But it was too late. With the last of his lines, Alan gave Armis a look that was the opposite of what Armis had given him while torturing him. It was not mockery or lunacy; it was grief, pity, and longing.
"ἐν τῇ σκιά τῆς χάριτος, ἐν τῷ φῶτι τῆς ζωῆς…."
With these words, Alan shot the sphere of compressed air into the pot of lava. The sphere melted through the thick layer of the pot like a knife through butter, entering the molten lava. A large bubble surfaced, and then, in an instant, the entire pot exploded into smithereens, unleashing unending waves of lava.
The searing flow of lava instantly swallowed Alan, then Armis. The torrent filled the temple, and the tormented souls trapped within the lava were now free. They pushed against the temple walls, which buckled under the pressure. In a final, blinding explosion of light, the temple erupted. Lava and souls poured out from every crack and crevice, cascading down the Relic Castle in a relentless, fiery deluge.
49th Floor,
"Men!!! We have gathered here to walk together in the pit of hell and bring back one of the most important resources of Pompeii!!!" Father Zeneth, clad in heavy armor over his robe, yelled out.
He directed his words to the army of more than a hundred men and women, each draped in armor embedded with the holy seal on their chests. They stood in attention before the mighty gate of the 49th floor, the very gate whose inscriptions had filled Father Zeneth with dread and fear the last time. But now, with renewed vigor in his eyes and tone, supported by the five bishops of the Holy Church beside him, he continued,
"Men and Women of the imperial force of the church, I am going to tell you straight out that the words carved upon the obstacle before us hold fair warnings. Once we go in there, there will be no return. So I want you right now, to remember our almighty Roiran and the Benevolent, with whose blessings we are conducting this rescue operation. Please read your prayers before we finally step inside this entrance to hell...!"
With his command, all the warriors bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and chanted the prayers taught to them—the prayer of salvation. The air hummed with their sacred murmurings, an ethereal cadence against the ominous silence of the floor. Suddenly, amidst the holy words, the ground beneath them trembled. Some opened their eyes, while others took it as a test of faith, just like Father Zeneth. Those who opened their eyes saw the hell they were supposed to enter pushing against the obstacle to greet them first.
The two giant slabs of stone, forming the gate behind their holy commander, began to shiver, little by little, gaining cracks that glowed with an orange hue. Whispers of dread spread among the ranks as some soldiers gasped, their eyes widening in terror.
"Fat..Father….What…what is that…?!!"
Not at the first cry, nor the second, but when the sound of fear transformed into a collective dread, Father Zeneth broke from his prayer. He saw the panic in his holy army before turning towards the source of their terror. As he turned, he had no time to call upon his God or react to the unexpected destruction. The cracks quickly widened, releasing a shower of molten lava and a soul of darkness from the once unyielding gate.
The molten shower first enveloped all the bishops, then devoured the stammering Father Zeneth, and soon the entire army. Many ran, some climbed, and others tried to dodge the fiery, molten death, but none were faster than their fate. Sooner or later, all were consumed by the gluttonous tornado of molten embers. The air was filled with the agonized cries of the fallen, the stench of burning flesh, and the relentless roar of the lava as it swallowed everything in its path, leaving nothing but a searing inferno behind.
Silverforth Mansion,
"Oh, my darling, will they be alright?" Poduria's mother asked, clutching onto her father. The couple, along with their children and other members of their large family, stood at the edge of their farm, their gazes fixed on the faint silhouette of the gate leading to the 49th floor.
"Don't worry, my love. Our princess is strong! She will be—"
Suddenly, Poduria's father's words trailed off. From the threshold they watched, the silence was broken by screams and yells of agony, signaling something ominous. The ominous became visible as smoke, burn, and orange waves grew larger and clearer by the moment.
He was the first to see it, then others in his family noticed too. Before they could escape the shock and apprehension, the wave of lava moved from the threshold and loomed above them.
All they managed to do was hold tighter to their loved ones. The unrelenting, unbiased wave of lava engulfed the entire Silverforth clan in one go, suppressing their screams and struggles beneath its fiery and suffocating density.
The lava moved forward without stopping, breaking or melting everything in its path, sacrificing all to the dark damned souls it carried along. The once vibrant farm, filled with life and hope, was now a molten wasteland, consumed by the inferno.
Message Receiving Area III, Above the First Window,
"Dude, this job is going to ruin my marriage!" A man dressed in a white tunic and pleated lower garments, with a red hat atop his head, complained while gazing up at the cloud-spewing windows of the towering, sky-kissing structure before him, Relic Castle.
"What do you mean, Rairad?" The man in the same uniform, seated at a distance, asked back.
"C'mon, man, don't you see? It's been a whole twelve weeks since Master Longiseus's party departed inside, and six weeks since the holy army and Father Zeneth went in. Since then, there's been no message, not even from a random raider. I'm telling ya', we're just wasting our time here, Oretheus!"
Ortheus smiled at Rairad's complaint as Rairad moved to the seat across from him, keeping his gaze down in disappointment. Oretheus placed a supportive hand on Rairad's shoulder, looked up at the window surrounded by the mystic clouds, and spoke in a reassuring tone,
"My friend, this is what we get paid for. Message or not, we're supposed to wait here day and night. We are the first line of communication between this prosperous kingdom of ours and its biggest resources. This duty was given to us by the almighty Pope himself, so with the blessing of King Roiran, we—"
Suddenly, Oretheus's words trailed off. His upward gaze caught something tearing through the pristine white clouds, bringing a satisfying smile to his face. He quickly shuffled Rairad's shoulders, his amazement spilling into his words,
"Rairad, look! It's here, it's finally here!"
The excited words of his friend filled Rairad's limbs with sudden strength. He stood up, matching his gaze with Oretheus's. For a moment, they saw the incoming projectile as the awaited messenger sacks. But then the projectile turned more orange, its shape transforming into something more like a molten drop than a filled tumbling sack.
Within the next moment, it dropped on Oretheus's face, instantly melting the flesh and bones before a scream could escape his throat.
Rairad's smile froze for a moment, then horror began to sink into his psyche. He scrambled down near his friend's melting corpse, opening his mouth to yell for help. Before he could scream, the same molten and scorching lava that had ceased Oretheus's reaction engulfed Rairad's entire existence. The titanic stream of lava touched Pompeii's ground, followed by the souls of the screeching damned, bringing an end to their duty in a fiery, horrific instant.
Pompeii, Road Leading to West Pompeii Forest,
"Are you sure about this, brother?" A woman peeked out of the carriage striding in the middle of many horses and horsemen. Her query was directed to the horseman draped in regal-looking attire, with blond, slick hair, holding his chest and head high. He paused before replying to the woman's query,
"Yes, Sister. It's been too long that we have suppressed her wishes. It's been years since Aurelia asked us for something or even contacted us. So I will do anything in my power to fulfill her wish."
With that declaration, the man, along with the other horsemen, entered the forest ahead. As the woman's carriage approached the dense foliage, she complained against her brother's resolve,
"Yes, I am aware of that, but marrying a jungle dweller? Father wouldn't like this." As the carriage and group of horsemen finally moved into the clearing that held two large huts, her complaint became infused with disgust and disappointment at the scene before her eyes,
"Look, brother, the man does not even have a decent house to keep our sister in."
Her concern and disgust went unheard as the three men, along with her brother, dismounted from their horses. Moving toward one of the huts, her brother called out in a loud yet respectful voice,
"Please, the residents of the huts come out. We are representatives of the Scrotch Lineage, and we are here on personal business with Goliaths!"
After his call, a tense silence filled the air. It was broken by the creak of the opening door of the first hut. Layla emerged, looking puzzled and apprehensive. She asked in a soft yet clear voice,
"Yes, I am one of the relatives of Goliath. Please state your business."
"Oh, don't worry, kind lady. We mean no harm. Rest assured," the brother assured, his soft words calming Layla's nerves. He moved forward, bowing in respect with his hat, putting a calming spell on the shivering Layla.
"If my sister and I can be granted a moment of your time," the brother continued, as his sister, despite holding an uncomfortable look on her face, joined his side, reluctantly bowing as well. Layla gave them a confused look, but her eyes caught the brother's assuring smile, calming her nerves. She opened her door to let them in.
Both brother and sister entered the hut, their faces reflecting contrasting emotions. The brother took a seat across from Layla, while the sister remained standing despite Layla's insistence to sit. The brother introduced themselves,
"I do apologize for the sudden intrusion, but as you may be aware of the sensitivity of the matter, it needed a quick resolution."
"I don't understand, what do you mean?" Layla asked, puzzled.
Before explaining, the brother's eyes fell on the old, hunched woman sitting beside Layla. He pointed at her and said,
"We are here to discuss the relationship between— forgive me if I am assuming— your son, Armis Goliath, and my sister, Aurelia Scrotch. It may feel imposing, but having the utmost confidentiality would be better for both sides if you understand what I mean…?"
At the mention of Armis, Layla's face brightened with understanding. She glanced at the hunched old woman, who smiled at her. Turning back to the brother, Layla replied,
"Oh, we were just discussing how to approach your family about the same topic! What a coincidence! Truly a miracle of Roiran! And her… don't worry about her; she is the grandmother of one of the sweet girls in my Armis's party."
"Oh, that is wonderful to hear. So as I was saying—"
Suddenly, a massive tremor shook the hut, silencing the brother mid-sentence. The tremor rattled everything around them. When the shaking subsided slightly, Layla moved cautiously towards the window, dread in her eyes. She saw the source of the calamity and her eyes widened in fear. She quickly helped the old woman and the sister get up.
"What… what was that?" the sister asked, terrified.
"It… it's… It's Relic Castle!" Layla stammered, trying to convey what she saw. Her cryptic words deepened the brother's confusion.
"What do you mean? What happened to Relic Castle?"
Another violent tremor hit, this one more destructive. The hut's wooden furniture flipped and smashed, instantly killing the old woman and the sister. Layla cried out, scrambling to a safe corner as the tremors stopped again. The brother groaned, spitting blood. He screamed in anguish at the sight of his sister's crushed body, holding her lifeless form in his arms. He turned towards Layla, yelling in agony,
"What is happening, woman?!"
Layla, bawling like a child, tried to speak through her tears,
"IT'S RELIC CASTLE! It's… it's on fire!"
Before the brother could fully grasp her words, a massive wave of lava reached them. The scorching lava engulfed the hut, turning everything into smithereens. Their screams and agony were silenced beneath the fiery sea, as the damned souls floated above them.
House of Elites
Authoritative Ministry, Far-Central Pompeii
As a man with ashen hair lay on his bed, his visage wrinkled with experience, he stared at the tall ceiling above. His sunken eyes looked far beyond the brown wood, lost in thoughts of the past. He recalled words spoken a few days earlier by the ruler of the Kingdom, the prophet of God, the Almighty Pope himself:
"Our God! Holy King Roiran is dead! It's futile, everything is futile, nothing will survive. Listen to the souls! Listen to the damned! They are bringing the end, they are to bring petrif—"
Suddenly, his uncomfortable reverie was shattered by tremors so intense that they nearly caused his bed to collapse. Before the man could collect himself, the halting tremors gave way to a herd of screams coming from the windows of his chamber. A sudden dread devoured his thoughts as he carefully stood up from his still-shaking bed and moved toward the screaming windows.
"Sire!" Before his eyes could see the cause of the chaos outside, his ears caught the sound of someone in his chamber. Looking at the door, he saw one of his loyal servants, a look of true horror on his face, heaving with dread as he continued his warning:
"Sire! We have to leave, and we have to leave now. Pompeii is—"
He didn't wait for his servant to finish. Turning back to the window, he saw another tremor devastating the shallow houses on the threshold of his estate.
He raised his gaze from the destruction to the source, and he should have felt horror; he should have panicked in dread like his servant. Yet his face held a persistent sternness. He saw the blessing of their kingdom, the backbone of Pompeii, Relic Castle, spewing forth rivers of fiery destruction. The four windows of the castle, which used to bring them wealth, resources, and prosperity, now puked out what their leader had warned of. It was the damned, it was the darkened bringing forth scorch and molten. It was—
"Death..." the man spoke in his weary voice, as though completing his servant's halted words. Turning toward his servant with a look of disgust and disappointment, he continued, "Not only our God, not only the King, but the whole of Pompeii is dead. That damn Pope!"
The man spat out his disgust, but his servant's reaction—horror deepening on his face as he saw even more chaos outside the window—prompted him to speak again.
"Sire, we don't have much time, we have to—"
"Nonsense!" the man halted his servant's concern, causing his servant to get frustrated and dash out of the chamber.
It didn't affect the man. Slowly moving back to his shambling bed, he took a seat and continued talking into the air. His kingdom—the very kingdom he used to rule from the shadows—began drowning in scorching death, while the screeching of the damned drowned the agonizing screams of the unsuspecting innocent victims.
"We don't have time at all. We did. We knew before it was here, but we stood idly, and now we will die idly—"
Before he knew it, the flood of molten destruction reached him, devouring him and all he held dear, leaving behind nothing but screams and screeching echoing in the ash-filled air.
Path Towards the Pompeii Dock
Two horsemen and a carriage laden with cargo trampled the ground beneath them, racing away from the scorching destruction and storm of suffocating ash engulfing their town, their cities, the kingdom they once called home.
The wind and shockwaves of the calamity pushed them farther and farther as the young man riding behind the elder shouted at the top of his lungs,
"Brother! Brother Riro!"
"Yes, Orso?!" Riro replied without breaking his speed or gaze from the path ahead.
"Brother, I am worried about Lyco and Arian! What will happen to them?!"
Orso asked, continuing behind his brother and pulling along a cart filled with baggage and people, their whimpers and groans accentuating the approaching roar of distant destruction.
But Riro stayed silent. Amid his apprehension about the approaching calamity, his thoughts wandered to a different time, when their family had been exiled from the business their lineage was built upon. Now, seeing the destruction befalling those who had belittled them, Riro didn't know what to feel. He was concerned about his brothers, but right now, he was more focused on getting his remaining family to a safe place, away from the impending disaster.
"Me too, Orso! Because if it wasn't for Arian's warnings, we Preparanna's would be buried in that ashen storm as well!" Riro yelled back, his voice filled with the same urgency that lit his gaze.
After a moment, he found the threshold he was searching for: the emerald reflection of the breezing sea became visible on the horizon. Quickly, Riro whipped his horse, increasing its speed as he yelled back to Orso, urging him to do the same.
"Hurry now, Orso! The sea is not far. The boat is waiting, and we have to get Mother and Father to it as quickly as possible! Let's not let the sacrifices of our brothers go to waste..." Riro mumbled the last of his words, meant only for his own heart. Following his brother's lead, Orso glanced back at the towering gates of Pompeii. As they began to disappear on the horizon, the storm of ash engulfed the gate and walls, and moments later, the flood of scorching death caught up to the ashen storm.
In dread and fear, Orso quickly whipped his horse, urging it to pull the carriage as fast as possible. Within moments, they crossed the port gate, but suddenly Riro's horse halted, causing Orso to stop abruptly, nearly stumbling along with the carriage.
"Brother, what happened?!" Orso cried out, but Riro didn't reply. He was petrified by the scene before him, which soon became visible to Orso as well. Stunned by the view, Orso's horse moved beside Riro's on its own. The groaning and whimpering from the cart turned into screams, then concerned words and yells meant for the brothers, who had fallen silent, stunned. Silent tears streamed down their cheeks as Orso quietly moved his hand to entwine with his brother's.
Their struggles to escape death had been futile. They thought they were fleeing from the scorching destruction, only to face sky-high waves from their supposed savior, the sea.
There were no boats, only a wall of water moving towards them, ready to fall upon them, burying them and their loved ones along with the whole port in a liquid coffin. The water mixed with the approaching sea of lava, creating an amalgam of two calamities. The ash-filled air was filled with roaming and screeching souls of the dark and damned, a sight that somehow looked very beautiful in its destructiveness.
No human eyes witnessed the cataclysm that consumed Pompeii in its final moments. The city, a beacon of civilization and culture, was fully engulfed by a tide of molten lava, shrouded in a suffocating cloak of ash and smoke. The thrashing waves from the sea clashed with the fiery torrents, freezing the lava in an instant, and swallowing even the damned souls that lingered in their torment. Amidst this chaos, only the top of Relic Castle stood tall, piercing through the ashen clouds, still spewing lava as the water relentlessly climbed its height.
But then, an eerie silence fell. In a heartbeat, the castle, the monument of Pompeii's grandeur, the beacon of King Roiran's reign, was obliterated. The explosion didn't send out shockwaves; instead, it created a vacuum so powerful that it sucked in all the surrounding water and the tormented souls, forming a dark, pulsating sphere of pure malevolence.
The heavens themselves seemed to respond to this abomination. A colossal bolt of lightning, brighter than a thousand suns, descended from the sky, striking the vile sphere with a deafening roar. The divine intervention that had once blessed Pompeii now sealed its fate. The impact triggered an explosion of blinding light, an ever-expanding wave of radiance that consumed the entire city, erasing it from existence.
As the light receded, it left behind a wasteland, an eternal hell for the Pompeiians. The ground was a barren expanse of petrified remains, frozen in their final moments of agony. The air, thick with the scent of sulfur and death, was silent save for the faint echo of their last screams, now just whispers in the wind.
And above it all, where Relic Castle once stood, there was nothing but an ominous emptiness, a void that marked the end of an era. The divine intervention that had begun the story of Pompeii ended it with finality, leaving behind a haunting reminder of hubris and the relentless power of nature. Pompeii was no more, its legacy turned to stone—petrification until eternity.
THE END