A wet, sickening pop echoed inside Humphreys armor and his chest caved inward as if crushed by an invisible vice—another sickening guttural scream tore from his throat.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
"Demonic crucifixion!"
Kaspian shouted in horror!
Humphrey's rugged mountainous body erupted in a glorious black fire wreathed in decay and corrosion illuminating the night sky.
He ascended higher and higher into the sky, burning brighter and brighter.
It did not make sense to Kaspian, Humphrey no longer had a tongue, yet he continued to scream.
"HE IS COMINGGGGGG!! HE IS COMINGGGGGG!! HE IS COMINGGGGG!!!"
Demonic possession wasn't unheard of in the theocracy, and as a sentinel of the theocracy— naturally, it was their job to eradicate evil and spread its holy word.
But it had been at least thirty years since the last one was reported to have happened.
Every sentinel has received training on how to handle demons, demonic possession, exorcisms and eradication upon entering the Sanctified Sentinel Corps before becoming a full fledged Sentinel.
Yet, only those sentinels with actual tenure in the corp have practical experience with such heinous matters.
He whipped his head toward the closest ranking officer atop the rampart.
Securing his bow across his back, he charged toward his superior at once.
He stopped promptly right before running into him, then saluted his superior.
"High Sentinel Sylvrin, your orders sir?!"
His superior had a stalwart look on his face, the fire visible in his eyes, he looked almost unaffected by the crucifixion unfolding in front of him.
Which was shocking to the young sentinel, because quite frankly, he was shocked and appalled.
The bizzarity of the scene trumped his usual zeal. He'd never seen evil before, only read of it in religious texts.
His superior was another tall mountain of a man— an older man, in a more distinguished, shinier set of holy sentinel armor.
High Sentinel Sylvrin's armor gleamed with sanctified brilliance—silvery auric sunsteel etched with thin, radiant filigree.
His breastplate bore the sigil of the Theocracy: a burning iron halo flanked by angular angelic wings, its heat-warped edges shimmering as though lit from within.
Layered faulds hung at his waist like metal feathers, each plate inscribed with a faint gold scripture. His pauldrons rose high and wing-shaped, catching the torchlight in sharp, divine angles.
A long white cloak trailed behind him, heavy with embroidered passages of the Lux Bible—marking him as a man who had worn holy duty for decades.
He was the type of warrior who was proficient in most forms of combat.
Today he was stationed on top of the wall so he was equipped with his own High Sentinel bow.
"Stand tall men, get in your defensive positions, shields above your heads! Sentinel Blisterwick has been demonically possessed!"
He turned and looked towards the weakest sentinel and gave him the easiest task, deciding to spare him all the burning viscera.
"Sentinel Timison! Get me High Sentinel Brock And High Saint Ceeli NOW!"
Timison took off running, Sylvrin drew his massive sentinel warbow and pulled out a holysteel arrow from his quiver that gleamed dangerously in the moonlight.
"SHIELDS UPPPP!!!"
Masterfully, he pulled back on the bow string and aimed right at Humphrey.
"Oh magnanimous and merciful god Luminarchos, bless and exonerate poor Humphrey's soul. For although he is mighty in stature, his soul has not always been the strongest and now he has succumbed to the devil's temptation…"
For a moment, he looked as if he were going to shed a tear—a distant dark memory resurfacing from the dark reaches of his subconscious.
"God give us strength, God…bless us all."
Then with a sharp crack, he let the arrow fly.
WHEW!
It shot through the air with extreme speed, barreling right towards the ascending Humphrey's chest.
The arrow shot right through him, with sickening force as if a javelin had hit him.
His chest caved in further, the arrowhead pierced through his heart, shattering his spine, and exiting out his back.
'I am your god now… And your god wants you to die…Tell them… I am coming…The dark one…who will devour all the light…'
Humphrey stopped ascending, his position high in the sky, and shouted one final time.
"THE DARK LORD IS COMING AND ONLY HELL AWAITS US ALL!"
Mirus cleaned his fists.
Humphrey's heart finally ruptured violently, his body exploding outward erupting in a conflagration of corrosive fire, and decay.
Knitting and twisting itself back together into a vast burning sigil: an all-seeing eye atop three wriggling eldritch tentacles encircled within a snake eating its own tail.
His decaying-corrosive body parts and blood rained down upon every sentinel, house, unfortunate passerby and tree within the immediate vicinity.
Those who listened—most who listened, were unscathed as their massive tower shields had protected them from the raining viscera.
Unfortunately, most of those who didn't shield themselves died upon contact with Humphreys' charred remains.
Those who did not shield themselves properly in time, found their faces and extremities severely disfigured, with their vitality drained, and their minds now on the cusp of corruption wishing they had died all the same.
Mass hysteria seemed to course through the rampart and down below in the capital, sending those affected by Humphreys' remains into paranoid frenzies.
Mirus hadn't corrupted their minds, but he had tainted them—filling them atrocious whispers, condemning them with prejudice.
Sentinel Sylvrin finally looked up from behind a tower shield he had picked up, and saw the chaos running rampant around him.
"Oí! Sylvrin! What the bloody hell happened up here?"
High Sentinel Brock arrived, along with High Saint Ceeli coming from below, within the wall.
"Oh my! Evil! Evil has descended upon the Great Wall, we must cleanse it with haste!"
Behind Brock was another twenty armed sentinels and behind Ceeli was a group of twenty saints carrying stretchers, and other necessary medical equipment.
Giving hope and healing to those who were deserving of God's love.
If they did not deem you deserving of Luminarchos healing light, then the world has forsaken you and you did not deserve to keep living.
You had the two macabre choices of exile or death.
Irregardless, Saints were angelic in the eyes of those raised in the Theocracy—their healing powers, god given.
But the truth of the matter was much simpler, less wondrous than that.
They'd been brainwashed since childbirth to believe any innate ability, or affinity they were born with was given to them by their god Luminarchos.
Those with innate healing abilities and or affinities towards life, light, souls, and nature magic are recruited early on in their development and become Sanctified Saints.
Those without the innate ability but had the capacity to learn were recruited and trained to become Anointed Physicians.
"Sentinels!"
Brock shouted.
"Are we not highly favored?! By the grace of our great gracious god Luminarchos, many of us have narrowly avoided tragedy and crippling injury today!"
He knocked the end of his spear on the ground twice and shouted one of the Theocracies many benediction phrases.
"LIVE BY THE LIGHT!"
His sentinels and sentinels nearby knocked their shields on the ground— and the saints stomped their feet in salute, responding in kind.
"DIE BY THE LIGHT!"
Like all those raised in the Theocracy, they were a proud people.
"As of now! You lot are to replace all wounded persons upon the rampart and assume their stations until further notice! Round up every wounded member capable of moving and make sure they are headed to the infirmary! Those in need of immediate attention will be brought here above the gate, to High Saint Ceeli and the other saints!"
"Yes sir!"
They all shouted.
Brock knocked the end of his spear on the floor twice, shouting again.
"BY THE GRACE OF GOD!"
Those with shields pounded the floor, those who didn't, stomped, but everyone responded in kind.
"WE WILL PREVAIL!"
"You are dismissed."
Brock stood there stoically filled with pride as the sentinels under his tutelage eagerly got to work.
"I will focus on casting a wide array of cleansing spells to purify the capital of any dark demonic energies and poisonous disease."
Ceeli began casting as she instructed her saints.
"Saints, once you are done healing those that have been afflicted, you will see to it that the surrounding area within and outside the capital has been protected with charms and warded off—shielded from any forms of demonic and dark energy!"
She clapped her hands and shouted as loud as she could with her soft but militant feminine voice.
"Praise be to the almighty halo!"
The saints stomped their feet and nearby soldiers knocked their shields.
"ALL HAIL GOD LUMINARCHOS!"
…
Sentinel Kaspian stood there, dumbfounded—the day had only started, and yet it had already devolved into such a chaotic and disorderly state no more than a few hours into his shift.
Now it was as if everything was as good as new.
Actually the atmosphere was better than ever. He'd never questioned it before, a decent amount of people died and even more were severely injured.
Everyone on top of the wall witnessed true evil, they had witnessed its warning, the signal of its coming.
Were they supposed to have this much zeal?
Were they always this way?
Their charisma, bottomless?
How could none of these people be affected by what had just transpired?
He was shaken to his very core.
No one was as close to Humphrey as he was, the image of his eyes and tongue being burned out his skull still lingered vividly in his mind.
He looked towards the sky, and thought to himself silently with his hand clutching his chest,
'Oh Magnanimous and Merciful god Luminarchos, are you there? Are you watching? Many god fearing men died today under your watchful eye… am I to be crucified as well? Must I come to know true pain and suffering? I am terrified God, for I fear the foundations of my faith have been shaken and I am without your guidance.'
Thunder cracked furiously in the distance, and a heavy and somber rain began to pour down over the capital.
Kaspian did not know whether to take that as a sign from Luminarchos or if the weather had just soured as his mood.
He felt as if he had just opened his eyes, becoming self aware.
He had taken cover behind High sentinel Sylvrin and survived the death rain.
But why? For what reason?
For what reason does he live?
For what reason do any of us live?
In the face of overwhelming odds, godly beings and our own pitiful human life span, what truly mattered?
He was terrified of it, he avoided it at all costs his whole life, the very thought of it made him nauseous and gave him anxiety but deep down… deep down, he knew.
That nothing was the answer.
For the first time in his life, he had looked towards the heavens and felt dread.
He had tears in his eyes as he looked away from the sky and hopelessly towards the outskirts of the Theocracy—towards the Horrowmaw Expanse.
As he gazed into the distance, a sharp chill ran up his spine and his instincts screamed at him to look away!
He whipped his head down as quickly as possible, sweat shooting anxiously from every pore on his body.
'What was that!'
He thought to himself, he'd never been filled with such immediate genuine fear before.
The Horrormaw Expanse was widely known to have produced countless atrocious and nightmarish abominations since the beginning of recorded history ten-thousand years ago.
Some even fabled as pseudo legendary myths.
All of which are ready and eager to murder and maim you in the most horrific way possible at a moment's notice.
Kaspian immediately got on his knees and prayed for protection against whatever ghastly being he may have offended in hopes that it didn't come and kill him.
"On your feet sentinel, there's work to do. The Holy do not concern themselves with the wicked."
Sylvrin had walked over and slapped the back of his head.
He had been watching the boy the entire time and decided to straighten him out once he fell to his knees.
He shook his head.
"The Pontiff is not going to like this."
…
Mirus and Vultyr laughed with genuine satisfaction from afar, reveling in the mayhem he'd unleashed.
They laughed and laughed until a simple but wicked thought bloomed in his mind.
"They make me sick!"
Tuh!
Mirus spit with disdain.
"But perhaps…"
He slowly turned his head toward Vultyr, one eyebrow arched in a sly, curling smirk—his lips pulling upward with a sharp, impish twist that promised trouble, an expression dripping with cunning delight.
She smiled back verbatim, having picked up on his exact thoughts.
"Yes my lord, let us take our time and bleed their corpses dry. One crooked idolater at a time, they will fall—all of them. For if we crush them outright, entirely, in one swift move, we will not be able to relish and revel in the delightlightness of their suffering."
Mirus nodded his head with satisfaction as effortlessly revealed his thoughts.
"Yes. They will suffer."
There was a certain—finality, in his tone. Mirus took a deep breath and exhaled.
"I will go ahead master, and search from the skies for abominations worthy of your divine blessing."
"Yes. I will make my way towards the Theocracy. I think maybe I'll take my time and enjoy the aerial view you've seldom enjoyed so much over the years."
He turned back and looked down at his private sanctum, his eyes gleaming with cold purpose.
'To new beginnings' he thought, a brief wave of emptiness washed over him as he thought of his past.
'It's my turn now.'
He directed his gaze back to Vultyr.
"Shall we?"
Mirus's coat snapped behind him in the wind as he stepped forward.
"Yes, my lord."
And so they were off into the moonlight, dark heralds of a coming apocalypse.
"They have absolutely no idea!"
There was a big smile on his face, Mirus shook his head and laughed-looking forward to the future.
"I'm going to kill them all!"