Rain stormed heavily over the capital this evening out of the ordinary, angrily flooding the city's streets.
High above, perched upon the capital's most exalted peak, The Celestial Citadel reigned supreme.
It was the brightest structure visible for hundreds of miles-Its towers veined with golden filigree and crowned with glowing runic crests that shone like stars.
They shimmered and twinkled in the night, casting a soft, angelic radiance that washed over the land below.
A white castle of impossible beauty.
It was home to the Supreme Pontiff and the Luminarchs. A beacon of authority and godly majesty overlooking the capital with an almost celestial countenance.
Bridges of crystallized light arched between its towers and the upper tiers of the city, where only the sanctified elite walked among floating gardens and gilded palaces.
Eristophales happened to be lounging on his balcony—a wide crescent of angelic white marble overlooking the entire capital.
The Luminarch of Holy law.
Above his head hovered a faint white halo.
In the Theocracy, he held dominion over all scripture, education, propaganda, and holy law.
His features were unnervingly youthful.
Anyone seeing him for the first time would assume he was no older than thirty.
which made his existence all the more unsettling, considering the Theocracy had endured for over ten thousand years.
Short platinum-blonde hair framed his brow, falling neatly around the thin holygold halo-crown resting upon his head — its centerpiece a deep crimson ruby, pulsing faintly with contained power.
Ornate balustrades carved with winged seraphs lined the edges, and soft golden lanterns hung from slender arches above, bathing the terrace in a warm celestial glow.
A cushioned chaise of silken velvet cradled his lounging form as he enjoyed the clear view of the stars, sipping expensive aged red wine, with one of his whores tending to him.
"Oh yes… Yes child, use your tongue just like that..."
She was face down positioned in between his legs, her beautiful pearly white back was arched gracefully in a feline curve.
Her perfect pasty apple shaped buttocks was tooted up towards the beautiful night sky.
Her hips swayed dutifully in the moonlight, its ethereal light illuminating the faint white hairs along her spine.
He gazed longingly at the yellow full moon in all its grandeur through the sinful crack of her ass.
Stroking her blonde hair back, admiring the silky softness of its texture as he ran its fingertips through it, caressing her back.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and slowly fucked her face.
"Ah Venus…with this nut…your family will be fed for generations, even after you have long passed…"
He could care less for her response, not that she could.
Only the sloppy wet sounds of her gulping and gagging could be heard echoing through the night.
At the balcony's entrance stood two attendants—one maid and one manservant—silent as carved idols.
They remained at attention with hands folded, ready to obey the faintest command.
Nights like this were routine.
Yet, they were never spoken of.
At least not in a debaucherous light.
No mortal dared question the conduct of a Luminarch.
To them, Eristophales was a seraph of Luminarchos—divine, untouchable, and beyond reproach.
They watched in wordless devotion, not with scandal, but with envy.
For even standing in his shadow was a sacred privilege…
Hidden in the darkest corners of their zealous hearts, even his attendants each wished desperately to be chosen by him.
To be brought closer to their living god in any manner he deemed holy.
In silence, they watched on.
"Your throat is without a doubt…glori…ughhh…"
He was well on his way to climaxing but as he was about to fill the poor girl's mouth—all the way at the capital gate— a great big ball of bright black fire began to ascend into the air.
One that he could see from the Celestial Citadel—all the way on the other side of the capital.
He spit his wine out all over the floor, Venus's back and the white velvet chaise he was sitting on, staining it with blotches of red wine.
She shot straight up feeling something wet spray against her back and squealed.
"Ahhh! What was what?!"
She quickly reached around her back—the fire rising behind her.
"Ew it's in my hair!"
Eristophales patience immediately grew thin.
His lust, turning into irritation.
He shoved her head aside, and her dainty figure fell to the floor.
"Off! Off you go!"
He angrily pointed to the door, not even sparing her a glance—his attention on the fire.
"My lustful mood has now unfortunately expired. You had your chance to please me and you have failed. I will find another, more beautiful, timely maiden. Capable of satisfying my needs, and I will bury my seed within her instead."
Venus broke into tears, and took off running into his bedroom.
"Lumira. Make sure she is escorted back to her home safely, wherever it is in the outskirts you found her."
"Yes my lord."
"Alert the others of this mess."
"Right away."
He waved her away and stood up not bothering to close his robe.
He watched on from the edge of his balcony in shock, but with scrutiny In his eyes.
'Who dares disturb the capital?'
BOOM!
Then the fire culminated into a dark explosion.
Then transformed into an all seeing eye, and from where he stood on his balcony—oddly, he felt fear.
Primal fear, and a deathly chill ran up his spine—one that lingered longer than it should have.
A being of his stature so close to demi-godhood shouldn't feel such pressure from anyone or anything.
Let alone fire.
Sure there were some monstrous creatures that roamed the HorrowMaw Expanse and the Mythux Desert one might consider fearing.
But this?
This was a calculated attack, a mental and emotional one.
Two facilities of the human body often left unchecked and unguarded.
Who would do such a thing?
What would do such a thing?
Who could wield such power?
Who would capitalize on the fear of others?
There was no doubt about it in his mind, this was the work of nefarious demons.
"Cesar."
"Yes my lord."
"Fetch me my attire immediately, I am heading to the War room."
Cesar returned with haste, outfit in hand and dressed him.
His ceremonial coat was flawlessly white— A crimson Lumin Cross ran straight down the center of his torso.
Over his chest burned his sigil: A radiant crimson sun rising from an open sacred book — the symbol of Luminarchos divine doctrine and enforced truth.
On his back, stitched directly into the fabric with gleaming platinum thread, was the Theocracy's burning iron halo flanked by angel wings — spread wide across his shoulders like an angelic mark of office.
In style, Eristophales stormed out of his room with holy purpose.
Deep within the Celestial Citadel, beyond layers of radiant halls and towering sanctums, lay the Chamber of Sacred Dominion—an impossibly luminous war room reserved only for the highest echelon of the Theocracy.
A massive hovering halo illuminated the chamber, flooding it with a soft, shadowless radiance that felt almost divine.
Below it sat four exalted figures on their thrones facing each other—one more holier than the rest.
In a domineering arch of majesty, three thrones sat united, curved beneath a higher will.
In the center sat Eristophales, the Luminarch of Holy Law.
To his left sat Vehylstophales, the Luminarch of Sanctified Order.
To the right sat Mordostophales, the Luminarch of Sanctified Wrath.
The three mighty kings of the Theocracy.
Each of the Luminarchs bore a halo — pale, sanctified rings of white light resting behind their heads.
"Seraphs of the God Luminarchos," Said to have descended at the beginning of time alongside the birth of the one closest to him.
Christophales, the Supreme Pontiff.
At the head of the chamber, elevated above them, he sat upon his radiant throne in statuesque silence—his fingers interlaced before his lips, eyes closed.
A ruler whose authority and power eclipsed that of the three Luminarchs—his brothers, combined.
A true burning halo crowned his head, the air around him shimmered from its heat.
Only Christophales' burned with living fire.
Theirs merely imitated it.
His mantle of white and gold fell from his shoulders in heavy sacred folds, more like resting angel wings than fabric—the theocracy's symbol under it.
Over his chest blazed his sigil, a flawless golden sun-disk, and at its center…an all seeing eye of light.
A golden Lumin Cross descended from his collar to his holy feet—wherever he sat or stood was hallowed ground.
With four of the five members of the Luminati gathered, the meeting was convened.
"To think there was a demon alive in the mortal realm with the audacity to attempt to defile our holy capital—
He bit his bottom lip with his canine and anxiously tapped his index finger on the arm of his throne, remembering the fear he felt.
The fear he still felt.
"were you all able to witness its sigil as I did?"
Eristophales spoke first, he for one, seemed to be quite disturbed by the whole affair.
"Oh, silence yourself."
Mordostophales slammed his heavy fist against his throne.
He was the first born of the four, and he was more so a debaucherous barbarian than a holy seraph.
More so than the rest.
"Do not be so dramatic Eris, It's unbecoming of you. There was no demon in the capital, there could not be…I would have smelled its foul stench."
His voice was deep, dripping with flow, arrogant certainty.
His holy Luminarch attire was immaculate and white, not a speck of dust resided on his holy vessel—but the man reeked of wine and crevice.
Eristophales noticed fresh blood on his brother's knuckles.
He broke into an all knowing grin upon seeing it.
He shook his head and laughed.
"Oh please brother, and we are to take your holy word for it? Where were you? I wouldn't be surprised if your nose wasn't shoved up some whores filthy cunt as all of this transpired."
He looked at him with feigned disgust.
Really it was admiration.
"You reek of intercourse."
Eristophales pointed at his bloody knuckles.
"Vehyl look! He's been beating on his whores again. However will we reprimand this holy savage of ours?!"
He said jestingly, his earlier fear subsiding, replaced with the familiar warmth of being around family.
He was the second born son.
Mordostophales leaned back against his throne, his massive frame unbothered by the tension in the air.
Amused, he snorted hot air from his mighty nose and took a sip of wine from his chalice.
His coat was white, heavy in its cut, bordered with muted burnt-copper trim along the collar and sleeves.
A burnt-copper Lumin Cross descended down the center of his chest like a brand of sanctioned violence.
Over his heart his mark was stitched—a blazing fist gripping a writhing serpent.
The creature twisted in its grasp, its fanged mouth open as it coughed streams of blood down the front of his robes.
A symbol of holy wrath.
The holy fabric that clung to his shoulders fit him tightly, refusing to fold or wrinkle.
The brutal shape of his massive shoulders, biceps and legs visibly strained the fabric as though his holy physique itself defied physical containment.
"You were able to see an actual demon brother?"
"No no no. I am referring to the exploding ball of black fire in the sky over the capitals gate. The sigil vehyl, were you able to catch a glimpse of it?"
Vehylstophales rubbed his temples in silent frustration and sighed.
He was the youngest of the four.
Vehylstophales' white ceremonial coat hung with severe precision, tailored to perfection.
Every line straight, every fold controlled.
Thin sapphire stitching traced the seams and details of his coat like judicial markings.
A sapphire Lumin Cross ran straight down his torso, rigid and precise, like a pillar of law dividing flesh.
A pair of holygold spectacles rested upon his nose catching the chamber's light as he moved.
"I see. Yes, I was able to catch a glimpse of it. This is quite the troublesome affair indeed."
He pushed his spectacles up to his forehead with his middle finger and let his wrist hang, his fingers splayed in irritation.
"And who will have to pay for all the houses and businesses that have caught fire? We will."
Over his heart rested his sigil—a sapphire pair of balanced scales encircled by a vertical ring of light , the mark of Sanctified Law.
"Who are we to blame for all this? We've yet to determine if this threat is internal or external. As of now there is no clear culprit. None that I can determine."
"The sentinels stationed at the wall will be here any minute now, and they will dispense the details of what has occurred to us."
He looked towards the highest in the room.
"What say you Christophales? Surely you've already reached a conclusion before we have."
For a moment, he did not move.
Then the burning halo above his head slowed… and steadied.
Christophales' fingers slowly unlaced from before his lips.
His hands lowered, settling against the arms of his throne.
The chamber seemed to breathe again.
"Brothers…" he said at last, his voice calm, measured, final.
"I do not believe this to be the work of actual demons."