I should warn in advance that there is some inappropriate content in this chapter, nothing explicit, but it might disgust some people.
End of the World
Caila had entered Lambert's prayer as his whispered words resonated in her ear.
"Thank you, my Liege, for this life; you were the salvation and light of my life..." Caila stopped paying attention when she realized it was only her praise.
She looked around. Unlike Zenobe, Lambert's subconscious appeared to be covered in gold. Everything glittered and sparkled; she found herself in a golden treasure chamber with no windows or doors.
Caila had to wonder about the difference in time. While she had been in Zenobe's prayer, she felt that quite a bit of time had passed, yet Lambert's prayer was still not over. Caila wondered if maybe this whole subconscious mind-scanning thing operated at the speed of thought. Caila would have to conduct more experiments before she was sure how it all worked, but she suspected she was partially right. Like a god, how else could she manage dozens of prayers at once over time?
Caila wasted no time and walked over to the memory that shone the brightest and entered it.
She found herself at the entrance to a dark cave, the bright moon shining overhead, illuminating several huddled figures with its pale light. The figures were small but muscular, their skin green, their delicate areas covered only by coarse rags, and they looked fierce—nothing like the cultivated Lambert, who looked more human. These creatures looked like a cross between a goblin and a mad chimpanzee.
In the darkness, the five goblins were hunched over the corpse of a wild boar, tearing it apart with sharp claws and stuffing the bloody, raw flesh into their mouths, their blood-stained, sharp teeth showing satisfaction.
Caila looked them over before her gaze settled on just one of them. "That's... Lambert?" Caila wondered aloud, for he looked just as fierce and dangerous as the others. She only recognized him because of his hair color, if you could call it that. All the others had hair colors of black and brown; there was only one goblin with gorgeous red hair.
Caila scratched her head in confusion. What had happened? Lambert looked like a completely different species now.
Suddenly, a fiery arrow flew out of the darkness and pierced one of the orcs in the back. "Aaaaiiiik!" The goblin shouted before falling on his stomach, the arrow going through his body and coming out on the other side, the flame on the arrowhead not going out. All the orcs stopped eating and stood to their feet with angry cries, picking up their crude weapons from the ground and rushing toward Caila.
Caila was startled at first, but the goblins just ran through her as if she were air. The last to run was the red-haired goblin that Caila turned and followed.
Three people stood nearby, a woman in leather armor drawing a bow and two men in knight's armor with swords in their hands. Their expressions were a mixture of mockery and disgust. "Filthy goblins..." One of them muttered, easily dealing with the goblins. Caila was irrationally worried about Lambert, but in the end, she had nothing to worry about. Lambert was alive and well.
"Hey! Don't kill that one! That's a hybrid; we can get a lot for that!" The archer called out as the knights were about to execute Lambert.
The man who had been about to plunge his sword into Lambert turned the sword flat and beat Lambert unconscious. Caila grimaced in sympathy as she saw the bloody bruises, but she didn't move as she watched Lambert being tied up and dragged away.
With that, the memory faded, and Caila reappeared in the treasure room, following the thread that connected the memory to another and entered it.
"Aaahhh! Agggrr!" She found herself in a busy marketplace, watching a bearded merchant with an expanding waist standing on a wooden platform where cages of live goods were placed. The angry shouts mainly came from Lambert, who stood in his cage and pounded it with clenched fists.
"And here we have one of the rarer pieces! A hybrid of a goblin and a vampire! They're much more intelligent than ordinary goblins and can be trained. Five gold is the starting price!"
People began to shout over each other as they placed bids. Lambert's price easily climbed to nine gold. "Fifteen gold!" Suddenly, someone shouted, waving a wand in the air with a large ruby on top. A lanky man, too thin, making him look more like a scarecrow in his suit than elegant, came forward. "Principal Velnardo. That's a very generous offer! Anyone else? No? Sold to Principal Velnardo!"
The onlookers applauded, and Principal Velnardo gave a nod to the two muscular men in tight t-shirts and began to move the cage with the angry Lambert. Velnardo walked behind them, looking contentedly at the rampaging creature in the cage. "I'll call you Douche. Hehe..."
Caila, who followed them, frowned at the name Velnardo had given him. She wanted to punch him.
They loaded the cage onto the ox-drawn wagon and started on their way. From the conversation Velnardo was having with his entourage, she gathered that he was the owner of some famous circus. She was beginning to suspect Lambert's fate.
Caila watched as Lambert was pulled into the circus. She wasn't exactly impressed; the circus was large with many employees, but there was a pungent smell of feces in the air, and the tents looked dirty. But maybe this place was more upmarket? The others were places where horses were ridden, and swords and bows were used. Caila was under the impression that this was some sort of medieval world.
Principal Velnardo took Lambert into one of the tents away from the others and began to train him. It looked like he had a collar put around Lambert's neck and on his arms, which were then chained to a post.
Caila looked at the Principal, who licked his lips as he pulled out the whip. "You'll soon be as tame as a lamb, Douche," he said to the angry red-haired orc before he began to whip him mercilessly.
The whip left bloody bruises on his body, and though Lambert screamed furiously at first and pulled at his chains, his screams soon turned into pained whimpers. Caila tilted her head to the side and thought while trying to ignore the sound of the cracking whip.
"Considering the fate of Zenobe, this just confirms the kind of beings the past god was looking for. Zenobe was condemned for her good will, Lambert, in turn, was abused for his limited intelligence and origins. Indeed, finding believers among such cases must have been extremely easy. Nor was it difficult to win their devotion because of it. But still... to worship the former God so much? What else was he doing?" Caila muttered to herself.
For those answers, she would have to see more memories or somehow subtly get them out of the others without raising suspicions that their God had been replaced by someone else.
The Principal had been rather harsh in his training method, but at least then he'd let Lambert be treated and healed a bit before continuing his training. The poor goblin soon lost his will to fight.
Caila grew bored after a while, wondering if it took so long because it seemed like an eternity to Lambert, and time slowed down even in memory? Caila suddenly became alert as something else began to happen. "Now that you're so tame, let's try something else." She heard the Principal say and turned to see what she was going to do now.
Then Caila's jaw dropped, and her eyes bugged out. The Principal suddenly pulled down his pants, his arousal evident. "Oh god damn it!" Caila cried out in fright before turning around and immediately running out of the tent, leaving the memory completely.
"That nasty pervert! Does he have a thing for monsters and not care about their gender? Aaahh, poor Lambert," Caila muttered to herself in irritation and shuddered in disgust.
Caila looked at another thread that led to another memory but hesitated. She was really worried about what she might see. She didn't think she was that prudish, but some things were a little over the line for her.
It's just that, as a god, she should rise above such things. Everyone has a past, and not all of them are happy and rosy. She should somehow prepare her mind for the fact that she would probably see worse things. But as a God, she should remain neutral about it. Caila didn't know how to do that yet, though.
Caila took a breath and entered the next memory.
"Douche! Douche! Douche!" The audience shouted. Caila stood among the audience and watched the show. Lambert, dressed and made up like a ridiculous clown, pranced around doing tricks to entertain the audience.
"My... name?" Lambert called out in broken speech,
"Douche!" replied the audience.
"My... name?" Lambert repeated, putting his hand to his ear and cocking his head as if he hadn't heard.
"Douche!" shouted the audience.
"And what... Douche... does?!" Lambert jumped up and down, a wide grin on his face that made the face paint look even more ridiculous.
"Douche does douchey things!" the audience laughed and shouted.
"Right... right!" Lambert replied while jumping up and standing on his hands. At that moment, a rotten tomato flew in and hit him, but Lambert held on to his hands while more and more rotten vegetables flew at him, slowly showering him, and he eventually fell off his hands and onto his butt.
Caila found herself frowning and gritting her teeth again. Caila experienced a new emotion that she couldn't quite identify, but it left her feeling a bit angry. Compared to the dignified and cultivated Lambert she'd seen, this seemed... horrible. And Lambert was smiling happily despite being covered in rotten food.
Lambert then walked away to be replaced by other performers, so Caila got up and followed him. A dirty but happy Lambert arrived backstage and approached the Principal. Caila shivered again at the sight of the pervert.
"'Did... Douche... do good?" Lambert asked.
The Principal smiled and patted Lambert on the head in his jester's hat. "Right. You did good." Then he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his palm.
Lambert jumped joyfully. "People have... liked Douche. Giving... food. When can... Douche go out?"
The principal shook his head. "Not yet. They need to get more used to you. You're already getting famous. Wait a little longer."
Lambert nodded obediently and walked away. Before following him, Caila looked again at the Principal, whose smile twisted mockingly. She really wanted to punch him.
After witnessing Caila making a fool of herself for some time, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor man. Due to his limited intelligence, he thought people liked him and enjoyed what he did. He didn't understand that those same people were just making fun of him and despising him in the background because he was just a slightly smarter monster.
Then one day, after another performance, the Principal came up to him. "We're going to move somewhere else. Go to your cage," he urged him on, looking nervous. Lambert noticed nothing and did as he was told, climbing into his small cage where he sat down while the Principal locked him in.
"Wait here for me," the Principal told him with a smile and made his way out. Lambert nodded obediently, not noticing as the Principal threw away the key to his cage.
Caila sighed and looked at Lambert. "Looks like this long memory is finally coming to an end," she said aloud.
After some time, the circus performers began to run around the tents in alarm. Lambert didn't pay much attention to them. "Douche! Hey, Douche!" the snake tamer slammed on his cage. "Do you know where the Principal went?" he asked. Lambert looked up. "He said... we... gone. He'll be back... for the Douche."
The snake tamer clicked his tongue. "Stupid monster..." he growled and turned away. "Are we going to leave him like this?" someone else asked. Snake Tamer snorted. "What do I care? I want to find the Principal first and foremost now; that guy owes me money!"
Lambert didn't listen to them, as he didn't understand such complicated things anyway, and just waited for the Principal to come back.
Caila sighed and listened to the surrounding noise and panic. The Principal took all the money the circus had made in the last week and ran away. So his employees dismantled everything they could and left. One or two tried to get Lambert out of the cage, not out of goodwill but to sell him, but if there was one thing the Principal hadn't skimped on, it was locks and cages for monsters.
Eventually, the place became abandoned. A day passed, and Lambert began to notice something was wrong. He dutifully waited two days before trying to get out, but he couldn't.
"He will return... will... come back... will..." he muttered to himself, and Caila could only shake her head. He reminded her of a dog who couldn't understand that his master wasn't coming back.
The days passed, and Lambert grew thinner and thinner. When he started getting stomach cramps from hunger, he ate all he could and even gnawed his own leg. The wound quickly became infected with anthrax and began to rot.
Caila watched as the emaciated Lambert lay helplessly in the corner of the cage and sighed. "Did the last god really always have to let it go this far?" she muttered to herself in displeasure. Last time she had to watch Zenobe being burned alive, now Lambert was dying of starvation and infection again. Was this God's way of appearing as a savior to them, or was there another reason? Maybe he couldn't find them until the situation was extreme?
Suddenly, a tiny blue flame appeared in the cage. "It's here," Caila muttered, walking closer.
Lambert moved the glass eye that reflected the light of the blue flame, which grew larger until it looked like a cloaked person the size of a child. "'Tossed away and forgotten, I heard your voice. Receive my blessing and guidance, and I will fulfill what your heart desires."
Caila shook her head in agreement. The former god had developed a style of his own, his first sentence sounding rather mystical and mysterious; it made quite an impression.
"Douche... want.... to go..." Lambert rasped through a parched throat.
The little god paused for a moment before bending down a bit towards Lambert. "Your name is not good enough for a noble creature such as yourself," Caila heard the former god say before they both faded in a flash of blue flame, and the memory faded.
Caila found herself in the treasury again and sighed. This was a long memory. Now she knew how the two had met, but Caila really wondered how Lambert had become such a refined gentleman. She noticed that there was another thread running from this memory to another, just as she was wondering if she had time to look at it again, the golden treasure chest began to blur. At least she could confirm that the time passed in the subconscious while praying was different from that in reality.
"Hm... I can't ask them for another prayer, can I?" muttered Caila, regretting that she couldn't control the time in the memories in any way. She'd probably just have to wait for their next prayer, but she suspected she wouldn't have to wait long. They were her devoted worshippers, after all.
*****
Peril Harbor
Two days had passed, and nothing had happened. Marik felt relieved; he had been worried about the killer's visit, but the killer hadn't shown up.
In the meantime, Marik took care of cleaning their house, with the children helping, and Hellcage often going out.
Marik was worried that Hellcage might do something crazy, and there might suddenly be angry pirates banging on their door. However, nothing like that occurred. Surprisingly, Hellcage even managed to acquire a good amount of money.
When Marik asked him where he had gotten it, Hellcage just patted him on the shoulder and said he didn't have to worry about it. Marik decided not to press the issue.
Marik finally finished cleaning the house in the morning; the kids had helped, so he wasn't on his own, and they were even starting to talk to him a little. Mostly one-sentence answers, but it was progress.
Marik looked contentedly at the cleaned common room and began to think about how he was ever going to build a proper altar here when Hellcage tapped him on the shoulder.
"I've found a suitable first worshipper," Hellcage announced.
Marik blinked and turned to him. "Is that what you've been doing? Looking for victi... I mean, candidates?"
Hellcage ignored the exaggeration and chuckled. "Among other things. I was also doing a bit of information gathering. I've been looking for areas that are suitable for recruitment without drawing too much attention at first. Most of the neighborhoods are under the control of crime bosses, and they have a lot of their own people everywhere. But they can't keep an eye on everything. I've picked out places that aren't obvious and don't get as much attention from others, both the bosses and the followers of the other gods."
Marik felt just a little surprised that Hellcage had done so much. Before, he had felt somewhat annoyed that he was left at home with the kids while Hellcage was out running around... Marik immediately stopped his thoughts. He was horrified to realize that his thoughts were too much like a housewife!
"Good! Let's go see the candidate!" Marik said immediately and headed out of the house, his eyes widening a bit in fright.
Hellcage was only a few seconds slower to follow. "'My, my... I didn't expect you to be so into it," he praised.
Marik smiled weakly. "Of course! We need to find worshippers fast; after all, our Liege and my crew are waiting for this."
Hellcage chuckled. "That's the right approach!"
However, as Marik paused at the door and looked back, he remembered something. "What about the kids?"
Hellcage tapped his top hat and looked back. "We're going out!" he called out, then pushed Marik out the door.
"They can take care of themselves. Besides, they don't really want to go outside," Hellcage said as he closed the door behind them.
"What about the killer?" Marik worried.
"What about him? Do you think our two kids couldn't handle him?" Hellcage wondered, looking at Marik curiously. "It's good that you're starting to accept the children and see them more as children, but don't forget what they are,"
Marik sighed. "So if I suggested that the kids should spend more time outside for their health, would you think I'm an idiot?"
Hellcage nodded his head seriously. "Precisely."
Marik rolled his eyes and said nothing more. He let Hellcage lead the way to look for a candidate for a new follower.
The children followed them out the window as they left before they looked at each other and then ran to Marik's room.
"Treasure?" Dali asked.
"Treasure," Leo agreed, and they both looked at the travel bag that belonged to Marik.
*****
Every district in Peril Harbor had its markets and shops. Some districts naturally had special shops that one had to travel to, such as Red Peacock Street in the Upper East District, where people went for more intimate entertainment. When it came to brothels and prostitution, Baron Niche controlled this area. Anyone seeking to engage in that industry answered to Baron Niche and had to pay him. Without his permission, people were gambling with their lives.
There was also the Midnight Queen who controlled the entire liquor market. Certain brands of alcohol could only be consumed in her territory. The other criminal rulers had to maintain good relations with her because even if they had the best entertainment industry, without alcohol, they would decline quickly in this pirate and criminal paradise.
Finally, there was one last crime boss, the Mystery Trader. Through him, a lot of business was conducted. He focused on smuggling and gathering goods, being unscrupulous and if there was a demand for something, it was said that he could obtain it. No stranger to slavery, theft, and kidnapping, he would eventually acquire anything, even if it belonged to someone else.
Fortunately, neither Marik nor Hellcage had anything to do with these kings and queens of the underworld. They were heading to a simple marketplace in the Lower West District. It wasn't far from their house, so they walked, although Marik did hear a comment or two from Hellcage about how he'd like to ride that transport fish again.
Marik inwardly cursed again, why wasn't he going for a ride instead of just whining about it? However, he couldn't bring himself to tell Hellcage that he was a whiner.
They arrived at the market, which was not as small as Marik had imagined. There were quite a few stalls, street vendors, and artists selling their wares. However, the stalls were rather shabby, and it was obvious at a glance that this was a place for the lower class to buy what they needed without suffering financial ruin.
Hellcage and Marik plunged into the market, but they didn't have to go far when Hellcage stopped and put his arm around Marik's shoulders before leaning in and pointing his walking cane in one direction.
"That's him."
Marik looked to where he was pointing and saw a stall selling paint and pictures. The stall was small, with a few paintings for sale, and there was a man in a wheelchair with his legs missing. The man had semi-long pale green hair and a few days of groomed stubble. He appeared to be in his early thirties, still relatively young. He was wearing a jacket that might have looked decent at one time, but was now covered in dried paint stains and obvious patches. His wheelchair was plain and old, with a fake calf attached to one of the pads of his feet, connected to the front wheel of the wheelchair to control its direction.
"Him?" Marik wondered because while he hadn't seen a legless painter before, it wasn't something particularly special. "Why are you interested in him?" Marik asked, wanting to know Hellcage's thoughts.
"This is precisely the type of person who most needs the guidance of our Liege. They're in need of help, harboring hidden ambitions and regrets, but lacking the strength or courage to change their circumstances. They end up becoming increasingly trapped in their frustration and powerlessness. Some may eventually find the courage or the opportunity to escape their condition, but those who don't end up in dire straits," Hellcage explained, pausing and straightening up.
"And you're suggesting this is his case?" Marik inquired, feeling somewhat disheartened by Hellcage's words. Hellcage had a knack for stating truths that people often overlooked. Those who were relatively well-off might be aware of the less fortunate but rarely delved into the depths of their struggles.
"He's already attempted suicide once," Hellcage replied calmly. "He's even desperate enough to share his story and seek sympathy to sell his paintings. He talks about how he created the painting right after his unsuccessful suicide attempt and how he poured all his sadness, hope, or enlightenment into it. While most of what he says may sound like nonsense, it's no lie about the suicide attempt."
Marik was momentarily speechless. He initially felt sympathy for the painter, but after hearing about the artist's business strategy, he found it rather lame. "Alright. So how do we proceed? Do we just... make him an offer?" Marik preferred to focus on their plan.
"Indeed. We'll offer him the opportunity to draw us a picture," Hellcage replied, heading toward the artist's booth.
"Draw... what?" Marik was once again puzzled by Hellcage's statement and followed him.
"Hello, good man," Hellcage saluted the painter in the wheelchair and lifted his top hat.
The painter looked up, trying to see Hellcage's obscured face, and immediately smiled. "Welcome, my dear sir. Ah, and you too, dear sir. Would you be interested in one of my paintings? I drew them myself and poured all my passion and inspiration into them," the painter began to address both Hellcage and Marik.
Marik examined the paintings and had to admit that they were genuinely impressive. The man possessed considerable talent; it was just unfortunate that his personality didn't match. "Well, actually, would we be interested in something different, sir...?" Hellcage inquired, indicating his desire to know the painter's name.
"Ellar Dancy, it's an honor. So, what kind of thing would interest you gentlemen?" Ellar asked, his enthusiasm slightly waning as he regarded them with mild concern. It was challenging to discern whether he was worried about potentially losing customers or if he suspected some kind of scam.
"I've witnessed your talent, and I'm genuinely interested in having you create a family portrait. However, it would require you to come to my residence. Naturally, we will compensate you adequately for your trouble," Hellcage explained, and Marik realized his intention.
Attempting to publicly recruit someone into the cult wasn't the wisest choice, but inviting them into their home offered a more discreet approach. Ellar smiled once more. "Ah, that's not a problem at all. Of course, I'd be delighted to draw..." He paused, his gaze shifting between Hellcage and Marik, and without letting his smile waver, he concluded, "your beautiful family."
Marik was on high alert. 'What did he mean by 'your beautiful family? My dear sir, please don't make things up!' He opened his mouth to refute the statement, but Hellcage placed a hand on his shoulder and offered a slight bow. "That would be absolutely marvelous," Hellcage said.
Marik inwardly groaned. Why hadn't Hellcage at least protested a bit? His sense of humor was truly wicked!
*****
Ellar, who had a good relationship with the clerk at the next booth, left her in charge of keeping an eye on his shop while he packed up his drawing supplies and headed back on the road.
Regarding whether Ellar was concerned for his safety, there might have been a hint of apprehension, but, on the other hand, he was approached by two well-dressed men. What could they possibly gain from a poor painter? So, Ellar wasn't overly worried.
Marik pushed Ellar's wheelchair because he was best suited for the task, and the way would be quicker. Hellcage was simply too tall for such a task, and it would have been uncomfortable for him, not to mention that it didn't suit his icon.
Marik glanced at the top of Ellar's head and gave him a noncommittal look. "What happened to your legs?" Marik asked bluntly.
Hellcage turned his head toward him. "Marik, it's rude to ask such a question."
Ellar gave a short laugh. "It's all right, Mr. Hellcage. It was better than pretending it didn't exist and casting furtive glances. I used to be a longshoreman, Mr. Marik. Painting was really just a hobby. Unfortunately, as it happened, accidents often occurred in the harbor. My colleague and I used to carry heavy boxes of goods. My colleague had to borrow a Mecha Suit for that, but they were quite old by then. At one point, his knuckles got stuck, and my colleague collapsed to the ground with him. Right on top of me while I was checking the documents. He completely crushed the bones in my legs, and the only option was amputation. And replacements were unfortunately too expensive, so I ended up like this. I'm hoping to save enough money to buy prosthetics someday. It's just been five years... well... maybe someday."
Marik thought about what to say but instead asked Hellcage, "Mecha Suit?" He asked with interest.
Ellar nodded. "It was a two-and-a-half-meter suit. People got into it and controlled it. I don't quite know how it worked; I'm not a mechanic. But thanks to the pistons, a human could lift things as heavy as two hundred pounds without any problem. It was pretty handy for moving heavy loads. They're not used that much anymore. They've been replaced by Dottransport. These are newly created robots for handling heavy loads. They look a bit rough, but for heavy work, you don't need them to look aesthetically pleasing like the Dotservants that work in the hospitality industry."
Marik joined the conversation before Hellcage could ask. "Dot robots are the term for all artificial life. Not to be confused with people like Doctor Gillet. He was originally a human and still considers himself as one."
Hellcage looked in front of him and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Artificial life, you say?"
"Yes. They fell under the God of Steam. Most of the people who worship the God of Steam are mostly craftsmen, inventors, researchers, and the like. As an artist, were you also a worshiper of the God of Steam, Mr. Ellar?" asked Marik.
Ellar was silent for a moment before clearing his throat. "Sort of. In truth, after my accident, I strayed a bit from my faith. I can't say I've been a true believer in recent years."
Hellcage immediately turned his head to him and nodded. "That's perfectly understandable. It's hard to believe in something when you don't get any answers even when you pray hard. And if you don't even find spiritual comfort in prayer itself, it's easy to start losing faith."
Ellar looked at Hellcage, considering his words. He could tell that this gentleman was speaking from his own experience because it summed up Ellar's situation. Finally, he sighed. "You're right. After a while, when there was no improvement and no relief for my soul, I began to drift away from my faith. I could no longer waste my energy on useless acts and vain hope."
Marik smiled behind him and winked in Hellcage's direction. This really sounded like great material for converting to a new faith. Marik wanted to suggest to Ellar that things might not be so hopeless, but then paused when he realized he didn't know how to say it. He wasn't exactly a man who could speak in hints easily, so he shut his mouth again and looked at Hellcage. He was, after all, the one who mastered words.
Hellcage, however, made no comment on the subject, and they just chatted casually the rest of the way before reaching their house. "Here we are. Welcome to our sanctuary." Hellcage smiled and opened the door.
Marik pushed the wheelchair in and closed it again behind them. Ellar looked around and was a little surprised that the place looked relatively empty. Clean, but other than the bare furniture, there was nothing else, as if they had only recently moved in.
"You've moved in now?" Ellar wondered.
Marik nodded and pushed the wheelchair into the common room. "A few days ago. We're just setting up the house," he replied.
Ellar didn't ask any more questions and took the stand off the wheelchair and began to unfold it. "I'll start getting ready. In the meantime, can you get ready and think about what your idea of a portrait is?"
Hellcage nodded and went to get the kids while Marik stayed with Ellar. He said nothing, wondering how they could get this poor painter over to their side. They don't even have an altar; how will their Liege connect with him anyway?
Hellcage brought the children in a moment. Dali was wearing a new red dress, and Leo a brown vest. Marik didn't know the kids had any spare clothes. Leo looked like a young gentleman, and Dali looked really pretty in red.
Everything went on as normal. Marik kept waiting for Hellcage to start luring, but they ended up just posing for Ellar, who started drawing as Marik and Hellcage stood side by side with the kids in front of them, waiting. Marik felt inwardly confused and a little impatient, casting furtive glances at Hellcage.
After an hour, when Marik was getting a bit bored, Ellar motioned for them to move. He could finish the rest without them continuing to model for him.
They all went to look at the canvas, but Marik couldn't tell anything from it yet; it was just a charcoal sketch. Hellcage sat down on the couch with Dali and Leo on either side of him, leaning forward and resting his hands on his walking cane.
"If your faith didn't give you the feedback you craved, have you thought about converting to another religion?" Hellcage began, and Marik sighed. He was glad that Hellcage had finally started this, and he listened intently so that he could gain inspiration for future actions. One day, he would surely have to seek out a worshipper himself.
Ellar replied without stopping to work on the painting. "Not really. In fact, other religions don't appeal to me much. The Sun God is too radical; as the youngest of the gods, he was too anxious towards his worshippers and wanted to control them. The Goddess of the Sea and Storm, on the other hand, is too bigoted, not to mention the God of the Moon and Night, who only recognizes certain races as his believers. The God of the Earth and Natural Disasters, as well as the God of Fire and War, are too... cruel... and as for the rest... well, I've just never been tempted to convert."
There was silence in the room for a moment before Hellcage spoke again. "Perhaps you might consider our beliefs. Our God is someone who actually listens to his believers and helps them."
Ellar's hand stopped moving for a moment before he dipped his brush into the paint again and resumed drawing. "Really? Which god is that?" He asked, and Marik could hear the caution in his voice.
"The God of the Forgotten and Unwanted. That's her official name, but the Suffering or the Lost also fall under her wing. And she doesn't care about race."
Marik was a little stunned. He hadn't expected Hellcage to just say that during a conversation. He had expected him to perform some sort of miracle or trick to impress Ellar. Ellar looked briefly in Hellcage's direction and then cleared his throat. "I've never heard of such a Goddess. I mean no disrespect to your beliefs, sir, but the God of the Forgotten, the Suffering, and such sounds a bit... dark."
Marik understood why Ellar was worried; it sounded exactly like a Dark, Evil God. Marik himself wasn't sure where this Goddess actually fit yet.
Hellcage straightened up and nodded his head. "Indeed it sounds like it. But her name, unlike the other gods, refers to her worshippers. While the other Gods have pompous names like the god of war, the sea, disease, the wind, our God's name tells us that anyone can believe in her. Even those no one wants to."
Ellar and even Marik pondered this. Marik had never considered the meaning of the names of the gods. Hellcage leaned back in his seat. "But it's up to you. I can only guarantee you that our Goddess does indeed answer prayers, doesn't force anyone into the faith, and helps her followers. Life is many times better because of her. I don't know anyone who is dissatisfied under her guidance."
Ellar was silent, and after a moment, he put down his brush. "I will consider it. I will need two days to complete the painting. Come to my booth then, and I will hand it over to you. I trust you will be satisfied." He smiled and did not mention the subject of faith again.
Marik approached him and handed over two Shlik with the promise that he would pay the rest when he picked up the painting. Hellcage said goodbye to Ellar, and so did Marik, and they watched the painter leave their house. Marik looked doubtfully at Hellcage. "Was that it? Aren't you afraid he'll be talking about our Liege everywhere?"
Hellcage tapped the brim of his hat. "And losing his customers when he's so desperate for money? He wouldn't dare. Besides, I just wanted to pass on the impulse. He'll think about it. I'll give him a little more direction tonight."
Marik frowned, then sighed. "All right. Just don't do anything extreme," he said and made his way to his room. When he walked in, he was startled to see his things still strewn around, staring in amazement at his shredded clothes. His favorite red shirt was completely ruined.
He remembered the children's new clothes. "What... Hey!" He exclaimed, somewhat offended.
*****
Ellar carefully pushed his wheelchair back toward the market, pondering Mr. Hellcage's words. "A God who actually answers prayers? Could it be real?"
Unbeknownst to him, a small dark spot had taken hold beneath his chair in which several red dots blinked.