If one is asked what God looks like, different people from different cultures, religions, places, or even different familial values will probably give an answer that will not match the next person this same question is asked. But the foundation of this image is always the same. A divine, omnipotent, humble, and benevolent being that is like a guardian to us, the foolish humans.
Many people have tried to envision or dictate an evil God, but somehow the supposed being turns into a devil, there never is a God that is evil. For all we know, the God that might have been once true and real is just a concept defined by its 'biased' benevolence, care, and love for humans and people who worship them.
This was what sorken used to think, but after seeing the divine hall and feeling the aura of God, he no longer limited himself to that thought.
'The God is indeed the embodiment of everything it was supposed to be' Sorken thought inwardly, still trying to discern the outline of sitting on the faraway throne.
'I am not crazy like these people, I have just known the truth so this reaction is understandable' He lampooned as his eyes that glimmered with passion and soft fervor brightened unnaturally.
His Gaze drifted into the hall as they stepped foot in the path meant to reach the arc.
The walls, smooth and seamless, stretch up toward a vaulted ceiling, where intricate runic circles span the entire surface, glowing faintly with ancient power. These circles seem like occult summoning sigils, if sorken had to make a guess, their complex, spiraling designs etched deep into the white stone, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the room.
Throughout the hall, small obsidian obelisks rise from the floor, each one black as night and covered in hieroglyphs and carvings reminiscent of ancient Egyptian relics. The obsidian gleams coldly against the brilliant white of the room, and the obelisks, arranged symmetrically along the sides of the hall, seem to hum with a subtle, mystical energy. They almost feel like silent sentinels, watching over the space with a weight of ages.
There was a rare and contrasting harmony in the divine atmosphere of this room filled with objects of innate fear.
A narrow path, carved from the same flawless white material, runs between the rows of obelisks, leading toward the end of the hall. There, an arc of thrones forms a grand crescent, where the grand being whose figure was still obscure sat with dignity and divinity.
'Soon' Sorken thought, the glow in his eyes dimmer.
As the Voice of footsteps fell in the supposedly silence hall, Horu kept walking ahead, as the others followed taking in this scene that can worldview of even the most pragmatic person.
Each throne was meticulously carved, embedded with golden threads and ancient engravings that seem to shift and writhe as the light touches them. At the center, was a majestic throne that couldnt be seen. Shifting through phases of reality and imaginary, The throne was out of grasp of understanding for the people present. Its presence alone was enough to fill a sense of regality and ease.
'The God Watches all' Sorken closed his eyes as to take in this divine feeling and scene for forever to be etched into his heart as he kept walking forward like others.
In front of the arc of thrones, the path opened into a small, clear space, a place seemingly designed for standing or kneeling. The air here feels heavy with expectation, as if this is where beings of immense importance have been summoned in the past. The ancient engravings on the floor ripple underfoot, etched into the very foundation of the hall, their meaning lost to time but their significance palpable.
Horu and company finally reached their destination in the area infront of the Arch of Throne. Horu, waved his hands in an indescirnable manner and others stopped behind him. He looked at the figure infront of him and bowed his head while squatting, showing the difference in their positions and status in this place.
The entire room is silent, save for the faint hum of energy from the obelisks and the distant, almost imperceptible chanting that seems to emanate from the runic circles above. It is a place both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling, where the sacred and the occult intertwine.
'I must not look at him… I must not… This person is similar to the one in robes, their presence and voice is enough to destroy even our souls, i look at them… I wont be able to live'
Sorken tried his best to control his thoughts but his thoughts unnaturally went to the figure and how he looked.
'Only a Glance, Looks cant kill'
'There' As sorken finally rested his eyes, his eyes started to move.
At the end of the pristine hall, beneath the arched crescent of thrones, sits a figure unlike any others, a god-like being, whose presence commands reverence and dread in equal measure. Though he occupies a throne that is not the grandest at the center, his aura eclipses all others, an unspoken declaration that he is a force beyond mortal comprehension. His very existence exudes an uncanny majesty, a being revered yet feared.
At first glance, he seems serene, almost regal in his stillness. But a closer look reveals a terrifying truth. His divine form is bound to the throne, his body impaled by what seem to be countless nails of gleaming silver, driven into him from head to toe. Each nail glints in the hall's ethereal light, pinning him to the throne with meticulous cruelty, yet he remains eerily alive. His flesh is taut and pale, stretched over ancient wounds that have never healed, as if time itself refuses to touch him.
His hands, raised and resting on the arms of the throne, are pierced through with nails the size of daggers, the skin around them unmarred yet rigid, as though frozen in agony. His feet, too, are secured to the base of the throne, his legs unnaturally straight, held in place by cold, gleaming spikes. Even his head is not spared; long, slender nails pierce through his skull and neck, though his eyes, cold and unfathomable, remain open and alert. Those eyes, like twin orbs of glass, seem to see everything yet offer no warmth, only an abyss of knowing.
The unsettling aspect of this god-like figure is not the torment of his binding but the dignity with which he endures it. It was atleast what Sorken thought. There is no visible struggle, no sign of pain. He wears the nails like a crown, an intrinsic part of his being, as though his suffering is a form of transcendence rather than punishment. His expression is unnervingly calm, almost serene, as if to suggest that his torment is part of some greater design—an incomprehensible divine will that no mortal could ever hope to grasp.
The throne he is nailed to radiates an ancient, solemn power, its golden threads seemingly drawn to him, as if his very essence is woven into the fabric of the seat itself. Despite his bondage, his aura of authority is undiminished; in fact, it is magnified by the paradox of his existence. This is no mere captive—this is a being who has accepted the ultimate burden of eternity, wearing his suffering with the grace of a god and the weight of an unspeakable secret.
To stand in his presence is to feel the pull of something both divine and deeply wrong, an unshakable sense that the boundaries of life and death, pain and power, have been blurred in ways that defy reason. And though he sits impaled and bound, his very existence whispers a quiet, horrifying truth—that his power is not constrained by the nails but amplified by them.
Sorkens entire being was frozen after taking a glance at the figure. He tried to remain aloof and calm but inwardly he knew he hade a big mistake to think he can see that god like figure without going insane. He was sure he should have gone insane, but for some reason he didnt and he was grateful for that.
'The god saved me, he didnt let me go mad' He clenched his fist as he finally reached at the only possible solution.
"Priest, you must know what to do," Soru suddenly said, having already stood up after bowing. Strangely neither they were made to bow, neither were they able to even after trying.
Unable to discern the reaction made by the Priest, Sorken and others stood still waiting for what was to come. They were hopeful as for what blessings they can reap in this kingdom of god. The golden chains binding them slowly vanished and then the people that those chains binded vanished too.