Nicholas ordered the butcher's body to be burned in the village square.
Villagers gathered around the scene as the butcher's body was set alight by an inquisitor. Slowly, a boy approached the pit fire and tossed a bundle of flowers into the flames. One by one, the villagers followed, each throwing flowers onto the pyre. Someone shouted, "He was a good man." The others echoed, "Guur was a good man!"
The inquisitors clenched their fists, but they didn't stop the farewell for their butcher.
The chants of farewell grew louder and louder. A subtle fear crept into the hearts of the inquisitors as the scene unfolded, and each of them glanced toward their captain. Nicholas Lucen remained unaffected, his calm and steady gaze fixed on the body burning in the pyre.
Then Nicholas spoke, his voice steady as he chanted a hymn, eyes closed and a fist pressed to his heart.
"O Lord of Light and Hope,
Grant this man a place
Within Your divine heaven."
Soon, the pyre burned to its end, body was burned to smolders.
Nicholas turned to his men and said, "Check the corruption levels among the villagers, and contact the church to send a team of Hymn Bearers. You are authorized to eliminate anyone who refuses to comply with the demands. Now, move."
With that, Nicholas turned towards the church. The rest of the team nodded and moved, taking advantage of the villagers now being concentrated in the square, making it an easier task for the inquisitors.
Nicholas stepped into the church, his eyes fixed on the confessional booth ahead. To his left, a shadowy chapel loomed in silence. To his right, the confessional stood beside a narrow tunnel that descended into the crypt below.
There was something deeply ominous surrounding the chapel, so for now, Nicholas decided to avoid going inside. The crypt's path was extremely narrow and, after the battle, was littered with debris from the church, making it much harder to navigate. There might have been other openings through the crypt, but for now, Nicholas focused on the confessional booth ahead.
The confession booth had ceased its reverberations, its walls darkening with necrosis. Nicholas stepped forward, his boots sticking to the fleshy ground, but that didn't stop him from moving.
"I have to find it, or there will be more."
"Why did they abandon hope? Lord Eden always shines for those in need; they just had to be patient..."
"First, it was a doctor, and now a butcher. Why are these people turning to that damn demon?"
"Lord Eden, please tell me why. Why don't they want to go to your divine kingdom?"
Nicholas walked for several minutes before entering the chamber. The small room had a pew at its center for the confessor, while the opposite wall was obscured by the confessional grille. Now, flesh and veins covered the walls, rotting away in the absence of the caretaker. In the midst of it all lay a robe, woven from linen threaded with silver, exuding the pale glow of morning fog after a prayer. The ivory-white cloth was now tainted by faint rust-red stains along the hem, resembling smeared fingertips.
A vertical braid of gold embroidery ran down its spine, forming a leafless tree that stretched upward toward a shining star. On closer inspection, the tree's bark revealed intricate stitched verses—hymns of mercy and the soul's journey back to the divine kingdom of Eden.
The cuffs were plain and broad, each bearing a single emblem—an open hand, palm up—the symbol of peace, a gesture of surrender to the light. A sash lay crumpled in the corner of the booth, its fabric-stained deep red, resembling a tendril. Once a radiant gold, it was now tarnished with crimson.
"O Lord, guide Father Noa to your divine kingdom. May we all be reunited in your divine kingdom one day."
Nicholas carefully picked up the robe and folded it with precision. He then reached for the sash in the corner, but just as his fingers were about to grasp it, a faint whisper drifted across the grille.
"Nicholassss... Hey, friend..."
Nicholas's eyes darted toward the grille; it felt like someone was behind it. With a commanding tone, he spoke.
"Who are you?"
The voice replied.
"Noa..."
Nicholas slowly approached the grille, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He asked, "Who do you serve?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a whisper came again.
"I serve the first..."
Before the sentence could be finished, Nicholas plunged his sword through the fleshy grille. The blade ignited with a red light that enveloped the other side of the booth.
Nicholas slowly pulled the sword back. When he thrust it in earlier, he felt no resistance; the sword likely missed the entity behind, but the red radiance that followed might have engulfed it entirely.
Nicholas crouched slightly, trying to peer through the hole left by his initial strike. Just then, the voice spoke again, this time sounding a little croaked.
"That was not nice, Nicholas. I know we have our differences in the Sanctuarium, but that's no reason to kill a fellow colleague."
Nicholas raised his sword again, "What are you now?"
The voice replied, "I am at peace, my friend. There's nothing on my mind." A chuckle echoed from behind the grille.
"I can't have anything on my mind, you would know. That's why you're here."
"Guur didn't have to send my head as a message, though. I agreed, and now I regret it."
Nicholas' eyes narrowed. "Message?!"
The voice chuckled again, "Yeah, a message."
After a long pause, it continued.
"He wanted you to come here. He wanted you to see something."
Nicholas pressed further, "Who is he?"
The voice, calm and steady, spoke in its usual tone. "The Lord First. He is the Oldest and the Youngest, the True Friend."
Nicholas, still staring into the black hole, saw nothing—no movement, no light on the other side. He asked the voice, "Guur was surprised to see my sword. Didn't your lord lie to his followers about the arrival of their enemy? How could he be anything but a true friend?"
The voice laughed, and this time, the laughter echoed through the entire church.
"Guur did know. Though that is not an entirely true statement."
"You see, the Lord First has certain restrictions, and because of that, the power flowing from his divine kingdom is polluted. Guur suffered greatly from this pollution; he was cut off from truth and reason, reduced to a beast. But don't worry, Nicholas, you won't suffer the same fate."
"You've already met the doctor, I presume. You will be like him, but better."
Nicholas's eyes widened in shock at the mention of the doctor, but he quickly recovered and replied,
"I will never be like him. Why slaughter the innocent? Why plague an entire city? If I can, I will hunt down every one of you."
The voice spoke again, "You will join us, Nicholas, after I reveal the truth to you."
"Nicholas, you are a good man, but Lord Eden is not. We have been deceived."
Nicholas shouted, "SHUT UP, you damned heretic! You slaughter the innocent and dare to lecture me about right and wrong? Lord Eden saved us, gave us hope, and now you've betrayed him for a demon!"
The voice interrupted him.
"Not just Lord Eden, but the other lords are evil too."
"You may not believe me now, but when you see for yourself who the real monsters are, your world will shatter just as mine did..."
Nicholas didn't respond, leaving only silence in the booth. He couldn't tell if the headless priest had left or was still there, listening to his confession.
'Lord Eden and the rest are evil. That damn demon, what tricks he used to manipulate Father Noa... Is he even Father Noa? No, he can't be... Noa is already dead. I saw his head, his face frozen in terror... What a gruesome death Noa endured. Damn demon. I won't let this demon toy with people.'
"Noa... or whoever you are now, tell your demon this: I will continue to follow my lord. All his plans will be destroyed by the Church of Light and Hope!"
Before Nicholas could finish, darkness shot through the grille, engulfing the entire confession booth. Utter darkness consumed the space.
'Wh...'
Before the thought could even take hold in Nicholas's mind, a sharp pain pierced his ear, signaling a transformation as the encroaching darkness enveloped him.
Tendrils of shadow coiled around his form. The golden threads of his Inquisitor vestments unraveled, disintegrating into the void like dust. In their place, the darkness wove a new garment.
A mantle of blackened scripture, etched in an unfamiliar language.
A high, rigid collar of silence, sealing away the voice of judgment.
Veins of crimson light pulsed faintly beneath his skin—not of blood, but of Truth, bubbling into revelation.
His breath grew shallow as he tried to recite a hymn, reaching out for the Lord of Light and Hope. Yet, his voice faltered, his faith wavering.
Then came the whisper, speaking a language both alien and comprehensible—the word of Truth:
"Nicholas, come here, child. Don't be enslaved by the false gods. Their thrones are empty, their light stolen. Join me in my kingdom beyond the light. There, you'll find truth. There, you'll find absolution."
He dropped to his knees.
The last light faded from his eyes, replaced by darkness that blossomed like a flower finally greeting the dawn.
As he rose slowly, his shadow stretched before him like a broken wing, spanning the entire booth—a depth of darkness where even light seemed to falter.
His eyes glowed crimson, his blonde hair fading to stark white. His face, rejuvenated with youth, appeared a decade younger, and his tanned skin transformed into a flawless porcelain hue.
His armor, once a symbol of purity, was now blackened, inscribed with scriptures of darkness that no longer belonged to his Lord. He had rejected the gods, becoming a blasphemer. Nicholas opened his eyes as the darkness faded. He found himself in a different room, a mask lying before him, pulsing like a beating heart. "It hurts... so bad. Lord Ed...en," he whispered. Suddenly, the mask lunged at his face, consuming it with ravenous hunger. A pained scream echoed through the chapel, filled with agony. "Help, help... HELP... Lord... HELP ME!" But there was no answer. He had been abandoned.
Slowly, the cries subsided, leaving an eerie silence. Through this stillness, footsteps echoed, stumbling like a drunken man. They emerged from the chapel. A dark moonlight streamed through the stained glass, illuminating a shadowy figure with a broad chest, draped in a dark armored mantle, wielding a sheathed sword that seemed to devour the very space around it. Instead of a face, there was a hood that masked his features.
"What has happened to me... I feel stronger, more powerful... but it still hurts," he muttered.
"I need to go to Sol Menor... My sigil... it has changed. It's different now. Will they even let me in? I've violated the law—I removed the Lord's brand and took a demon's. They won't help me. But the Lord is kind. I have no other choice. I just need to go."
Nicholas debated whether to go directly to the church or seek out his team to explain his condition. Ultimately, he decided against meeting them; his concealed face made him nearly unrecognizable, and he would likely end up fighting his own teammates.
"Church it is, then... What if the guards don't let me in? I'll have to be stealthy. Bishop Arkham will help me. He's a kind man."
Crows hovered over the grim scene as the inquisitors mercilessly butchered the villagers of Crowthen, treating them like livestock.
One inquisitor shouted, "Don't let a single one survive... DAMN HERETICS!"
Another chimed in, "These vile pests consumed their own kind. Slaughter them all, leave no one behind."
In unison, they roared, "Yes, glory to Lord Eden! We shall cleanse this village in his name!"