Chapter 16: Light Expectancy
You aren't the nation's leading researcher of the Catalyst for nothing. A longing gaze goes to the endless expanse of darkness overhead, and your smile broadens.
"Mercy and I will shed some light on all of this darkness."
Optimism is your creed. Your Relic is already in hand. "I have a plan. Father Wilhelm, if you could join me...?"
"Got it." He gives you a big thumbs-up, still coughing hard.
Your emerald stare goes back to both filthy men at hand. They obviously trust you with their lives, but there can't be any room for confusion here. "I would like to present this demon with a new way of looking at his Catalyst. One that will help him put his fears to
rest. If it works, I can only— I can only pray that he'll be able to release these prisoners. Ourselves included."
The locket in your normal, human palm brightens your smile.
"They all came into my home. They all were looking at me. They didn't bring the sun. They didn't bring justice. They didn't bring interpretation. Only more dread." You stop quoting the demon, and look to your allies with all the day's light in your eyes. "We don't need to break him. Not when he's already given us everything we need. Are you both ready?"
A quick nod from Father Wilhelm, who assumes a broader stance, and looks all around. The blue of his eyes is spilling over his face, creating clouds of night as an after-image wherever he's focused. His sight lingers on the lord of retribution.
Father Pevrel keeps his sword sheathed, badly shaken— and still willing to extend a hand to you. "I'm not leaving until we're certain that these people can come out alive."
You take the gesture of Mercy, and briefly exchange another symbol of your church. Clasped hands. He's sweating so badly that the touch is completely slick, but you don't dare pull away.
"We're in this together."
Closing your eyes for just a moment, you silently ask Mercy to come to you. There's no need for words. There's no need for anything other than Her presence, Her tenderness, and the way that your breath catches from the heat of it all. Comfort wraps up into all the tremor that persists through your battered frame. Heat bakes off the blood and bile from your robes in a second, while Father Pevrel rips his hand away to avoid contracting a burn.
Your eyes open with blinding intensity. Soft metal coats them. Mercy is
on you, and couldn't feel sweeter.
You speak with gentle radiance.
She speaks with you.
"The brightest star in our sky. The most blessed aspect of the day. Reassurance of what lies ahead, and protection from what lurks in the deep. The source of all life."
You extend a single hand in an endless shadow.
"We grant you this gift."
A singular point of light slowly grows from your palm.
"May you gaze directly upon the sun."
You brace yourself, as heat floods through you with enough intensity to blast away all remaining traces of paint and shadow. The orb of light expands more rapidly by the second. With one hand to your wrist, and the other producing light at an astounding rate, you drive your heels deep into the ground underfoot— and look to Father Wilhelm.
With arms outstretched, he's manifesting waves of cloud and night just inside of your radiance. He's illuminated as if you were standing outside under the afternoon sun. The man's eyes are also aglow with religious fervor, and he looks to your Relic for permission.
"Take it." Your voice isn't strained under the force of divinity. It's warm, and just as tender as the sensation of arms wrapping around your chest and heart. A sigh escapes you (you're already fighting for decency), as you're intensely aware that the kindness you're enveloped in is going to cloud your judgement before long.
"Hurry."
Father Pevrel is standing just to the side of the two of you, eyes shielded, trying his best to hold his ground. You can't pay him any further mind, and grin as Father Wilhelm takes your hand that isn't producing the sun, and speaks to his patron.
"Trust me on this one."
You almost laugh at the informality (having to wonder just how bad off your relationship is with Dream for that to be necessary), but have no time for further questions.
Waves of night and day intertwine between your fingertips, shrouding your Relic completely from view. Between your palms builds so much pressure, the two of you fight to keep contact for even a second longer.
There's no use trying to contain it. You're blasted backwards— clean off your feet— by a vision that instantly floods the entirety of Zephadar's lair.
It's exactly what you were hoping to impart to the demon. A vision of the anticipation that he
needs. But not in any way of despair. Not the sight of a young man, alone in his house, too terrified to leave boarded up windows even to fetch a pail of water.
This isn't the nightmare he lived every day of his waking life. He had failed himself, after all.
You grant the demon a vision of a better future.
Expectations from your friends and family to
excel— and the joy of proving them
right. Not knowing if someone will return a kiss, only to have them redouble your affection. The moments after you hear a roll of thunder, and the beauty of lightning that strikes thereafter. The thought that every move you make is a step halfway into a mistake— one that Time will
not take back— and to take that step
regardless.
Not failure.
Not sorrow.
Not terror.
The need we
all have for something
tangible.
The air crackles. Your light scatters for a moment, and dread retakes the demon's domain. You landed on your feet, and are at least twenty yards away from Father Wilhelm. He's breathing hard, and slowly gestures towards a nightmare unseen.
Dread builds into a vision of unreality. A creature who has rotted for decades, removed from all life and meaning.
There is
certainty. A slow decline into waste and rot.
There is no excitement or
true fear, there.
Predictability is death, for a demon of dread.
You spread your arms wide, shouting from the raw force of the light that explodes from your movements. It fills all of Zephadar's domain, and reveals that the space is
made of dead bodies. There are thousands of feet in every direction of empty space, on the wooden, bloody floor. But stacked to the ceiling in every direction is the form of the same, innocuous, dead young man. His face is impossible to discern. It's like someone's taken a brush of shadow and smeared it across his features. His eyes are gouged out. You assume that this is the form of whoever Zephadar's tormentor was in life, and refuse to let his horror overtake you.
"ZEPHADAR! You have lived in TERROR of the EYES of all the WORLD! But it is not their judgement that has rendered you powerless!"
The walls, floor, and ceiling begin to rumble. Your fellow priests sprint to your side.
"I have said it before! Your fear is far from misplaced!"
A low moan resonates through the entirety of the creature's lair. You hold your ground, and scream,
"you have yet to realize the INADEQUACY of DESPAIR!"
The walls are crashing in.
"I am telling you that the very NATURE of dread can be so much MORE! Something BETTER! There is one thing, and one thing ALONE that can ALWAYS sustain you!"
The floor tilts sideways.
"AN EXPECTATION THAT EXCEEDS ALL OTHERS! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I SPEAK OF, ZEPHADAR?!"
Every corpse lining the walls and ceiling suddenly vanishes. You force the light you're producing to flood a nearly endless space.
"HOPE!"
The soft glow of a false sun creates a dizzying look into eternity.
Father Pevrel slams his sword into the ground, and grabs onto you with all the strength he possesses before you can slide into the abyss. "You're not going anywhere."
The leader of the Church of Dream waves at him to let you go.
You keep screaming, as the floor below you all increases in steepness.
"IT'S HOPE, ZEPHADAR!"
The angle of the floor is so sharp, it's impossible for anyone to keep their footing. You all begin to slide at an impossible speed towards an endless space— until the slope becomes vertical.
You're in a free-fall with hundreds of corpses for a split second.
Father Wilhelm starts to motion to produce something— something that might save your lives,
something to stop the fall— when the ground abruptly rises up to meet you.
You slam your face and body hard against the floor of a dusty little room, and drag yourself upright without even registering what the fuck is going on.
You're on your feet, dizzy, head spinning, still producing light at an alarming intensity. Fists up.
There's a groan from both of your allies, who have nowhere near your pain tolerance, and can't take a hit anywhere near as well as you can. You get down beside Father Wilhelm and Father Pevrel just as a mouth of shadow retreats from the barren room, leaving you with Zephadar once again.
Father Wilhelm isn't breathing normally. You help the man onto his side, and encourage him to hack up a huge volume of paint. It's unthinkable to tell him to let his God go, but you have to say something.
"You're going to die if you keep this up."
A slow, weary nod. The older man lets go of Dream, and passes out on the spot. You're left with his limp, sleeping body in your arms for a split second, before whipping your head around.
Father Pevrel is back on his feet, staring to you with terror in his eyes.
"He'll live." You shift your weight, shift Father Wilhelm onto your shoulders, and get back to your feet.
Everyone present looks to the demon in the center of the room. His naked, desiccated, and tormented body is still curled in on itself.
There's no sign of Rolfe.
"What did you
do—?!" Father Pevrel strides straight up to the demon, sword drawn, practically frothing at the mouth.
Extreme relief is all throughout the demon's rasp. "He wanted to leave. I let him go."
A loud, hard, thumping sound can be heard down the hallway around the corner. You hazard a light-filled stare in that direction, and can perfectly see the inert bodies of fifty men and women piling up in that direction.
"These people want to leave. I'll let them go, too."
Prayers to all the Gods leave your lips. Before you can run over to check on the survivors, though, the demon begins picking and peeling at the skin over where his eyes used to be. He's doing so with enough intensity to remove monstrous chunks of his own flesh. There are no eyes that come back into the sockets he makes, but he's able to look at you and Father Pevrel with
something.
Your fellow church leader staggers back.
Zephadar's eyes look exactly like the leader of the Church of Vengeance.
The three of you share a long, hard, cold stare.
"I want to leave," the demon says. "Will you let me go?"
"Oh, no." Father Pevrel finds his voice immediately. A finger is held out to you. "No, no, no. No. None of this Mercy shit!" His sword is pointed towards the demon's throat. "Not this time. What did you just do?"
"I wanted to see."
"Fuck you. Try again."
"I don't know."
A long silence hangs between them. The sound of bodies falling around the corner is intensifying.
"Explain what you did to me." The man's voice is at such a low growl, it's almost incomprehensible.
"Explain how you do what you do," the demon replies.
You feel a little sick, and more than a little elated.
"Can you please elaborate?"
"I showed you what you dread. It's something that's in all of us." Zephadar looks a
lot more relaxed than when you last saw him. "Just like you showed me that there is hope in all of us." He lifts that horrific gaze, staring directly at your light. "Kill me, or let me go. I'll kill myself again if it means not wasting the rest of my life rotting here."
Father Pevrel's palm drips with blood from how tightly he's clutching onto the handle of his sword. "That is
not good enough. Release these people from whatever prison you've invented for them.
Now."
A small wave is made with two of Zephadar's fingers. Motion stirs from down the hall. Instantly, several people start screaming incoherently. Your instinct is to run straight to them, but the priest by your side is shaking with righteous fury.
"You cannot give me
one good reason why I should let you live! For what you subjected Father Anscham to
alone, I should have you put to the rack for a month, have you drawn and quartered—!"
Those screams are only intensifying. Father Wilhelm is roused over your shoulder, just for a moment. He mumbles, "just ask the demon where it intends to go, Richard."
"Where do you intend to go?" The divinity in your voice gives you alone respite from shouting over the din.
"I'll leave civilization behind!" Zephadar gulps, as Father Pevrel has his sword less than an inch from his face. "I know he won't follow me if I go into another demon's space! Outside of the country, who knows what I might find?!"
Regardless of what's plaguing his mind, this demon sincerely hopes to have a better life.
Oh, Mercy.
>A, B, and C are mutually exclusive.
>Majority vote will decide, barring any discussion/write-ins that can be combined.
>A] You've made too much progress here to let it all go now. You want to let this monster go, to grant Zephadar peace in his own way. Ignore those screams for a few more seconds, and stop Father Pevrel by ANY means necessary.
>1] Guilt-trip Father Pevrel over all of the men and women he just killed. It's going to fuck him up, but it's guaranteed to work, and you hope he'll thank you for it one day.
>2] Jump in the way of the demon if Father Pevrel tries killing him. You'll fight your fellow church leader over this.
>B] Zephadar will have to wait. Those screams are only getting worse. You're not panicking, necessarily, but you are in the throes of the Goddess of Compassion and have to do SOMETHING.
>1] Use Mercy to restrain Father Pevrel for a few minutes. He's going to hate you for it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
>2] Guilt-trip Father Pevrel into helping you for a few seconds. It's going to fuck him up, but he might thank you later for encouraging him to do something more productive with his talents.
>C] This demon put you through a living nightmare, and has ruined the lives of countless others. Let Father Pevrel put him to rest. You'll see to the survivors together, knowing that
everyone involved can live with that outcome.
>D] Write-in.
