Veilhem struggled to navigate himself out of the debris, but what lay before his eyes succeeded in bringing out a shock deep within him.
A gothic style chapel revealed itself in front of his eyes. The stone wall and floor were reeked with the foul scent of blood with no one present. He was the only one around here.
Walking into the chapel, the embers from the candles from the side of the corridor were what helped him see in this murky place. The faint flickering light sloped down from the artistic oval glass hanging up high at the end of the passageway, a place for the fervent adherences to pray.
The rows of chairs from both sides were empty; only Veilhem was there.
His gaze landed upon the headless knight sculpture, surrounded by candles that had already burned out and stained the pedestal with their wax.
An unprecedented anger never seen before flared up within his heart.
He knew this place; he couldn't forget it even if he died another million times. A distant memory that he thought he had gotten rid of. The beginning of his endless journey, the thing that had started this agony all along.
The High Chapel of the Three Covenants.
The chapel where he received his knighthood. The start of his suffering.
Of all places, why did he land here?!
Veilhem clenched his fist in anger, but soon he released it and slumped down the chair next to him. He wondered if this was yet another trick from the Cursed Spirit to experience this one more time.
If it was, it was damn effective against him.
_______
He waited in the chapel alone, with silence and emptiness as his company.
Veilhem gazed up at the headless knight statue holding his own head on his laps while kneeling. A symbol of sacrifice and selflessness, that was what it meant, or... what he had been taught to believe.
Veilhem, along with his brothers and sisters, fought together against the anarchy of the Everlasting Dragons. Did they not offer themselves enough?
They died, revived and died again, on and on in that seemingly endless war, hollowing one by one. Yet what did they get in return?
A city located at the end of the world, with the princess and dragon named Midir to guard them.
Unbeknown to anyone, they became prisoners after the war and got sealed away from the eyes of the others.
Suddenly, they found themselves being forgotten.
He released a heavy sigh and hung his head low to the point he could only see the ground and nothing else.
"A symbol of sacrifice? Haha… more like scapegoats and fools." A sad smile formed on his face behind that helmet. Unaware of that, he kept drifting into the memories of the past.
He was glad that no one was here to see his pathetic face. Only silence and darkness there to mock him.
He followed the orders down to its last words, believing what he did was to serve a greater purpose than himself, and when he looked back, no one was there left for him.
A noble gesture was placed in the wrong hand of the gods. It was not just him; all of them were.
Gwyn tortured and locked away those who had gone hollowed, fearing it like a plague that could spread, and he happily followed. But look at it now—wasn't he also an accessory to Gwyn in his own lie?
Is this how Fate answers him by making him partly immortal? To be forever living in guilt and repent for his eternal sin?
He realized how self-indulgent he had been after meeting Makima, but does he really deserve that luxury?
No…
He was a sinner and always had been. He just chose to ignore it, living while trying to forget it.
Look at him now. What did he have left?
A broken and forgotten soul even though the world had already passed away. Soon, he would follow... like everyone before him.
He couldn't win against death and even wanted it to come quickly yet here he was, being cursed to never die, to never end his suffering.
A reminder of what he once was: an undead
He did not deserve to feel happy, as it was the greatest mockery to those who had fallen.
He was exhausted but he couldn't rest; such was the fate for a wretch like him.
He did not deserve to go down in that gentle and dark place.
The past had gone its way to haunt him yet again.
[Look at yourself, wretched undead, bound to the yolk of the grand scheme. Unable to see what lay before thy eyes. What is the difference between you and those mindless hollows?]
The mysterious voice echoed in this stillness of the chapel. Their tone was full of plain mockery. They scorned the effort of him trying to forget the past.
"Shut up..." He muttered weakly as if he was pleading them to shut up. He wanted some moments of peace to recollect himself.
Veilhem clutched his head in agony as those memories kept coming back, like the rising tide that never ebbed, reminiscing the moment of his damnation.
[Why do you think you could indulge yourself in such luxury and pleasure as resting while the rest went to sh*t just because you were transported into a different world?]
"Shut up, please, I beg thee."
They continued despite his pleas, their voice piercing through whatever was left to keep him sane from this self-loathing and madness.
[DO. NOT. MAKE. ME. LAUGH.]
The voice shouted in pure ridicule, tinged with a bit of anger.
"S-shut up." His sturdy body curled up into a ball as if he tried to look as small as he could. He shied away from his past, fearing to accept his sins just like when he snuffed out the flame through the moment of weakness.
"P-please…"
Veilhem re-lived through the memories of his comrades, his brothers and sisters falling from grace. They believed in the brighter future, the one that made their death more meaningful.
He knew it all and what did he choose when he realized the truth from the lies of Gods?
[You did nothing and kept it to yourself. Look at where that leads you.]
That was why their last moments felt like the greatest Curse for him. They did not know the truth while he could simply tell them.
But he did not have the gut to do that.
He feared what would come after.
[That was your sin! ]
And he was a sinner…
And a sinner could not run away from the howling abyss that was gnawing at his mind.
The dead remembered the dead, on and on, till it was his turn at last.
Such is the Curse of the Undead.
A prisoner to their own demise.
[What are you doing? You think you can hide away here?! Why do you think you can do that?! Stand up and face your failures, *#^*%]
"N-no, please. Why me? Why am I the only one to survive this tapestry of Fate? The endless cycle, it never ends." His mind started to crumble as he wailed and howled at his own memories. This place reminded him of all that shit that happened to him and others.
Veilhem was nothing more but a mere pawn in the grand scheme of things, just that he knew a little bit more. Now, he must face the truth and live with his own failures.
The past had come back to haunt him in his endless night and now unfolded in front of his eyes, one by one.
The flame of determination in their eyes when they fought for something greater than themselves was like a Curse that reignited the guilt inside him. Their last words fell from grace and they became hollows.
The baptism of the Lords had begun.
__________________
"The rest I shall leave to you," a fallen comrade said before fully succumbing to the Curse of Hollow.
His body was twisted and damaged to such severe degrees that even after resurrecting as a Hollow, he couldn't move normally as he crawled on the ground, trying to attack Veilhem in the process.
Veilhem knew what he needed to do as he raised his sword up. The unwillingness filled his eyes but in the end,
He swung it down.
________________
Veilhem stood before a female knight. Her back against the wall was the only thing that supported her from falling down.
Half of her helmet was broken, and behind it was a blonde knight with blood oozing out, staining her stunning yet defiant beauty.
"Live a damn best life out there, bloom where we couldn't," a young female undead knight smiled at him in her last breath as she handed him the sword in her hand with much struggle.
After that, he needed to do the thing, and without hesitation, he stabbed her, ending her prolonged suffering. At least this way, she couldn't feel the pain and agony of the undead anymore.
______________
"For an unnamed undead, you should have a lot on your plate. No matter what, this is the end of my road. The rest you will have to walk alone, my protégé." The captain of his division fist bumped him before the light in his eyes snuffed out as he became a mindless Hollow.
Veilhem had to impale his captain with his own spear, wishing that perhaps he could go along with his beloved weapon in the afterlife if there was one for any of them.
________________
"It's our hope, the very last one of it, I will give it to you. Do whatever you want with it, the choice is yours." A saintess of a fallen kingdom uttered those words in her dying breath before the chapel was engulfed in the Profaned Flame, which later was known as the Profaned Capital.
But that wasn't for anyone but directly at him, her enemy.
She trusted him to hold onto her last hope.
Veilhem knew what he was doing was wrong but he couldn't help it. He was just a soldier who followed the command, an insignificant figure in the army.
But what made him feel more guilt was the fact that she smiled at him brightly as if she wouldn't judge him if he squashed the very last hope of her kingdom.
The burden in his shoulders continued to accumulate on and on throughout the years, until it was too heavy for him to carry any of that more.
He kneeled down as exhaustion washed over his entire being. Yet the guilt in his heart never waned, not even a little bit.
After all, he once was a human.
All of his friends and comrades had fallen. Even the words of God were not to be trusted anymore.
Sanity…
Religious…
Righteousness…
Now what did he have left to strive for?
The question has plagued his mind ever since.
_________________
What would he choose?
To lay down and drown in his own sadness and depressing memories.
Or…
To accept his past and rise up as a new Lord.
[Only a true monarch could make that decision considering all of the things he had experienced until now.]
[Accept yourself and be born anew once more, our bearer.]
[The decision is yours; take it or bury it in this forsaken place.]
After that, the voice disappeared, leaving Veilhem alone in the chapel as he curled up underneath the headless knight statue. He kept mumbling in terror, his body shaking tremendously.
He was left alone in this world once again…
There were no friends, foes, nor that mysterious voice that mocked him, just simply nothing. Truly, he was alone, trapped within his mindscape and the endless madness awaited him ahead.
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A/N: Truly one of the trauma dumps. What heartless bastard do this?! Oh wait, that's me, hehe.
I kinda feel like writing is not that fun anymore, so I intend to put it on hiatus. Ty you non-existing readers to follow me till this. Cya.