Within the confines of an out-of-date and fashioned temple. Inside the office of the Elder Bishop's chambers, Father Godrick was standing stoically. A facade covering the anxiety he felt in front of his superior. He was reporting on the exorcism that had occurred.
Bishop Ventura was a well-respected figure in the church, known for his unwavering devotion to Hadrian. This had earned him the nickname of "the old soul of the light". At the age of 94, he was a venerable old man whose ancient presence loomed over the young priest.
As Godrick recounted the events of the exorcism. The bishop's intense stare made him second-guess every word he spoke. No truth remained hidden after he was finished.
Bishop Ventura's expression turned grave. "If I were to report this, a tribunal would be convened within days," he said.
"You would likely be excommunicated. Is this truly what you wish for?" The Bishop's pleading eyes hoped that another tale would be spun to replace these words.
Godrick hesitated, he had been together with Ventura for many years. His rough and strict discipline was his way to show care; the bishop had been like an actual father to him. Instilling high values and standards for order that had helped him become who he was today.
"Even if I were allowed to retain my communion with the church, I could not remain." He stated firmly.
"My faith in our God may be shaken. My usage of magic a fact.''
The teachings of the churches were not without merit. Practicing the spreading of goodwill was both self-serving and humbling. And the fight against evil, at least the ones he himself would identify as 'evil truly'. But one of the duties of the Moral.
"I will attend my trial and finish my duties till then without question superior, this I swear." These were his feelings and the truth of the matter even if he were to no longer remain. Energies gathered as his word left his mouth.
Upon this oath, a radiant light illuminated the area around him. Validating the truth of his statement; vindicating his suspicions within the Bishop's eyes.
The gathered energy of light was the realization of his miracle. The 'miracle of Confession'. Bishop Ventura nodded, with a pained expression.
"It saddens me to see you go, Father Godrick. You are a bright young man, too young perhaps, but bright nonetheless." A small and sad smile that none but Godrick would notice, appeared in his ancient and tired face.
"I worry you see; for I have retained no attendant better than yourself." It was Godrick's moment to feel a slight pain at this statement. Ventura had never praised him or anyone before.
"I sense, however; that you will be, just fine despite my worries. Continue your daily routines as necessary, and be ready for the trial." The Bishop took back control of his emotions putting on his usual look of constraint.
Godrick happily acceeded to his order. Going about his business with an emotional pang. A weight had been lifted after he had confessed to what was the closest thing to family he had. Having felt this new growth, Ventura had responded with as much support as his ego allowed.
Godrick felt blessed once more for having received such a great benefactor. Meanwhile. The Bishop was thinking of the workload he had to shuffle around because of his unruly student. 'Better give him all my paperwork for the next couple of days.'
He thought as a nasty little prank began taking shape in his mind.
Leaving his superior's office, Godrick began all preparations for his departure. Along with the rest of his daily duties. Time waited for no man unless they wished to get dragged around in the space of its passing.
His priestly duties consisted of cleaning, washing, cooking, and organizing the libraries. In his case, he also took care of a literal mountain load of paperwork from the bishop. Laughing internally at the twisted humor the bishop showed.
Giving him the workload of having to go through his documentation. Administering within the Heresy section, which was a sectioned-off chamber. It remained sealed through divine scriptures. Barriers of chains holding its doors closed, as he stared at the scriptures covering the wood.
Sparks went through his mind as a thought occurred to him, within the dark and dusty room. Heretical documents lay scattered and he realized the treasure trove in front of him. Never to be seen knowledge that would be lost once the temple was gone, he took out his grimoire and wrote.
Despite his suspiciously guided actions, his work ethic remained impeccable. Already finished with his original purpose and finishing up cleaning as he read through the texts. He was many things, petty and resentful he was not. Inefficiency led to decay or stagnation, and chaos brought about disorder which circled back into a lack of efficiency.
He could not stand when tasks were done in an inefficient and unorganized manner. The insanity he pulled off with the exorcism was the result of desperation in the heat of the moment.
That information was forever burned within the recesses of his mind now. Never to be forgotten, going on tangents became consistent because of this. Figuring out how to make a proper spell out of that horridly inefficient magic. So, despite having to perform his duties, his mind would remain occupied with the mysticisms and intricacies of mana.
On such a subject, was that miracles were the superior way to cast magic. Since they owned a proper casting structure. If they were adjusted to depend on mana, one would be able to cast more efficiently. Compared to insanely manipulating the raw energies of nature one would be able to see the safest option.
This form of casting could backfire if one was not apt, or attentive enough to expertly control it.
He had analyzed from his memories that the casting method used by his Elder could not be a completed form of casting. He inscribed a new entry unto his Grimoire, as Casting practices.
Most likely; this form of casting taught to him by the elder, was a fragmented piece of knowledge from old Cemeria. He labeled it as Proto-casting. It was a complex way of manipulating the forces of the world through hand gestures that can be mouthed off. Flawless execution was required to perform this technique.
Further upon its entry, he combined some of the standard Miracle gestures into this Proto-casting. Once he had finished with the entries, he analyzed both forms leading to a brief analysis.
Proto-casting movements dictated its end result. A slight deviation could create feedback that could kill him. Its strength lay in the potency of its magics and not needing to chant.
The Ancient Scriptures of the Saloheem required the proper rites and ferverous worship within their inner palace. A significant object from the individual's faith would also support the casting.
In exchange for this necessity. Despite still having to chant with words, one could quicken their casting speed by shortening the present Scripture.
Chanting was something all casters of magic needed to do in order to unleash their "evil" spells. Godrick was aware from having witnessed the elder of Bedouin, that this was misinformation.
He held actual proof that the empire suffered a lack of veracity. This knowledge could change it, but it would never be verified by proper institutions like the scholars' retreats, or the capital's university temple. Neither would it reach nobles, as they would be clued into new information by the ecclesiarchy and the Bourgeoisie's wild experiments.
Weaving proto-casting into his miracles and later his spells as a form of ambient mana siphon. Would help decrease his consumption of mana, improving his casting speed. And instead of manipulating mana haphazardly. He could guide it towards a spell construct, using the word of the Saloheem and improving its efficiency.
That was one more idea to add to his Grimoire.
Scribbling ran heard in the passageways of the temple, pencil scratching against parchment. Unintelligible text appeared upon the tome as it glided through the pages.
Once Father Godrick had finished with the leftover tasks of the day. Nighttime had arrived, yet sleep eluded him. He stepped outside of the grand-dreary temple. Leaving behind the divine and celestial auras that permeated its hallowed halls.
The air outside was thick with the scent of nature, and the surrounding wooded area enveloped him in tranquility. Here, he could escape the prying eyes of the temple reveling in a moment of solitude.
He found a secluded spot amidst the trees. Settling down on a weathered stone. His worn robes blended with the earthy surroundings. In his right hand, he cradled a golden fruit—an exquisite creation of nature that glimmered with promise.
With deliberate care, Father Godrick inspected the fruit, marveling at its flawless contours and rich hues. Each curve seemed to hold a secret, each angle a testament to the beauty of creation.
He knew that this fruit contained more than mere sustenance. It held the essence of knowledge itself; enlightenment through madness.
Drawing a slender knife from his robes, Father Godrick held the fruit delicately, his touch gentle yet purposeful. His eyes were filled with a profound reverence as he studied the fruit's anatomy, seeking the best method to dissect it.
Moving with precise and delicate grace, the knife glided through the fruit's golden skin. His time embalming and preparing the dead, guiding his hands. With each incision, the fruit willingly revealed its ambrosia-like flesh. Yielding to the guidance of Father Godrick's touch.
As the pieces of fruit fell onto a wooden plate in front of him, Godrick could finally relax his face and muscles. Once he was finished he exhaled slowly. He understood that life; like this golden fruit, should be cherished. His brief bout with the madness of the first fruit had assured that.
The divided pieces of the fruit rested before him. Each portion revealing the clear and milky white of its inner flesh. He took out instruments and tools to commence his work on it. Many hours later, reaching close to the morning.
Godrick had finally found the sands of sleep enveloping his heavy eyelids.
He picked up the referential scrolls and parchments. As well as journals on the properties of vegetables, fruits, and the realm of the micro. The Fruit had taken a new form now; having been split apart so he could study the insides of the flesh.
Puncture, injection, mashing, and then pulping. Its form now resembled the Jelly, he had envisioned upon first breathing in its aroma.
He had surmised correctly that this Strain, like all before it, that possessed magical properties was seedless. A common occurrence of nature, attempting to limit, or not recognize these fruits as part of its system. Having poured through every aspect of the pieces with his human eyes, he equipped a strange spectacle tool on his head.
The spectacles magnified his eyesight down to the micro as he lowered; ocular glass, per ocular glass. Fixing them to his eyes. To any other observers, he looked like a strange being with bug-like eyes. Godrick however, had, had his observational skills in the realm of micro.
A diagram and drawing of the fruit and its insides had been added to the tome.
So many different qualities had been added that a more detailed level of observation was required once again. Putting aside the inside pockets of higher-quality flesh, nothing could be identified by humane sight. He noted everything down. Adding on top of the diagrams and drawings 'possible concentrations of insight' in regards to the special flesh.
Utilizing the spectacled instrument he peered into the micro. Observing as the blood of the fruit traveled despite, still remaining in equal pieces. It was feeding itself into existence despite being split apart.
This was a phenomenal discovery which he dared not leave unrecorded.
An addition was added with this one, despite the fruit having such a delectable aroma, no insects gathered. Animals, however, became desperate for even a lick, attempting to get close or steal a piece from the focused Priest.
He punctured it, to determine its effects. This caused the pockets of higher-quality flesh to react unitedly. Despite being separated; the flesh pockets of each piece dimmed just a little while the puncture wound healed visibly. He closed his eyes one at a time as he observed this; the spectacles making the action a ridiculous one.
It held self-healing properties, another addition to its codex.
He joined the pieces and they fused, healing themselves and showing no signs of damage or decay; its golden form restored to pristineness. Curious, he noted down proceeding to mash it into pulp, the flesh, and skin mixed with its juices, the light it gave off now reflecting stronger. It seemed to follow the shine of the moons.
The pulp exuded an almost blinding shine in reaction to the moonlight. Intoxicating levels of aroma wafting from it. The animals foamed at their mouths, as its fragrance deepened their ferocity.
At this very moment, sleep had touched Godrick's weary mind, along with the mad howling and mewling of the animals. It was clear that if he remained outside the beasts would get to him.
Picking up the plate containing the pulped fruit, he sealed its contents in a glass jar.
The beasts did not like this, once the maddening scent had disappeared. Despair stirred them into a frenzy of bloodlust aimed at the center of its source.
Godrick froze, his blood running thick as countless shining bright eyes glowed at him. No longer were intimidating howls coming from the small scavengers and herbivores. Now even predators stalked close, their shining night eyes had joined with the herds.
With a twist of his hands and a chant of the Saloheem, a miracle was cast, followed by another wave and more melodious chanting. Three more miracles had been cast pushing back the beasts.
His Form, was enveloped by the miracles, 'Emmanence of Divinity', 'Light of Dawn', 'Mace of Light', along with his latest research the 'Divine barrier'.
Their frightful sight was cowed before shining form. It emanated physically from him. Whimpers and menacing hisses were thrown at him, not fully convinced of the display. But no longer as brave from bloodlust.
One brave beast struck out from the rest, daring to go forward. Its figure became known as that of a lone wolf. Bigger than the nearest to it, but not more than another who was more cautious.
It held back the others around them, most likely a male with his family. A straggling wolf had followed them and aimed at attracting one of the family's females.
The lone wolf's mind only understood simple concepts: (Survive, Hunt, Follow, Attract, Mate, Lead, Prosper, and Death.) These were its conscious concepts, developed through its short animal life. Events such as this called upon him, the moment mattered; it thought. This event meant a chance for survival and more.
He needed to clasp upon, attack, and seize its treasure. This would attract a mate from the family it had been following, and lead to Prosperity. Afterward, old age or wounds would become its undoing, and he would pass from this word in Death.
This was its cycle and what it understood.
He jumped forward, dashing towards Godrick. Teeth bared ferociously and muscles flexing with vigor and strength. The beast's lifeblood flowing within the tissues of its flesh, empowering its movements.
He could not believe his surroundings right now. He had fought against beasts and wolfkin alike before. But what he was experiencing at this moment was unlike anything he had ever seen before, he felt as if he could almost peer into the beast's very being. Their speed almost grounded to a halt.
Its anatomy seemed to unravel to him, as he analyzed it minutely; judging it no threat. This was not a feeling he was accustomed to, but he relished in it nonetheless. As an exorcist priest, he was not trained for worldly combat. This did not mean him to be incapable of defending himself.
His movements right now, felt as if the workings of the fruit. Not trained enough to respond with his body to his current mind's speed –but enough to hold an advantage when moving and performing an action.
He felt clearer at this moment, more than when the negative properties were triggered. Clearer than his past twenty-two years of life.
The feeling of his wisdom and intelligence worked in tandem, causing his mind to process the situation at a level above common humans. The wolf crashed upon the barrier, his stout build crashing upon it. Its bite was deflected by the thin barrier which seemed to have cracks filling it after the impact.
Godrick noticed this, and with a wave, zip, and push of his hand –the barrier shortened into the impacted side, and strengthened. Having witnessed enough, he grabbed the mace that floated at his side and struck with as much might as he could. The wolf thrashing against his barrier flew as it fell into a daze.
It was necessary to note that Godrick's strength could not compare to the constitution of the beast. Nor, it's tough hyde and vigorous ferocity.
While it remained in a daze; it quickly recovered from the blow. Not enough to be considered fatal, it stood wobbling. Godrick exploited the opportunity to cast another miracle. This one seared its surroundings excluding his hand.
It rested upon his palm, as he threw it directly at the face of the beast; blinding it. A searing burn came upon its face, the miracle of 'Searing Light'. The wolf, blinded, and wounded; now yelped.
Pitiful howling escaped it; 'fear' had entered his understanding.
Causing it to reach for survival, escaping from the scene. Its earlier ambitions were quashed at the might of a Path. All manner of beasts settled down after the display. Deciding it better, not to tempt this powerful being.
Godrick had meticulously cleared the area of all clutter, trudging in a tired manner toward his modest bedchamber. He collapsed onto the worn-out bed, embracing sleep with the same fervor as a newborn embraces the world, ready to surrender to its comforting embrace.