Kane walked with the shadows, dropping his guard when it was needed most. The further he ventured forth, the more the walls revealed their ridges, as though he were taken into the jaws of a great serpent. Every step he took filled him with anxiety, fearing that perhaps there was no way out; that perhaps his spree of venturing beyond Thalamar had met its end, and it was time for him to kick the bucket.
"And if I do make it out alive," he stared at the ground, keeping watch for any more slides that wanted to catch him when he was unsuspecting, "I'm fucked anyway! Maleagant is not going to be happy that I wasted so much time."
Yes, indeed. At least that was one thing he could say for certain. Every word he uttered carried a sharp, biting tone, with a touch of sarcasm and bitterness. However, now was not the time for him to start lamenting over the fact that he made poor decisions and suffered a predicament of his own making. Now was the time for him to halt, for he could have sworn he heard a voice: That same murmur that whispered in the darkness and then slipped away, back up top.
He crouched near the ridges of a wall, dragging his hand through the rough and hard rock, feeling his long nails grating away. He continued onward like this for about a minute, before he came across a new room that harboured an arcane and occult sensation that washed over him, his hairs stiffened as goosebumps formed.
Before him rested a perfectly circular, marbly, soft-blush pink room. Faint, vein-like red lines along with others—more solid and coloured—like connective tissue ran through the marble floor and walls, the room itself illuminated by a completely white shape that resembled a uvula, suspended over a hole in the centre of the room. The voice he heard before was now clearer and resembled that of a human male's, almost cathartic to his mental state as he sighed out of relief.
At least there's someone here, so he thought, shaking his head as he thought about how he crried so much fear for nothing. He poked his head forward, checking his immediate right and left, only to find that nothing occupied the room. He entered the room, remaining crouched as he observed more of the room.
The off-white coloured lines travelled perfectly straight from ceiling and through the floor, highlighting the contour of the upward angled edge of the hole in the ground. Unlike the off-white lines, the red vein-like ones travelled freely, winding and wrapping underneath, their less solid colour suggesting to Kane that they were buried deep underneath what he could only assume was a pinkish marbly rock. Towards the back of the room, a small walkthrough existed between two diagonal lines, highlighted the same off-white, and behind it, yet again more of the same flesh-like wall.
"What in the world is this place?" he said to himself, quickly panning his head left and right as he studied the eerily symmetrical room. His train of thought was interrupted by what he could only imagine as a staff slamming against the ground, coming from below, where the hole conveniently allowed him to watch from above.
Wasting no time, he went prone, letting just his head and eyes peer over the upward angled edge.
Who are these people? he wondered, staring at a figure that held a staff and faced tens of robed men wearing wide-brimmed, black slouch hats, standing in an organized manner of rows of seven. What he assumed were rank and file appeared as sickly men, with pale skin rivalling that of his, making him feel as though he found a pack that he belong to.
He stared at the armoured figure for a moment, his eyes glistening at its beauty. What strange armour... It looks like pure silver... Horns on the helm that extend back, covered in layers upon layers of itself... Looks more like a mask than a helmet, and that armour, with a chest piece that looks like a spiders face and fangs, has a black cape attached to it. I wonder if there's any more that I could get my hands on. He smirked. That could sell for a lot of sil— No. He shook his head, severing the idea he had from his mind. I may be poor, but I won't steal. I'm poor, but I have standards. He returned his focus to the sight below, listening in on the conversation.
"... has become the Final God," said a quiet, gravelly, and somber voice, distorted by the mask the armoured figure wore. "Many tasks have been set in stone, and our God suspects that there are operatives that impede the mission."
Kane listened to the silence that filled the atmosphere. Final God? What mission? Who are these people? I thought everyone in Teivel lived in the cities... And an operative? What does he mean?
"And of course," continued the armoured figure, his tone becoming more aggressive and his volume louder, "no one's double-crossing goes past me. Bauer!"
From further back of the gathered men, a singular person walked over, standing between his contemporaries with his arms at his side, he made no sound whatsoever.
"Bauer," the figure's voice returned to its usual quietness, though it now carried a inquisitive tone, "you are merely a layman."
"Yes, Prelate," replied Bauer, revealing the voice of someone who'd just barely broke past his young adult life: calm and deep.
The Prelate scoffed, which transitioned into a menacing chuckle that came from the back of his throat. "Yes, yes. Of course. You would not know anything." His words, what should have been sounded confirmative, carried disdain and mockery, as if to patronize Bauer for being a layman. "There's nothing you could do against the Final God... You've learned the truth, and now you're saved. Go on. Back to your spot."
Bauer lowered his head before turning away. Kane's wide eyes bounced between Bauer and the Prelate, watching as crackling green sparks flickered around the forked tip of the silver staff, before green lightning lashed at Bauer. Kane watched as he fell to the ground, followed by a heavy thud and erratic movements of the arms and legs.
"I exist to set an example," said the Prelate, taking a promenade toward Bauer's body, using his staff as a cane, as he watched the layman recover from his flailing. He wrapped the forked staff around Bauer's neck, lifting him to have his gaze meet his bloodshot eyes. "And you... Your sacrifice, your blood shall be imbibed and accepted... as retribution for your sins."
Bauer's eyes trembled, his heavy and rapid breaths filled the silence as he stared into the Prelate's mask: a window into that of a soulless man.
"My retribution," said Bauer, his voice now frail and quiet, mixed with his heavy breathing, "lies with... saving innocents... from your desolation."
"Yes," hissed the Prelate, before swinging his staff off to the side, sending Bauer sliding out of Kane's vision, "truly noble, your actions have been, but all heroes must one day meet their end. I shall deliver divine judgement, and you shall be part of the melting pot that feeds us. You shall not be saved, for the Final God has dictated it as such."