To no avail, I have hurt those I have loved in the search of a greater good. As damning as that is, I have moved long past that day I killed her, and so have they. There is no need to feel distraught, because there is no one to express my sorrows to, therefore, I am acquitted through the dark baptism of the Loneliness. As I looked out into the ineffable abyss, I found myself petrified by the sight of it. Not as one might think, by fear or premonition, but by conflict. I felt my entire being torn apart at the seams; my mind split into halves. From the inner of my core, I felt ambivalence, by the thing that nested in the void. Her name is Sopros, she is the Numen of the Loneliness, unbelievably beautiful and compassionate. In her presence, my mortal troubles are immaterial. Despite all of my adversities, she has given me hope, and so I drifted toward and accepted her commiseration.
Until now, I had yet to understand the power of this dimension. To say that it was prodigious and open as the universe, would be to misprize it. This rift, a place of nothing and somehow everything, was a place of infinity. A paradise that loved and accepted beyond the final echelon of reality. From the centre of the Grand Land, the thing opened its arms and waited for me. The delicate, amorphous hands of the daemon handled me with maternal care, intending to keep me from the harm of the world. She tore me from illusive safety, squeezing what little hope was still left in me. Her sorrowful song quelled, I clung to the bosom of numen. My fragile mind and body, now torn into two separate realities, and devoid of everything, reduced itself to a vegetative state.
And so, after deceived by tellings of divine kindness and a higher power, there were now three halves left to me. The first half was the one that realised that this was the only afterlife, for good and evil alike. The second, albeit the most gone, was the half that acceded to the lowering madness of power and lust to be something more. The final was my mortal vessel, now a husk awaiting transcendence into the cosmos. Our conjugal bond, one of clement understanding and suffering, came to make a covenant stronger than the personage of all of man. Ever-living, the Numen of the Loneliness would live on and take in more. It consumed and left disparity throughout the universe, long after the destruction of the Cymhurron.
The Numen, the creature of ominous past and present, embraced, loved, and hated, even when it was all gone. I filled my purpose in this vacuous universe. Out of nowhere, a ray of light appeared in this land of solacing dark. Gently, Denacha held me and stepped into the blaze of light, marking the end of my long adventure. It was all a blur from then on…
* * *
To my surprise, I awoke not in the cosmos' comfort, but on the icy floor of a dungeon shackled to a wall. I screamed, hoping someone would answer my howl for help, but there was no one there. Defeated, I laid down and revelled in my misery. I never wanted to be where I am today, but as fate usually has it, here I am, rotting in a prison of sobering guilt and sadness. I have no power over the events in my life, not even in the dreamscape. It's not the aspect of another war that unnerves me, but the things that come from the land of dreams. What was once a place to escape from my grievous existence is a cold dagger that unremittingly stabs me in the back? I have lived through an impressive deal of troubling emotions throughout my long life, but the things I've seen in Amnyr were abhorrent.
Apprehensive, I looked up to the only source of crepuscular light in my cell of solacing darkness. True freedom, like faith and many other things, is a falsehood for those that choose to still believe in it. And that remained true for the wasting bones that accompanied me in my newfound prison. From the bottom of my being, an old and long-forgotten emotion that I have not felt in a long time stirred; empathy. Though I am apathetic and too far gone, there is still some archaic remnant of sympathy left in me. They never deserved to die this way. Now is not the time to cower, I must channel my indignation into something useful. Well, I suppose I have some power, and that is regaining justice and restoring balance. I owe it to Mecerthe and Balonne to kill every one of them, at the very least. Even if it means that I have to inflict pain on all of them; there is nothing I won't do for them, dead or not.
There is something more to this dungeon, it's imbued with the presence of something much older than the persons that live in it. This thing, antedating time and history, has rankled with a lasting bitterness for those that cursed him aeons ago. Willed by his appetency for the flesh of mankind, this flagitious creature hungered for the day that man will be no more. It will stop at nothing to decimate what they've built, and that beast is none other than the Ram, an epitome of creation and madness. He is here, under the collective worship of his followers, who would follow him until to the near-ends of the planet. Now, those same voices that guided me through the darkness joined in togetherness, to revive their ailing god.
Now that I've had time to ponder, Sopros didn't leave me here to die. I see now that I wasn't chastened, but to punish those that hurt the innocent. She gave me a second chance to take the redemptive road. And I will slay every one of them to restore this planet to a finer form, for I am a bettered man. Like a flower in a valley of hatred and desolation, my contempt blossoms for the murder of the old men in this crypt. In all my dolour, I have survived the winding river Nelle, staring at the face of death. I have witnessed the manifestation of pure gluttony in the Amnyrean Spire, as the four crow lords sought after another world-ending war. And I have looked into the glowering eyes of the past, present, and future.
From outside of the dungeon, the subtle sound of footsteps sounded, soon followed by the rattle of keys entering the door. The door creaked open and entered an elderly man in yellow vestments whose hood shrouded his features. He lowered his enshrouded hood, unveiling his grotesque face. Symnil devilishly smirked at me, once again revealing his warped teeth. If not for my chains, I would have torn his arm from his frail husk of a body and beaten him to a marred pulp with it. He and his Order are the reason I went through hell and back, and I will make sure he suffers under the mercy of the Shadow Kin. I suppose I have to thank him, for if not for that journey, I would not be the person I am now. That, however, does not mean he deserves any less of a drubbing than anyone else in the Kinship.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," taunted the priest. "You're just in time for the Creator's reanimation."
"You disgust me," I snarled.
Symnil chuckled and came closer, but not close enough to put him into a chokehold."It's not too late to join. The Kinship is very… gracious to have new acolytes. Given your past, I'm sure you would make your way through the levels of our Order rather fast, considering you played a pivotal role in the Creator's renascence."
"Spare me your drivel, priest. This is a cult, nothing more."
"Oh, please, you're just as guilty as the rest of us," Symnil guffawed, advancing closer. "You said it yourself, Ospeus. This world is full of nothing but thugs and sinners. As we speak, the newly appointed regent has signed an executive order to effectively abolish the Cymhurronian Senate, forwarding all power to him, the first Autarch of Khiviok. He is young, but in time, he will come to realise that the lesser rules the world. Soon after, thirty years from now, the Armies of Delirium will bring destruction unto all man has ever built. Our race will be no more, as it should've been a long time ago."
"You're a monster!" I yelled.
"Oh, but I'm nothing more than an old man," he laughed evilly. "We only have you to thank for enacting our grand plan."
Symnil is a vain man, but not a smart one. He came nearer, with an agile hand on his dagger's scabbard, and charged at me. I got up and caught his slow hand from plunging the blade into my heart. I fended him off, staggering him to his feet, and scrambled to a corner looking for anything to defend myself with. Old and frangible, the clergyman recovered and attacked again, but to his misfortune, I grabbed a loose piece of cobble and threw it at his glabrous head. Staggered, he fell back on his head and tumbled to the ground. Near to me, I grabbed the scattered dagger and drove it deep into his leg, leaving him in a pool of his own blood. The priest bayed, asking forbearance, and proffered the keys to me, hoping I would spare him for the lifetime of pain he has caused me.
I took the keys and undid the manacles around my arms and legs. Unhurried, I pranced over to Reverend Symnil, with my bloodied dagger still in hand. He limped away to the door, but his wounded leg gave in on him. Overpowered, I grabbed the priest by the collar and sent him to the ground as he pleaded for his life. I put a foot on his chest, and sunk the dagger in, twisting it until his cries abated. Finished, I dropped the dagger and left the dungeon. As I opened the door and stared up the winding stairs, a frigid air was felt throughout the catacomb. I took a deep breath, then began my ascent to the upper halls of the crypt. With every step, the mantra of the priest's strengthened, quivering fear into me once again. At the top, steadily, I opened yet another door that led to the grand hall of the tomb.
There, at the end of the hall, was an escape to this tortuous adventure. But because I am encumbered by the tonnage of the world, I turned back, and thought of those that needed me. There is still justice to serve, and a god to kill. Striding forward, I noticed the doors to the Ram's sanctum. Beyond them, the chorus of the priest's voices, now behind only one holy barrier, grew louder. I can't face him, not yet. There is a tool that I need—one used to bring him to life and would surely end it. Without this tool, I have nothing but my gumption, which won't be enough to face him. Familiarised with my surroundings, I walked past the giant doors of the Ram's sanctum, and retraced my steps to the room of the altar. Onward past the sepulchres, skeletons, and rooms filled with books written in gammon, was another set of stairs that led down to the altar.
Still ajar, I opened the door and was appalled by the sight of the Lamb's cadaver on the altar. The vessel of the Ram continued to haunt me, years after her sacrifice. She was once beautiful, but all that remained were maggots and rotten feelings. I walked over to her corpse and pulled the Verity Blade out from her withered heart. Saddened, I felt my hands through her dark waves of hair and then closed her wistful eyes. Close to the altar was the worn book that Symnil used in the sacrament. It echoed with a madness that would shatter the mind of man, and I dared not to open it, for I did, then I would be no more. Before leaving, I took a cursory look around the room, and absorbed the sagacity of the altar's many books. Then, I set my eyes on her again. Goodbye, Mecerthe, I'm sorry it had to end this way. Finished, I closed the door and climbed up the stairs to face the embittered god.
And it was at the top of the staircase, when my ebbing bravery dashed into near-none, did I see the ensemble of priests holding candles in the dark. Their collective harmony, now louder than before, drew me out of my false security and encircled me as I walked forward into the Old God's sanctum. They chased me to the end, and as soon as the mighty doors opened, I was sealed in here with him. In the tenebrosity of the Ram's craw, I ventured further, forgetting my directive and losing sight of what I wanted to accomplish. At the end of the sanctum, sat the caliginous figure of the Ram, in a throne made of iron bone and stone.
Terrified, I looked up from his hooves and hirsute legs, and then to the rest of him that was locked away in the immemorial darkness. The Creator huffed and clenched the rests of his throne, waiting for me to address him. Timid, I came close and held the red-spined book out. He shifted in his chair, revealing his leaden face and many scars, and then chuckled. "Disciple Ospeus," he greeted.
"Ceveros, your time is up," I replied. "There is no room in this world for a god as evil as you. You have made people suffer, and you have misused your power. I condemn your ways and wish you a brisk death."
The Ram snorted. "You are naïve to think you can come here and kill me with that wretched knife and book. For millions of years, I have been nothing but tenderhearted, Ospeus. Your race, your terrible race has exhausted my kindness repeatedly. Their way of life is carnal and degenerate, but you aren't them. You have defied my expectations and have come back as a revenant. Join me by my side, Seeker."
"No... I can't," I refused.
He leaned in closer and leered down at me. "Count your blessings, Disciple. You don't have many left. There isn't a modicum of willpower in you left, so drop it now, and I'll forgive this slight."
"Never have I ever met such an entity full of vanity," I spat back at him. "I'm a fool to have ever brought you back to life, and now, I sorely regret it because of the burden you brought to the world. The universe is not your plaything, Ceveros, and I'm not your servitor. It will end as it began, in the crumbling ruins of your crypt. I know I won't leave this vault alive, but it's all worth it to see you die."
"Very well," he said coldly. "This won't change anything. If you wish to renege our ways, and die a fool's death, then I won't stop you. Your revival has been nothing but a hindrance, and I was hoping you'd join us, but that's never the case with you, is it?"
I drew the dagger from its filigreed scabbard, "Memento mori."
"So be it," the Ram snarled.
Furious, Ceveros bellowed and leapt from his throne. Blistered with rancour, he focused his inward feelings of primordial hatred, and did everything he could to end my life. Columns and marble pillars crashed as he grabbed what he could to throw at me. With every support taken out, the sanctum violently shook, releasing dust that had long situated itself in the crevices of the catacomb. Out of sight, and hidden behind one of the few pillars left, I tended to the grazes I received from several pieces of falling rubble. Desperate, I thought about reading from the book that chanted my name, but decided not to out of fear. Carefully, I peeked around the side of a column and saw the Ram scouring every corner of the sanctum, calling out my name. I moved from behind the buttress and cried for the Ram to come at me.
The Ram fell for the rouse and steamed toward the pillar head-first, sending him down to the ground. Now was the time, I limped over to the Ram with the Verity Blade, and stared into the craven eyes of the demiurge. I put my foot on his head, impaled him in the eye, and watched as the ichor transuded from his eye. From his monstrous mouth, ululated a terrible cry, that brought down the ceiling and thus ending the secreted history of the resplendent tomb. I have hindered the Ram all I can, but he will come back restless more than before. Years passed, and as the augury of the damned golden planet came, the Armies of Delirium that I did everything in my power to stop, came and left a warpath in their wake. It was my son, the one that had lost this mind like me, destroyed and brought the Court of Crows to their knees.
But if not for the succour of Sopros, and her infinite kindness, I would not have been the idol of redemption that I am now. This was not an exercise in gratuity, but a true trial of my character. There are many to blame in this great game of madness, but it was only me. The Seeker, the one that followed his vicarious dreams of immortality, was the one to wag a finger at in all this. Because the tragedy of man is that he is not a god. No matter how much he bends the reality of the world to his will, he may never do so. The world refuses to bend, so in the end, he is all that will. The world does not belong to him, for the world will never belong to man, but it is instead man who belongs to the world. Eternal I am. Eternal I remain.