At heart, I'm a tortured artist.

For a fortnight, I have sequestered myself in my townhome, stewing in my thoughts and preparing a piece that triumphs over the other works of my entire career. Only breaching from my burrow for sustenance, I did not see the light of day for many nights. Admittedly, yes, it is a lowly way to live, but it is the life of a tortured artist, such as myself. Ideally, I would not live in this accursed colony, but somewhere else principled, one where my art is accepted, not scorned. As benign as that sounds, it's impossible. Even when they were alive, this commune–this town of ponces and brigands–knew nothing of the artist's struggle. Well, it doesn't matter what they think; they rest with the fishes, deservedly so.

I don't regret any of it. It was cathartic, so to speak. I have done this town and most of the colonies a kindness. Through the delicate stroke of my brush, their sins have been expiated and repurposed toward the release of our world's Creator. And he has promised me something more than communal approval: godhood. Yes, I know it may seem queer, but my word of mouth is truth. He came to me in the dreamscape and said, "Ospeus, I am trapped in the body of a ewe. Please, I ask you to slather the blood of the girl in your guest room three nights from this one at the Ram's Crypt. Bring her to my tomb, quell her suffering. It is my only bidding, and through your troubles, the gods will reward you." And so I will free my immured Master from the hooves of this perturbed girl, the Lamb.

The Lamb is meagre; she doesn't eat or speak much during suppertime. When bringing up what little I know of her interests, I'm ignored. I surmise it may be in relation with her father being turned into a tailcoat. Which, wholeheartedly, I can't say I regretted doing. For the transient time that I knew her father, he had some semblance of character—a prospector or industrialist. He was a kind man, but had a fatalistic fury that was the death of him. Anyhow, this coat made from her father makes for awkward dinner discourse. So by choice, the Lamb made herself scarce, staying manacled to her bedside. She lies in her dishevelled bed, still as the tide: there is no more dissent, only sadness. Night and day from the curtailed view of her chamber, she looked to the only tapered light that welcomed itself into the room. Her effulgent smile is gone. Now, she longed only to be outside.

Tonight's the night. At dusk, we will ride outward from this barren town to make the ultimate sacrifice. As I scrambled to prepare my supplies, I heard a loud thump coming from the upstairs. Particles of dust rained on my head, leaving me with one, and only one superstition: the Lamb is escaping. Alarmed, I dropped my tools without a second thought and traipsed up the rickety stairs. At the top, I opened the oaken door of my olden home. The floor, old as earth and time itself, squalled beneath me as I made my way toward the third door. Stopped, I placed my perspiring hand onto the alloyed knob and turned it. I peered into the room, and as suspected, there was the Lamb. Who fell from grace, and unto the floor. I swung the door open and caught full sight of the enfettered maiden.

She returned my ogling gaze with a sneer and laid back down. Before I left, I studied the room and made sure there have been no attempts to leave. The windows, still barred, remained untouched with no sign of filing. Good. Curious, I bent down and checked under the bed for any displaced boards, but there was nothing but cobwebs. Still dubious there hasn't been some attempt to part from this room, I inspected from where her manacles are installed. After a thorough inspection, it's evident that the left one had signs of exertion, as it was almost severed from the wall. And beneath my feet, I espied a screw just about to fall under the floorboards, which confirmed my theory.

Disappointed, I turned to the Lamb, holding the screw and shook my head at her. She rolled her eyes and went back to gazing endlessly at the window. "Hello, are you there?" I asked. "I don't recall speaking to the wall."

The Lamb hung her head low. "Leave me be."

"... I just wanted to say, considering your recent endeavour, you aren't trapped here forever, little Lamb."

"Please stop calling me that," she ordered. "I have a name."

"What's your name, then?"

"Mecerthe."

"Oh, what a sweet name. Well, Mecerthe, would you care to join me for dinner tonight, or will you continue as an anchoress?"

"No," she replied, her voice bitter and contemptuous. "No, never. God, the nerve you have to think I'd eat at the same dinner table as you. I've accepted these conditions you have put me through, but you will never, ever make acquaintance with a normal person. I've said it before, and I'll repeat it. Rot in hell, y-you, you wretch!"

Rankled, I closed my eyes and did everything within me not to lose my sanity. After several deep breaths, I opened them, and looked down at my watch. "Very well… I'll come to get you at least… three hours from this one, at the first hint of twilight. Is there anything that you need before I return to the cellar, ma'am?"

"Leave me be," she said despondently. "That's all I have anymore, loneliness. And you can't take that away from me."

I then left and locked the room, leaving the Lamb to her thoughts. It took everything in my being to not strangle her to a purple complexion. But I know this is another one of Master's trials. An ultimate test of my faith. Well, I see through your magic, Master, you cannot delude me. As naïve as she is, it's not in her being to understand the good of what I'm doing. This is but a culling of the evil; a beautification of the ugly in the world, nothing more. And when there is a need for a slaughter, I am here to fulfil the needs of the divines. There are those who chose not to espouse the Creator's doctrine, and there are those who would follow him to the ends of the valley, and I am one of those people.

In the hours to come, I prepared a light meal for the Lamb and me right before our departure, a week-old brisket with a side of greens. It damn well wasn't the best meal I've had, but it sufficed. We left just as the sky began to dusk, on the back of my dearest mule, Amnesty. She's a real skittish one, I was worried about them getting along, but all has gone well from what I can tell. Upon mounting my steed, I took one last look at the forsaken town and shed a tear at the composure of it all. Once redolent with drunkards and foul mouths, this locality was a testament to all things bad on this planet. It's because of this divine killing that someday, somewhere, a fresh group of faces will come to this town and wonder what once was. There will be no murder, no shoot-outs will ensue, and no one will be dead or dying from some horrible murrain. We will make them as I have envisaged them, pious and giving. My vision of Cymhurron is something almost beyond art; the results show themselves.

The farther we drove, the more anxious the Lamb let on. She knew that her ineluctable death neared and told her last prayers from the hind of the mule as we reached the hill that overlooked the tomb. She writhed around, in some piteous attempt to break and free from my release. They must reward me for the work I have done. She won't escape. Miles from where we began, on the hill that overlooked the crypt, fear exuded from me as I stared into the ruins of the foregone city. On this narrow trail, we continued to ride; my salvation is ever so closer. As we trotted through the ruins, I spotted a yellow cloaked figure with a pointed hood standing next to the entryway of the tomb. He stood equanimous, waiting for the man that would awaken what slept in the crypt below.

From his post, the yellow-robed man rose and looked at me blankly. I ventured forward and saw an ornament hanging from the garbed man's chest—as if he belonged to some creed. As I drew near, the full shape of the necklace that eluded my vision came into the torchlight's blaze: a ram holding the heavens. He was a Sun Priest, a devout follower of Ceveros, the Creator of Cymhurron. He lowered his hood, revealing his hairless scalp and sallow, drawn countenance. I asked him, "Perchance, is this the Ram's Crypt?"

"Yes," the priest answered in a guttural voice. "This is it. I have waited long for you, Seeker. Have you brought the Lamb?"

I whistled for Amnesty to bring forth the Lamb. She took her time, as she does, and trotted over to the tomb with no urgency. When she came, I took the somnolent maiden and dropped her to the ground. The clergyman came over and ran his hands through her black locks, and then down to her chest. "Yes, I can feel him inside," he said expectantly, whilst putting an ear over her lower abdomen. "You have done excellent work, Seeker; this will take you far in the favour of the Creator, I swear my life on it."

"When can we begin the sacrament? I asked, starting to get annoyed.

"Oh, blazes, we can't start now," he explained. "The heavens have forbidden us from commencing the rite at night. Besides, we need the light of the two suns to part their souls, otherwise, I fear the Creator will free from his vessel angered. Had you come sooner, we would have begun. First thing tomorrow we'll start, trust me."

"Reverend, please help us," I said, trying to maintain my calm mien. " Do his Holy Master and me a boon by freeing him on this vigil."

He looked down at the ground. "You don't understand, Seeker… You are awakening a slumbering giant that was punished long ago for his penchant of mortal blood. Although I would give my arms and legs for him, he is the most fearsome thing in this valley. Listen to my words, tell me you too haven't lost your mind."

"Try to recognise my hardships, Reverend," I pressed even further. "I know it's hard to think this true, but he came to me in the dreamscape, demanding I free him tonight only. Now, it would be most impious of you to betray the will of our burdened Creator, and you wouldn't want to do that, would you?"

The old man sighed. "I wouldn't…"

"Good," I said, "Then you will put your necklace into the door, and guide me to the sacrificial chambers."

The priest nodded and walked to the enormous stone doors of the crypt and inserted the ram ornament into the keyhole. The doors, creaking from many millennia of idled waiting, opened and revealed the moss and vine-ridden halls of a bygone time. I then slung the slumberous girl over my shoulder and entered the inner delves of the Creator. My victory, my ascension—it emanates within these halls. Around me, moving forward, skeletons were strewn about the floor, and hanging from iron cages above. These were what I presumed to be the sinners, the ones that betrayed His will. Guided by the priest and the few dimly lit torches, I stepped over the wasting remains of the wrongdoers on our dark path to the sacrificial chamber. Two turns and a left later, at the end of this stretched hall of numinous wonder, there was a spiral staircase that led down further into the depths of the Creator.

Down we went, the air became fusty, and my breath laboured as I stepped downward with only the assurance that the priest was guiding me to an altar, not some trap. From the back of my mind, I swear, I swear that I heard the faint chant of hundreds of men as we came closer to the room. And the raucous only got louder once we reached the bottom of this never ending flight of stairs. The priest put his hand to the desired door and then cursed under his breath foully when it did not open. He looked around and scratched his ageing chin for a moment and then removed a stone from the wall next to him. He reached a hand into the hollow and came back with a set of keys. Delighted by his ingenuity, he opened the door and showed me in. I walked in and placed the Lamb onto the bloodstained altar and awaited what was soon to come.

The clergyman stumbled over the countless scrolls and scholarly books on the floor and then put his thrawn hands to a lever nearby. He pulled down the lever, revealing many blades and instruments of all sizes. The priest hummed to himself, looking for the needed knife. After some time, he chose a poorly wrought knife, that seemed rather dull. Knife in hand, he reset the lever, sending the array of knives back into their place beyond the wall, and then went toward a shelf of books. It didn't take him but a minute for him to find the scripture he sought after; a tattered red book bound with serpent's skin. Finished, the old man hobbled over to the wench and tore off the left side of the Lambs' slatternly gown, and then gave me the knife whilst he read from his book bound by blood and serpent's magic.

"We gather to free Ceveros, the Father of Cydhios and Phevila, the Creator of Cymhurron and all its life. By the better order of the Kinship, and the High Priest of the Godspeaker Isles, I command you to rise and return Cymhurron to a finer form…" Amid his chant, a sharp sudden wind howled throughout the crypt as the sun priest uttered the words of his antecedents. Shelves of books and glassware crashed as the angry tempest swept its way to the chamber. The Lamb awoke agitated and looked to me with her devilled vision, with a purple fury to her eyes previously unseen. She stirred, screaming and pounding her fists against the altar. "On this vigil, you bade us to reprieve you," he exclaimed over the rumpus. "And so we gather in the tomb constructed in your honour to free you from your chains. I compel Ospeus Sarstotzki, the Seeker, to slather the blood of the Lamb and end your perdurable suffering. Let him be eternised as the man who freed you, our bounteous Creator!"

He signaled to me, and I did the deed. The wind stopped, the invisible voices halted, and the world was now a freer place. I ran out of the crypt and to the outside to see the fruit of my labour. But, no, it was all the same. Within a moment's notice, as I was about to turn back to the priest, a queer feeling came from the back of my throat. It tugged and pulled relentlessly, and I sprawled to the ground as blood exited from my throat and eyes. My legs failed me, I was immobile and falling into death by the second. The last person I saw was the priest who laughed at my demise. It brought him joy to see me end like this, and he made sure I knew it.

Symnil looked down at me and said. "You fool… You damned fool! There is no place in this world for such someone of your origin. You are an antithesis to humankind, Seeker. This is how you should die, on the ground, grasping for life. Enjoy the beauty of the Khiviok vale, for this will be the last you ever see of it. You have done some good, I guess, by actualising the renascence of our Creator," he brayed with much delight. "Years from now, your kin will fight the demented armies of the netherworld that you brought forth. Your greed has brought you nothing but ruins, and pleases me to see you perish to the powers that be. Goodbye, Seeker, there is a special place for you in the underworld.

* *. *

I awoke in a world of brimstone and hellfire, no different from mine before. Around me were the souls of the unfortunate bound by the same chains I kept the Lamb in. I have made a grave mistake, and God has punished me for my wrongdoing. There is no order in this world of delirium, and I am one of the many here that have done wrong. Well, I have eternity and a year to think about what I have done. I have doomed this planet. There is no repentance.