Chapter 18:The Deity Betrayed By Mortals
[The Eyes of Wonder: Holy Artifact Grade Four. Said to be the last blessing of the Divine Saint Peryl... During the Fall of the Second Epoch, a history said to mix with the Age of Man. Capable of continental-wide relocation in a mere instant... provided the individuals bear its mark.]
Page 109, 677, 543, 224... The Exorcist's Requiem.
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Her crimson eyes scanned the chamber.
The Grand Congressional Chamber of the House of Lords had been hastily cleared of its usual crimson benches and transformed into an emergency conclave under sealed doors and drawn velvet curtains. Gas sconces burned low, throwing long shadows across the vaulted ceiling painted with so-called constellations.
The circular floor was divided into six wedge-shaped sectors like a compass rose.
Directly opposite the high judgment dais—where the Lord Speaker's throne had been replaced by a severe blackwood seat flanked by two silent delegates of the Order in silver-trimmed court dress—stood the four ecclesiastical sectors.
To the far left, the Church of the Hallowed Beginning: its great black banner hung limp and empty, the impaled cross-and-decadent-star device barely visible in the gloom; not a single prelate remained in the deserted pews.
Her eyes wandered next to the Church of the Primordial Sun: twelve scarlet-robed figures beneath a golden sunburst cloth studded with tiny crosses.
*Typical sun devotees.*
Then the Church of the Ethereal Moon: six pale clerics in ice-blue robes beneath a banner of a crescent moon cloven down the middle, silver threads catching what little light reached them.
Finally, the smallest delegation—the Orrery of Eternal Night: only four white-hooded figures seated beneath a stark device of interlocking silver rings and a single obsidian sphere.
The remaining two sectors brimmed with secular power. Thirteen noble houses occupied the central arc, each lord in ceremonial peer's robes accompanied by one aide; twenty-six bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder, jewels flashing whenever someone shifted.
She could hear whispers. It was common when those ignorant nobles packed together—certainly discussing politics and treaties at perilous times like this.
Above them all, upon the raised judgment seat that dominated the northern point, sat the lone presiding figure—back straight, hands gloved in black leather, face unreadable beneath the dim chandelier—while the two Order delegates stood motionless at either side like statues.
*The Judge.*
*A figure said to be of Sequence Five, at least.*
Her hands outstretched toward her form from afar; she had given her the podium.
She heaved, feeling the eyes of the entirety of the Congress pressing on her. Their weighty stares.
She closed her eyes, drawing in as much air as she could, after which she raised her head toward the audience before her.
"I render my greetings to the entirety of the Conclave," she bowed, receding her legs a little bit backward—something she reviled against, not when she was certain she held much more power than almost all present. But anyways... pleasantries were pleasantries.
"I apologize for the sudden emergency call," she heaved herself up, her eyes scanning the conclave, meeting each of theirs but holding amusement, interest, expressionless. "Without dilly-dallying..."
Her voice trailed, interrupted by the autonomous voice that boomed from the Judge, along with a slight pressure.
"I suggest you use formal language when addressing the Congress. Not slang."
She rolled her eyes. Already using her authority, huh.
Murmurs and a few jests erupted from the crowd, mostly from the nobles' sector.
She gritted her teeth.
"I apologize for my earlier informality," she bowed quickly again. "If all is forgiven, then I shall proceed." Her eyes narrowed at the crowd. "A Sequence 4 Harbinger is to appear in this city."
Her words birthed murmurs under the great dome. She could see frantic expressions on their faces—the great houses of the nobles.
Which was nice; at least they hadn't forgotten the horrors the Winter Monstrosity had caused... until Steins had sealed it, back when he was still a Sequence 6.
An unknowing smile stretched across her features.
Which died when a voice tore through the air. Her eyes turned to the emissaries of the Church of the Ethereal Moon.
"How are we to judge the credibility of this information? Given your very supervisor is absent."
The murmurs from the nobles exploded in realization of the fact. Frantic congressmen scared of losing their wealth.
"Yes... if this were so important, why then isn't Steins here?" one with a hand laden with gilded bracelets pointed at her.
The majority of the nobles roared in support.
"Even your denomination, the Church of the Hallowed Beginning—none seems to be present. How then do you wish to convince the Congress if you can't even convince your own church?"
Another one roared, his bulky figure rising up. His words emanated a burst of laughter from almost all his fellow congressmen.
The striking sound of a mallet lodging into wood pierced the air, with an authority that ushered silence.
"How do you wish to convince the Congress, Lyra Belmont? Even your own house has no backing for you."
Her eyes wandered to where her father and his aide were seated. She could see a dejected look on his face, his head in his hands, whilst his crimson eyes narrowed at her.
As if sending a subconscious signal.
She smiled.
He believed.
Her eyes wandered to the Church of the Ethereal Moon... to its silent delegates.
"It seems I must remind you that the mnemonic who became the Winter Monstrosity stemmed from your denomination..."
She watched them shrink back, muttering silently amongst themselves, whilst the Church of the Primordial Sun reacted with a snicker.
"The Winter Monstrosity...!!!!!" The scared voice of one of the nobles pierced the air, his eyes bloodshot. The nobles' quarter erupted in a burst of whispers—fear palpable in their eyes.
"Yes... and you asked for proof, then I shall enlighten you. The Great Tetragrammaton Seal was broken by an entity we now speculate brings it to Valen." Her eyes narrowed. "Yes... the Devil walks within our bossoms. So if you probably want concrete evidence, the destruction and eradication of Valen would Probably suffice."
It seemed her words had some effect, for the nobles were now silent, each holding a scar of the monster within.
However, the Judge still boomed across the conclave.
"Still... passing a decree for a full-scale evacuation requires, to a minimum extent, proof. You know the rules, Lyra Belmont."
She gritted her teeth in frustration. She was weary of this farce, of convincing these obstinate fools.
The crimson in her eyes resonated with a dark scarlet glow, on the verge of casting...
"The Puppeteer's Game."
The roof above dissolved into an overlay of a crimson blood pool. From it, multiple crimson tentacles descended, invisible to mere mortals and those beneath her sequence.
A perfect override of their will on contact.
When a voice as silent as death, yet holding the force of law, pierced the air. The very essence of it unraveled her psychic spell, rebounding it back like it had never existed.
Her eyes widened—not only hers, but those of everyone in the conclave. But the difference was, while theirs held fear, hers held surprise.
Before her eyes was a man, his form drinking in the light from the cathedral chandeliers. His suited form was broad-shouldered, with a purple eye behind a silver monocle, whilst the other was covered with strands of his dark hair—luscious as night. A rosary ending with a crucifixion on a decadent star hung from his neck. His other gloved hand held a walking cane.
"I apologize for my lateness. I had some urgent matters to attend to." His form sat down in the pews belonging to the Church of the Hallowed Beginning. The conclave held their breath as he sat, his eyes locked on her form.
A chill ran down her spine, and a spin in her brain. She felt fear down to her bones; her legs shivered.
His Revered Divine,why was he here, Spectacles like this were beneath his Presence..
"You've done well, Lyra Belmont," the voice spoke, silencing the new murmurs that had threatened to rise. "What she says is true. The Winter Monstrosity will plague Valen in no less than an hour. It is an unavoidable destiny." His eyes—royal and noble—scanned the other churches, apathy laden in their gaze as he muttered. "Thus, in avoidance of that fate, my dear pupil Steins has speculated the activation of the Sequence 4 artifact: The Eye of Wonders."
Then his eyes locked on the Judge, who—as she could see—her immovable form from earlier now shaking in her seat.
"I think that perhaps won't be much to ask of you, dear Judge." His purple eyes narrowed on the Judge.
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His figure, clad in an overcoat, materialized amidst an ethereal darkness. Except for the faint gushes of light from a huge stained-glass window bearing the sigil of a woman—blindfolded and crucified on an inverted cross, a row of thorns on her head, whilst beneath her feet was a decadent star, its edges piercing golden blood from her feet.
He clasped his hands together, bowing his head slightly before the stained glass.
"Bless me, Pure Mother," he whispered before tilting his eyes to glance back.
His eyes raced to the figure—a manly one with broad shoulders—his form kneeling before the crucified deity, with dark hair flowing down to his neck.
His form kissed the light, like a saint of utmost purity.
"This glorious deity, boundless in goodwill and abundant in kindness, fought for the mortals, sacrificing her essence to ensure their continuity even after the New Dawn... and yet still, those she risked her wholeness for ended up impaling her on a stake." His form side-glanced at him, enough to see his glowing purple eye behind a glinting monocle. "Did you know what she felt at that moment, Steins?"
"No... Come on, Lucian, you very well know I don't." He ranted, slicking his blonde hair backwards.
"She felt satisfaction—not anger, not pain, but the satisfaction of a mother at a child now readily independent." Then, tilting his eyes up to the picture "That was how kind she was... how blindfolded she was to the treacherous heart of man."
Then again he side-glanced at Steins.
"You wish to descend to Anubis... to save perhaps the treacherous world of man?"
"I guess so... Ian." His form traversed the darkness to where the purple-eyed figure stood, their broad-shouldered form drowning the light.
His hands stretched into the stained glass, framing the face of the crucified deity.
"For That Probably would be what the Pure Mother would have wanted."