End of the World
Caila had stepped out of meditation and looked at Zenobe and Lambert, who were kneeling. She was even glad for the fact that she was a statue and couldn't move properly because she would have had a hard time resisting the urge to hug them, which would probably have completely ruined her image as a god.
She had to compare Lambert's appearance to what she had seen in his memories. There was a slight resemblance, but if she didn't know it was the same person, she wouldn't have guessed it was him at all.
"Well done," Caila told them as they both looked up. She wasn't quite able to return the look, as she ended up invading their privacy. She felt a little bad about it, so she averted her gaze.
"What are your orders, my Liege?" Zenobe asked excitedly, holding her hand to her heart as if afraid it would jump out of her chest with excitement.
Caila mentally cursed. What task could she give them? She wished she could question them, but she couldn't even use the excuse of memory loss; it would seem odd, and she didn't want to tarnish the illusions everyone had of her.
"Check the other statues. Remove the dirt from them. If any are broken, let me know the number later. No need to rush." She had finally come up with a great way to entertain them, and she didn't have to look incompetent.
She looked around with her eyes at the hall full of statues. She knew from Hellcage that the entire city was in such a state. She could only hope they all remained intact. What if a broken statue changed back? That wouldn't be a pretty sight.
"At your will!" She said to both Zenobe and Lambert, who bowed again before standing up and heading out of the hall. Zenobe didn't forget to blow an air kiss. Caila then heard the two of them already on the stairs starting to argue; they seemed to be bickering over who would check more statues.
Caila sighed inwardly and rolled her eyes at the hand she had managed to keep an eye on. The stone skin and fabric of the sleeve were absolutely spotless. She wondered how long it would be before she was free.
Caila let her mind drift for a few hours before falling back into meditation.
She had no idea how much time had passed; Zenobia and Lambert hadn't even returned yet. It would probably take them some time to check the statues. What snapped Caila out of her darkness was a prayer.
She focused on it. Tiny golden lights braided with blue shimmered near her, but it looked faded. Caila knew it was Zenobe and Lambert, but they weren't saying the prayer, so they didn't glow.
Caila looked around and then saw a tiny glowing point in the darkness in the distance. She headed in that direction, and as she got closer, she saw four more faded lights with a blue tinge.
She stared at them for a moment before she realized who they were. That would be Hellcage, Dali, Leo, and Marik, but no prayer came from them either. She focused on the tiny yellow light that glowed and pulsed like a heartbeat. Only it was small and tiny, like a grain of rice, and had no blue tinge to it.
"Who's that?" she wondered, leaning toward the light a little excitedly. Her new worshipper?
Caila touched the light and entered her subconscious. The place looked like someone had drawn the sky with acrylic paints and poured mixed colors over the ground. Portraits flew everywhere, but all but one were grayed out. Caila already knew there was nothing she could do about the grey memories. They were too deep for her, but she was surprised by the amount of it.
She pondered this, and then it occurred to Caila that perhaps it was a problem of distance. It made sense. After all, she was in a greatly weakened state, and one blessing had exhausted her so much that she had fallen into sleep.
Caila touched the only accessible memory that showed her Ellar's encounter with Hellcage and Marika, and Caila understood what was happening. Hellcage's prodding seemed to have worked after all, and Ellar tried praying to her.
Caila smiled and stepped out of Ellar's subconscious and gazed at the light the size of a grain of rice.
She thought for a moment before deciding how to act and making a connection with the young painter.
"You who suffer, I hear your voice. Do you wish to become my worshipper and change your life?"
Caila was satisfied. That sounded pretty much divine.
*****
Peril Harbor
Ellar returned home after a tiring day. He lived near the market in a small house that was hardly fit enough for one person to live in. He stopped and looked with a sigh at the high threshold that gave him trouble every day.
In his practiced method, Ellar lowered himself down from the wheelchair and pushed it over the threshold before he crawled over himself and was able to climb back into the wheelchair.
"Ugh... ugh..." He panted. "At least I got that as exercise..." He laughed, more pitifully than cheerfully.
Getting through the door was another task that required patience and a bit of maneuvering, but he finally got inside and closed the door behind him. Ellar sighed and looked around. It was a small room that could only fit a bed and a few things. Due to the difficulty of getting out, Ellar had to set up a dry toilet in here, which unfortunately resulted in an unpleasant smell.
Fortunately, he didn't smell it as much from the bed and mostly just smelled the paint. Almost the entire space of his one-room house was taken up by paintings. He painted them all himself; some he wanted to keep for sentimental reasons, but most were for sale.
Ellar moved his body onto the bed and retrieved his drawing utensils from the wheelchair along with an unfinished family portrait for his new customer.
Ellar remembered the strange Hellcage man and the somewhat reserved Mr. Marik and their children, who were quiet and well-behaved. They were an odd family, but they were rather nice for being upper class.
He recalled Mr. Hellcage's words about their strange god who supposedly answered prayers. He didn't really want to believe it. Didn't gods only answer the prayers of their high-ranking worshippers?
"The God of the Forgotten and Unwanted..." Ellar muttered, thinking. He reached over and pulled a small picture from its hiding place behind the bed. He examined it and fell into a thoughtful silence.
The picture was of him when he could still stand on his own two feet, smiling and holding the hand of a rather pretty black-haired girl. That girl was his fiancée Jinne; they were very much in love at the time and planned to get married as soon as they had saved enough money for a proper wedding.
But fate had played a lot of tricks on him. Soon after the picture was taken, he had an accident and became a cripple. It was a test of their love that didn't last. Jinne was the first to try; she cared for him, but the vision of marriage to a cripple when only hardship would await her dulled her love, and eventually she left him.
On the one hand, Ellar understood her, but he couldn't lie to himself; he was disappointed and hurt. Eventually, he managed to make a life for himself as a painter, but it wasn't a proper job that brought in a steady financial income. It wouldn't be unusual for him not to eat for two days, for example, because he simply didn't have the money to pay for food.
And then he made the fatal mistake of borrowing from a local loan shark. At the time, however, he felt that he had no choice but to borrow, and if he didn't, he would just starve to death. This sent Ellar into an endless cycle of hardship and debt. Mr. Sinclain was neither benevolent nor merciful. If someone didn't have the money to pay it back, they chose another way. Ellar had heard that Mr. Sinclain was very fond of a different kind of payment. This included physical harm, seizure of property, as well as sexual practices. Ellar could only be glad he did not have a wife, daughter, or sister.
Ellar eventually repaid his loan, but at that point, Mr. Sinclain insisted that he still had to pay the interest, which was even higher than the original loan itself. Ellar understood that Devil Sinclain was not going to release his hold on him.
At that moment, Ellar reached his breaking point and attempted suicide, which ended in failure due to a kind neighbor who saw him that day and recognized that Ellar needed support. The neighbor brought him some soup, and Ellar had to laugh at the irony of the situation.
He ended up in the Steam God Temple for a few days, which was a blissful period where he received food and care, without having to worry about anything. Even now, he liked to reminisce about it.
But then he had to leave and try to survive once more. His narrative and dramatic account of his painting and suicide attempts improved his income slightly. The younger people who hadn't yet been numbed by life allowed themselves to be moved by pity and occasionally bought something.
However, thanks to Mr. Sinclain, he was still caught in an endless cycle of poverty. Ellar sighed and put the picture away again. "I should get rid of it and not remind myself of better times." Even though he told himself that, he still couldn't bring himself to throw the picture away.
Instead, Ellar got to work while he still had light and continued to finish the picture. When it became too dark, he lit a candle made of fish fat so he could see and continued.
He found himself beginning to envy the family he was drawing. They had nice clothes, a family, a good house—everything he didn't have. "I'm not a very good person... haha..." Ellar mocked himself as he realized his envy.
He decided he should stop drawing and go to sleep. He didn't want to ruin the painting because of his feelings, and he would just have to sleep a bit longer tomorrow to meet the deadline.
He put everything aside and extinguished the candle before lying down on the bed and closing his eyes. It wasn't completely silent; he could hear the distant voices of those who were still moving around the city, either going out for fun or returning home.
As Ellar slowly drifted into a semi-sleep, an even darker blur filled with flickering red dots slowly crept through the dark shadows by his bed. It gradually crawled up to his head and for a moment merged completely with the shadow.
Then, suddenly, a wide, white mouth opened at Ellar's ear and began to whisper in a muffled voice that distantly resembled that of Hellcage.
"God who listens...."
"She has those who suffer under her wing."
"A better life."
"You can speak to her..."
The mouth repeated words that sounded like a distant memory.
Ellar suddenly opened his eyes, and the mouth immediately retreated back into the shadows and disappeared. "Huh... what..." Ellar muttered, rubbing his eyes. Something had disturbed his sleep, a voice?
Ellar was momentarily confused before he remembered the dream he had. He dreamt of a better life, one he had gained thanks to the goddess Mr. Hellcage had mentioned. Probably his words were still echoing in his head, so he was dreaming about it as well.
He reached over and relit the candle, staring into its flame for a moment. Finally, he sat up, clasped his hands together, and began to pray to the Steam God. He prayed to him for guidance, for help.
When Ellar finished praying, he waited for a moment before opening his eyes. "As expected. No answer. Well, if he didn't answer me even in my moment of greatest need, how should I expect it now?" Ellar sighed, a little disappointed.
He remained seated, hesitating. Finally, he lifted his head and looked around his small room, then down at the soles of his feet, and frowned. After another moment of indecision, he brought his hands together again and closed his eyes. "God of the Forgotten and Unwanted. I pray to you...."
He was nervous, but once he started, he wasn't going to give up. After all, what was the worst that could happen? He had almost accepted death once, and his life could have been only a little worse.
During his prayer, he suddenly heard a quiet voice in his ear. "You who suffer, I hear your voice. Do you wish to become my worshipper and change your life?"
Ellar opened his eyes sharply in fright, a tiny blue flame hovering in front of his face. "Ah!" He jerked in fright and almost fell off the bed, but he managed to grab the edge and instead fell on his side.
He stared at the tiny blue flame, not believing he had actually received an answer. He quickly sat back up and bowed his head in submission. "You... you are the God of the Forgotten and Unwanted?" He asked cautiously.
The flame didn't answer right away. "Yes," it finally gave a simple answer.
Ellar had a little soul left in him. How should he behave? What should he say? He never expected a god to actually answer him!
"Do you want to be my worshipper?" the voice from the flame repeated patiently.
Ellar paused, thinking again of his faith in the God of the Steam. In truth, he had never considered converting, but it was also true that his God paid him no mind despite being a believer since childhood. Since gods were real, shouldn't they pay a little attention to their believers?
While he prayed to this unknown goddess just for the sake of trying, he received an immediate answer. Even though her name sounded rather ominous, she was probably a benevolent goddess.
"I... guess... what should I do?" Ellar hesitated, wanting to know what this god expected of him.
"Faith, prayer, spreading the faith," Flame replied after a long pause.
Ellar paused as well because it sounded too easy to him! Just that? Didn't she want some sacrifices?
"Do you want to become my worshipper and receive my blessing?" The voice repeated when Ellar didn't speak again.
Ellar didn't hesitate this time and nodded. "Yes. Please, good God." He clasped his hands together and looked hopefully at the flame.
The flame approached him and entered his body. Ellar was startled at first, but he immediately calmed down again, that is, until the center of his chest began to burn. "Ow!" He blinked, spreading his shirt open to see a mark in the form of a blue circle, in the center of which was a picture of a dagger disguised as a painter's brush, burning into his chest.
"A blessed mark?" Ellar asked, stunned, and though it stung, he touched his new mark. But then more pain hit him. "Agh!" He exclaimed and rolled onto his side. His legs ached as if they were being broken again. "Wha... ah... what se...." Ellar gritted his teeth in pain and couldn't even swallow, so saliva began to run down the corner of his mouth and chin.
"Agh! Aaah!" He screamed, slamming his clenched hand into the bed.
He heard a jerking and snapping sound that made him open his watery eyes, only to see white bones shoot out of the stumps of his legs like spikes, and blood splattered everywhere. "Ah!" He cried out before the pain overwhelmed him, and he passed out.
*****
End of the World
Caila let out an exhausted sigh. "At least it didn't directly knock me out this time," she muttered to herself as she recovered a little.
Crack Crack
She heard her stone shell crack, and another small piece of her face fell off. Now, in addition to her mouth, a bit of her nose and left eye were free. "Just a small piece... but still better than nothing," Caila commented as she tried to wiggle her nose.
"Who's going to wake up this time? I must say, these random choices are quite interesting. Kind of exciting even. Reminds me of something..." She looked towards the door to the throne room.
In a dark alley somewhere in the city, a shapeless statue stood.
Cracks had begun to form on the surface, and pieces of stone started falling off in large chunks. The statue hadn't even had time to crumble when a grey cloud burst out of it, spinning like a miniature tornado. It stopped a short distance away, where it continued to spin and began picking up small objects and debris from the ground.
At the top, silver hair flew out of the gray tornado, followed by a gray forehead with a black tattooed mark, then strawberry red eyes and a face of black bone.
"Ha... hm..." The face made a thoughtful, feminine-sounding sound as the silver head looked around. Her shapeless body began to float out of the alley, where she saw more statues.
"Truly, Liege has saved us," she said, then raised her head to the sky. "But where are we?" She turned her body, now a grey tornado, toward the palace.
*****
Ellar was awakened by the sunlight that fell on his sleeping face. He frowned and slowly opened his eyes. He stared dazedly toward the window for a moment, gradually remembering what he had dreamed. He sighed and rubbed his eyes to shake off the last vestiges of sleep before sitting up.
Immediately, he sensed something was different. He blinked and looked down at his feet in surprise, his chin dropping in amazement. The legs of his pants were torn and bloody, but that wasn't what stunned him. What stunned him was that he had his legs back! "What... what... no! That's impossible!" Stunned, he lifted his legs in the air to get a better look. They were perfectly normal human legs, not even missing any body hair!
He wiggled all his toes and then slowly stood up. "Ha... haha... hahaha..." He started laughing like crazy, hopping from one healthy leg to the other. "It actually happened! No! It wasn't a dream!" He quickly looked down at his chest, where his blessed mark resided. "'She gave me back my legs. My health! How can they even call her the God of the Forgotten and Unwanted? They should call her the Goddess of Grace!" he cavorted joyfully like a little child.
Ellar paused as he looked at the paintings in his room. Instinctively, he moved and pulled out a clean new canvas. "And she gave me more than just my feet. Eternal glory to my Liege," he said as he smiledl. Two blue flames flared in his eyes, and the brush in his hand began to glow blue.
He began to draw like he had never drawn before in his life. He didn't even have to dip the brush in any paint; the picture formed and colored as he willed it. Soon, two cold eyes of an older man were staring at him from the painting. Ellar stepped back and examined his work. "Greetings, Mr. Sinclain. Expect a visit from me shortly." He saluted the painting and stroked his chin as the flame in his eyes faded, and the brush stopped glowing.
"Now... where do I get proper pants?" He wondered.
Ellar, who had initially had some trouble finding suitable trousers without seamed legs, packed up the newly created painting and set off to visit Mr. Sinclain.
On the way, he thought about how to explain his new legs, which he was happy to use for walking. He devised an excuse to find a benevolent patron who admired his paintings and decided to sponsor him. As long as he showed them, no one would question the legs, and certainly, no one would be so brazen as to pull up his pants to take a look.
After a long walk, Ellar arrived at Mr. Sinclain's house. Naturally, it was a proper house with several bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, and who knows what else. Just looking at the house made Ellar feel angry because Sinclain had obtained all of this from other people's hard work and suffering.
Ellar didn't delay and walked up to the door, where he knocked. A moment later, a young, pale woman, who resembled a reanimated corpse in her expression, answered it. Ellar looked her over, suspecting that she couldn't be more than sixteen, and noticed that the woman was trying to hide the bruises on her neck with the high collar of her dress. "Yes? Can I help?" she asked in a weak voice.
Ellar cleared his throat and nodded. "My name is Ellar Dancy. Mr. Sinclain is my benefactor, and I brought him a gift," he said, unable to hide a crooked smile.
The woman nodded. "Of course. Come in," she said and stepped aside. Ellar walked in and looked around, finding himself in a hall that looked rich and luxurious in his eyes. It had electric lights, a clean carpet on the floor, and even the painting on the wall had a gilded frame.
Ellar could only grit his teeth and not show his anger and disgust. He slowly stroked the wrapped painting with his hand, comforting himself with what was to come. "I'll show you to his study," the young woman said, and he followed her. They walked through a short hallway before she knocked on the red-painted door. "Mr. Sinclain. You have a visitor," she announced.
"Let him come in," came the reply. Mr. Sinclain's voice was gruff, a little hoarse from smoking too many cigarettes. Ellar nodded gratefully to the lady before entering and closing the door behind him.
Mr. Sinclain was about forty years old, his face had a slightly unhealthy discoloration to his skin, and the yellowish whites suggested that his liver was not functioning properly. His hair was black and slightly wavy, but Ellar knew that underneath the bowler hat he wore was a budding bald spot. He was rather thin but still had a bulging belly that was the result of drinking too much alcohol.
Sinclain gave Ellar a cold look and a second later he looked astonished. "Dancy? Damn, since when did you get legs?" He asked, standing up. Ellar frowned a little. "Since I got a rich patron," he replied. Greed flashed in Sinclain's yellowish eyes. "Really? In that case, you'll finally be able to pay your debt, won't you?"
Ellar suppressed his disgust and nodded instead. "Yes. But I wanted to bring you this gift first," he said, placing the wrapped painting on the table in front of him.
Sinclain looked at it without interest. "A painting? You've already tried to pay me with it. You know I don't collect trash," he growled.
Without changing his expression, Ellar nodded his head. "I think you'll like this one, though. It's your revered likeness."
That caught Sinclain's attention a little, and he stared at the wrapped cloak again. "Very well. Show me," he prodded.
Ellar just waited for that and ripped the wrapping off the canvas for Sinclain to see. "Oh. That's not bad. It looks just like me. And I didn't model for you," Sinclain appreciated his own appearance while leaning down to get a closer look at the painting.
At that moment, the blue fires in Ellar's eyes flared again, and his hand turned into blue flaming claws that he gripped in the air and clenched into a fist.
Sinclain froze in place, not stopping to stare at the turn. His skin quickly paled, his eyes bulged until a few capillaries in his eyes burst, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. Nothing else was happening at first glance, but Ellar saw what was really happening. Reaching out, he clutched the soul of Sinclair in his hand, which he began to pull towards the painting.
The incorporeal soul of Sinclain struggled, screaming and resisting, flailing his arms around, but the soul could do Ellar no harm. The colors in the painting began to become more vibrant, and Sinclair's soul began to be sucked towards the painting. His form twisted and distorted to resemble a screaming phantom rather than a human.
The moment Sinclair's soul was completely sucked into the painting, his body collapsed forward onto the table where he lay with his eyes open and completely lifeless. Ellar's eyes stopped glowing, and he looked at the painting, seeing the screaming soul writhing in the picture.
Ellar smiled and looked at the dead body. "Ah, Mr. Sinclaine. That painting really took your breath away," he scoffed, feeling as if a ton of weight had been lifted from his heart. He glanced around and then thoughtfully hung the painting on the wall before stepping back to admire his work.
After a moment of blissful calm, he looked at the corpse again before turning towards the door and shouting, "Help! Help! Mr. Sinclain's had a heart attack! Call for help!"