"I don't want to."
The old priest's face contorted into a undecipherable smile.
You can't win. Its pointless to keep fighting.
The Disciple could feel those pair of eyes on him.
The shadows looming above him.
The gates before him.
"It is but ultimately your choice. But I caution you once again. You have to leave..."
He was deaf by now. Shaking moments ago. An unassailable tower of rock now.
Is what you believe in, a drug?
A trance of falsity?
Crimson pools rested beside his naked feet. Increasing with every drop trickling down his matted body hair.
Was it inevitable?
Thoughts were bubbling away with the vapours of the burning sour incense. Mute, he trudged towards the source of the thudding sounds. His fists clenching the undrawn sword, he stood there alone. The cavernous depths of the temple breathed slowly.
It was time.
The temple looked bleak. The tireless priests working for the Goddess were as stony as ever, pouring Her blessings over him – blood red. He was still panting, and shivered as the liquid wetted his hair, burning his cuts and soothing his sores. He looked at the demonic idol’s eyes scorching into the infinity pillar far behind him in awe. The sheer power and beauty the black idol possessed was enough for him to do anything.
‘Anything?’
He looked down at his hands as the blood mixed with the purifier, blending into one as it flowed away, as though nothing had happened – that everything can be done to preserve the state of order of the Temple.
He was still shaking as he heard the soldiers – his pursuers – bang on those heavy gates of the temple. He heard the calls for his immediate surrender from the Cruent officers as their pale rods rapped on the door, threatening to pull it away from its hinges.
The priests continued with their whispered ritual prayers, paying no heed to the soldiers setting up for a siege.
He heard three men talk far beyond the infinity pillar, far beyond the stolid walls of the temple, speaking of even justice and even fall on the Temple. It had robbed them, and the city, of everything. They spoke in quiet whispers and the Disciple could hear them.
He looked up to the idol, and touched his sword as the ritual ended.
“You have succeeded.” One of the priests whispered to him, as he passed by.
“I do not know, master. I have heard things.”
“The heretics have their ways, and so do the atheists. Our chancery will fall tonight, but our Temple will remain.”
“Are we not to fight?” He blinked, as the choir started their chants, offering crimson glories to the idol. The flowers tenderly split into pieces as they touched the idol’s head, falling as a fiery red storm.
“We will. We always have. But you have to leave.” The old priest smiled.
‘Anything?’
He looked down at his hands as the blood mixed with the purifier, blending into one as it flowed away, as though nothing had happened – that everything can be done to preserve the state of order of the Temple.
He was still shaking as he heard the soldiers – his pursuers – bang on those heavy gates of the temple. He heard the calls for his immediate surrender from the Cruent officers as their pale rods rapped on the door, threatening to pull it away from its hinges.
The priests continued with their whispered ritual prayers, paying no heed to the soldiers setting up for a siege.
He heard three men talk far beyond the infinity pillar, far beyond the stolid walls of the temple, speaking of even justice and even fall on the Temple. It had robbed them, and the city, of everything. They spoke in quiet whispers and the Disciple could hear them.
He looked up to the idol, and touched his sword as the ritual ended.
“You have succeeded.” One of the priests whispered to him, as he passed by.
“I do not know, master. I have heard things.”
“The heretics have their ways, and so do the atheists. Our chancery will fall tonight, but our Temple will remain.”
“Are we not to fight?” He blinked, as the choir started their chants, offering crimson glories to the idol. The flowers tenderly split into pieces as they touched the idol’s head, falling as a fiery red storm.
“We will. We always have. But you have to leave.” The old priest smiled.