Chapter 198: Duotheistic

Chapter 198: Duotheistic

“We Will Slaughter Her.

Burn.

Burn.

Burn.

She will Burn.

She took my family.

They are gone—my sweet daughter, my innocent son. Taken away in a breath by those unholy fires spewn from that eldritch horror. And then she further dares to mock me? After taking them?

She said she would burn them again, and again, and again, til their skin boiled and their blood popped out in clouds of steam.

MONSTER.

With my last breath, I curse you. We curse you. And what you’ve done.

With my hands—with my brothers and sisters, we shall kill you a thousand times over. Tear your unholy skin ashred with my fingernails. Until they break free from my fingers, and then I shall bite your face until my teeth crack and turn to dust.

You’ve made a mistake.

Whether you believe so or not, you’ve made a mistake.

You have yet to learn what humanity is capable of.

Together, I’ll show you our pain, me and those who listen to my words, who make my pact. And in doing so, I’ll make a mockery of your name.

Haunt my dreams all you want, Lavinia. One day, I’ll haunt yours.”

- Vindicta, The Commandment, (5, 3rd Era)

Boldwick expected the three Initiates to show up at his door.

More specifically, he’d expected a single initiate to show up at his door.

And he’d expected Erec to appear much sooner, with his inevitable ask to join the tournament. A request Boldwick had turned over in his since he’d known there would be a tournament. It was a risk for someone like him to compete; he had to acknowledge that much. With his pupil’s overwhelming Strength and disposition for violence, letting Erec fight others, especially outsiders, was a dangerous proposition.

Not something he wanted to take lightly.

But Grandmaster Oak gave the go-ahead, so he was well prepared to approve it.

Boldwick leaned back in his chair as three boys filtered into his room. He gave them the barest tip of his head, a gruff noise, and kept his face neutral. A type of no-nonsense expression that was good for developing Knights to see.

The exact sort of expression they needed to see when they went and bothered a Master Knight like himself, in a time meant to be used by the Academy staff to organize for processing tournament requests.

Not-withstanding-that excuse was partially a lie for Verdant Oak, who already had a plan in place. But still, these kids didn’t know that.

All three cleared their throats and stood up straighter as they read his face.

Good.

Boldwick let the silence hang and drape his office with the weight of quiet. His office was much cleaner since returning from the expedition. He’d taken the time to tuck away the important maps into drawers, dust off what little furniture he had, and straighten up a couple of personal effects left here. No more bottles were hidden in drawers to get through the hard days.

Well. Aside from one.

But there wasn’t time to drink that, the way things were.

Boldwick stared at all three of them. Putting the pressure on the Initiates to be the first to break the silence.

— - ☢ - — - ☼ - — - ☢ - —

“I’m sorry.”

“Forgive me.”

“Please, dear Goddess, stop.” Gregory cried out to no one but everyone.

Precisely, everyone was, in this case, his Goddess.

Gregory spasmed on the ground of the dark confessional room—the place the clergy called confessionals, tucked away in the depth of the grand cathedral deep in the Kingdom on the third floor; when the ‘tremors’ hit a priest, they were quickly escorted here. It was where they could see and hear Her voice true and confess their sins directly.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry,” he kept crying out, each word louder than the last.

His eyes burned like charcoal shoved in their pits. Pitifully, Gregory clawed at his eyes, surprised the liquid inside wasn’t gushing out and spilling all over the stone floor with the pain he felt. The ache, too; it was just as bad. Every part of his body twitched, every muscle burned, and blood moved slowly through him like hot, thick magma through a pipe.

“I know nothing about him—about them! Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing!” He screamed out the last nothing, his body writhing of its own will—the back of his head smashed against the stone ground, and for a second, he felt nothing but the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

Then the fire revived him, brought his burning eyes back open as She wasn’t done with him. Yet.

“Stop. Please. Oh Goddess, stop.” Gregory begged.

She was cruel. And she didn’t believe him. That much bounced around in his skull as he felt her fiery fingers plucking him apart, untangling within from the depths of his soul outward. She’d already taken over so much of him, but not enough to completely own him. Her Pact prevented her from going quite that far, but for some of the clergy, Gregory had never been sure. Maybe there was another ritual later.

But him, oh, he was fucked.

Gregory committed himself to Her, like every priest. Was branded by her. Willingly entwined his soul with hers—his Goddess.

It was forbidden to speak her name, for she was not Lavinia. If you did, your tongue would burn out of your skull, and you would drown to death in your blood; he’d seen it happen once and only once. And never dared think of even thinking her name.

No, no, no. Not Lavinia at all.

His Goddess racked him with pain once more, tearing his body apart from the inside, pressing her will against his. It was like standing against a storm, a whipping barrage of nature that could flay skin and take him apart piece by piece. That will be indomitable, non-human.

If Gregory knew, if he had anything he could tell her, at this moment, he would.

Even if he no longer wished to serve this Goddess.

But it was too late. Too impossible to undo what had been done. He was Hers.

“I know nothing of Sir Erec besides what I’ve shared,” Gregory whispered, his voice hoarse and his body wrung out like a used dishtowel.

She wasn’t happy with that answer, and once more, his whole body shook—another scream left his lips, hoarse and raw enough to tear more of his vocal cords apart.

Reality faded away, and yet Gregory still kept screaming. He lost track of where he was and what he thought. And he caught a glimpse of Her in those burning eyes of his.

Her face was screwed up in a rage, a pure rage divorced from the remains of humanity. A being made to hate, to seek revenge, to tear apart anyone and everything in her path to get what she wanted. Inch by inch, she stole bits of his soul, stripping them from him with little care for his pain, taking what power he had. A living sack of meat to fuel her was the covenant he’d entered; over time, this was to be expected. Over time. Not this.

She was to be slow in asking for sacrifice and to lend back power and guidance to her flock, for that had made her into the Goddess she became.

Vindica no longer cared about that. No longer cared for the humans in her thrall. People like Gregory, who’d outlived their usefulness, were to be treated like the sacks of useless flesh they were. Regardless if she’d been little more than one among them.

“I know nothing. Please.” Gregory begged as he felt the last bits of himself coming apart, burning away. She’d broken their covenant and then used the hold she had on him to take more still. Her presence in this confessional was a real thing; he felt the heat of her in his mind, almost present in this reality, in this very room.

It was true. He knew nothing. Erec had committed sin in front of him, true. But why did his Soul burn like the Goddess Lavinia? Of that, he knew nothing.

Vindicta took it out on him anyway.

After an hour, the confessional no longer contained Gregory.

All that was left was a pile of ashes that, maybe once, had a name.