Mirus drifted high above the forest canopy, suspended in the cold night air as if gravity itself could care less.
The moon hung high and swollen in front him, full and radiant.
A high yellow spectator to a world that rotted in its own ignorance.
He looked puny in front of it.
Below, a vast ocean of interlocking branches and untamed green stretched endlessly for miles beneath him.
Towering trees with healthy, thriving crowns dominated the land — their leaves dense, verdant, and dancing in the night breeze.
While between them stood pockets of rot.
Skeletal trunks, splintered stumps, and dead growth twisting like old scars across otherwise living earth.
All manor of carcasses were littered across the forest floor here and there—slowly being devoured by the forest carnivorous flora.
When predators finish their kill and had their fill.
They discard their prey on the forest floor.
Naturally, the forest indulges.
It was not dead.
It was thriving.
Ravenous.
And brutally alive.
Mirus watched on from above as a Decaying Horrowmaw Treant towered over and swallowed an unsuspecting Bloodfiend feasting upon the torn open throat vein of a Maw-Elk, whole.
Its branches grabbed a wicked hold of it—impaling and wrapping the bloodfiend and the elk at the same time.
The treant lifted them in the air and into its crooked maw.
CRUNCH!
A sickening wet crack echoed through the forest.
Mirus could hear its jaw smacking from above.
'How fascinating. A real gourmand…'
He quietly thought to himself, debating whether or not to descend and subjugate this deceptively dead creature.
He was amused.
Watching unsuspecting creatures being helplessly devoured was a favorite pastime of his.
Living in the Horrormaw Expanse, there was no shortage of entertainment.
He made a mental note to return to this very location and subjugate the Treant.
Possibly some Bloodfiends.
He looked towards the Mythic Desert.
He could feel his connection to Vultyr even as they moved away from each other.
Their souls were connected now.
Her soul belonged to him.
He knew her location, her thoughts, and her emotions.
He could command Vultyr to slit her own throat and die—she would be powerless against the command.
Not that she would ever question a command of his.
Of course, Vultyr is a Pheonix—she could not truly die.
It was strange, it felt as if he could feel the faint connection of lesser creatures pledging their allegiance to him from afar.
Their souls weren't necessarily his but he could now feel their presence.
He closed his eyes and listened, spreading his awareness across the Horrowmaw, expanding his senses towards Vultyr.
What he heard was…uncanny.
But not unfamiliar.
He was far away so it was faint but his senses were enhanced.
A chorus of hollow howls.
Not wind.
Not beasts.
Bone.
A dry, rattling lament dragged across the landscape, carried from somewhere in the southwest — a fractured, cadaverous choir raised under the full moon.
His brows lifted slightly.
'So she has begun…Excellent Vultyr, your master appreciates your urgency.'
His awareness expanded further — following the sound like a thread.
He felt them then.
Faint presences.
Cold.
Jagged.
Hollow.
Not fully his… yet.
But bound to her.
And because she was his — they echoed to him too.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Gazing across the endless green sea of crowns and branches.
The canopy below parted as if the forest itself bowed to something passing through it not willing to impede it.
A streak of blight and ember tore upward from the trees —
briefly setting the crowns aglow in shades of burning red and dead gold.
Vultyr burst through the green veil, her vast phoenix wings scattering ash, leaves, and drifting spores in her wake.
Then she turned, her wings beating powerfully behind her.
Her trajectory shifted clean, and precise shooting eastward.
Mirus watched her distant silhouette streak across the night sky.
Her figure raging against the darkness of night, until the jungle swallowed her light and only her miasma lingered in the air.
He didn't need to follow.
He already knew where she was going.
His gaze shifted across the endless green sea of crowns and branches.
East.
Towards the Blodmaw Jungle.
Then he kept moving north.
Moonlight spilled across layers of foliage and bark, catching on fresh leaves and pale lichen as often as it found the withered branches and hollow trunks scattered throughout.
Some trees soared tall and ancient, their bark thick and dark with age, while others stood cracked and gray— remnants of ages past.
A verdant dominion, riddled with long standing wounds.
Every crown didn't claw downward like a corpse —many reached upward, vigorous and unyielding, swallowing the sky with their life.
Far to the southwest, the forest bled into desert —where roots surrendered to sand and the earth cracked into bone-dry scars.
Beyond that to the east, loomed the dark silhouette of the jungle— a writhing green-black mass where the air itself could kill you, heavy with unseen lurking monstrosities and hanging, carnivorous growths.
To the southeast, the jungle bled into the desert, Thick green vines thinned into dunes of pale desert sand— life whittling itself into another form rather than surrendering.
Trading shade for sun.
Up ahead even further north, like jagged white teeth piercing the horizon:
The Horrormaw mountain ranges loomed large.
Ancient. Silent. Frostbiten. Unmoved.
Flanking both the entrances of the Expanse from north and the south.
Except the mountain peaks to the south were arid due to the dry desert climate.
Their snowy, crooked peaks crowned in pale moonlight defined the Expanse.
Mirus's lips curved slightly.
Not joy.
Not peace.
…Vestigial nostalgia for an ecosystem that no longer confined him.
"This planet is beautiful…"
He murmured softly.
…
High Sentinel Sylvrin had gone into full detail about what had happened at the gate and how the exploding ball of fire in the sky, was infact, Humphrey Blisterwick.
He detailed the losses suffered and all those that were afflicted.
A score 15 of sentinels and 10 civilians had died so far.
Over 50 people—a mix of Sentinel and civilians had become afflicted.
These were all the numbers recorded before they had left for the citadel.
Most of the soldiers who had surrounded Humphrey had died, those heavily afflicted had died, and even some sentinels guarding the wall below had Humphreys burning decayed remains fall upon them.
Citizens that happened to be passing by or milling about and those that were in their homes managed to die and become afflicted as well.
What luck.
One second you're within the comfy confines of your home, and the next you're engulfed in the fiery remains of Humphrey Blisterwick.
He also did not forget to mention his odious warning to the Theocracy upon combusting.
"The Dark Lord is coming!"
Humphreys warning was not one he took lightly, he had not stopped pondering its mean since.
'Who is the Dark Lord? When will he attack again? Will we be ready? What did Humphrey see that made him scream so?'
These were Sylvrin's thoughts as he steeled himself internally.
In the face of his uncertainty, he would put his faith in Luminarchos and remain stalwart.
In contrast to his inner anxiety's, the Pontiff and the Luminarchs did not seem to care too much for his mention of the Dark Lord.
Simply accepting his stating of facts.
Sentinel Kaspian also divulged the details of his encounter in its entirety.
How Henry's skull burst into flames in front of him as he yelled at him, "GOD IS NOT REAL!"
The Luminarchs had a change of indifference and broke into a haughty bout of laughter upon hearing about Kaspian's final exchange of words with the sentinel.
Waving off his shouting as hysterical demonic nonsense.
He was possessed, the demon would make him say anything.
"Boy."
The Luminarch of Sanctified Wrath leaned forward in his throne, taking a sip of wine.
"Pondering a demon's poisonous drivel will only lead to your tragic and unfortunate demise."
He tapped the side of his brow with his index finger.
Mordostophales as the Luminarch of Sanctified Wrath—Controled the entirety of the military, all acts of war, internal security, and national defense.
He was a "Seraph."
"Steel yourself, guard your heart boy, have faith in your god."
He raised his chalice to the high ceiling.
A dribble of wine managed to splash out of the chalice, and onto his thumb.
It snaked down his wrist and dripped onto his coat, seeping into the stitched blood of his Sanctified Wrath sigil—disappearing, as if it were never there.
"It is in Luminarchos we trust."
His tone was mighty, the depth of his voice reverberating throughout the chamber.
His heavy boulder of a fist beat his massive chest twice and his oversized boot stomped the floor.
The ground shook.
Kaspian was a sentinel—one of his own, he would show him the way.
Only the pontiff remained silent seated upon his throne.
Calculating his next move.
His halo spun intuitively as Kaspian went on.
He detailed how he took cover behind his superior and witnessed the rampart descend into hysteria alongside Sylvrin who had told him to keep his head high in the presence of the wicked.
The Luminarchs could tell Kaspian seemed more than troubled, his faith even shaken.
He needed to be reminded that Luminarchos was always by his side.
Watching him, guiding him.
Protecting him from above with his holy light.
"Kneel before my throne boy."
Mordostophales beckoned Kaspian to step forward.
He was on the cusp of breaking and losing faith entirely after this whole incident.
He would reward him for his bravery in the face of demonic evil.
Renew his faith in his god, in his religion—in them.
The poor young man had already been given the stick.
The "demon," had done a wonderful job in breaking down their dutiful countrymen's resolve.
They would now build them back up.
Once rewarded, his faith in the Theocracy would be unshakablely cemented once and for all as absolute above all.
Kaspian stepped forward.
A glint of jealousy briefly flashed through the eyes of High Sentinel Brock and High Saint Ceeli as Kaspian kneeled before their Luminarch.
His sentinel holy armor accentuated his brawny shoulders and broad back.
The boy was a unit.
Their eyes felt daggers in his back.
Only Sylvrin seemed to remain stalwart, as always.
He paid them no, he only cared for his salvation.
He'd been hopelessly swimming through a black sea of existential dread for the past couple of hours.
Uncharacteristically so.
He was ready for it to end.
Ready for a brighter, newer day.
The floor was surprisingly cold beneath his knees.
But the heat radiating from Mordostophales made his skin prickle beneath his armor.
The Luminarch of Sanctified Wrath stood.
And when he did, the chamber seemed smaller.
As if it shrunk under the weight of his presence.
He stepped down from his throne.
Each footfall thundered once against the marble.
Once.
Again.
Then he stood before Kaspian.
Towering.
He was a giant.
His shadow swallowed the boy completely.
There was something intimate about his nearness that made Kaspian's spine stiffen.
"Do you know," Mordostophales began, his voice slow and grinding like tectonic plates,
"What separates a man from a martyr boy?"
Kaspian swallowed, he understood the intent behind his question.
"…Faith, Your holiness."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of the Luminarch's mouth.
"Good."
"A shame most only seek it when they are already at death's door."
He raised his bare hand engraved with glowing sanctified sigils.
Veins pulsing like molten gold beneath marble-pale flesh.
Every sentinel in the chamber visibly tensed.
This was not knighthood.
This was consecration.
Mordostophales placed two fingers beneath Kaspian's chin
and tilted his face upward.
He lingered for a moment.
The sobering sinful scent of wine and netherparts wafted into Kaspian's nose.
The Luminarchs musk unsettling him for a moment.
'Sex?'
He quietly thought to himself before immediately dispelling the thought.
He should not question such things, and he would not.
Any woman would be lucky beyond her stars to be bedded the seraph of war.
Or man.
"For your courage."
"For your suffering."
"And for enduring the lies of the damned without collapsing beneath them."
His open palm came down gently.
Against Kaspian's right shoulder.
A soft touch.
Then—
Heat.
Not burning.
Not pain.
Something invigorating and vast.
Golden light erupted across Kaspian's armor and skin as the sigil of Sanctified Wrath ignited beneath Mordostophales's palm.
Kaspian gasped as radiant veins traced down his arms and into his chest.
His vision filled with blinding gold.
He saw angels.
He saw fire.
He saw holy conquest, and the Theocracy's enemies kneeling in ash.
And then—
Stillness.
Mordostophales withdrew his hand.
The glow faded.
But his newfound power remained.
Kaspian trembled.
Breathing hard.
But alive.
Changed.
Mordostophales had taken a shine to the boy.
His broken demeanor and strong stature, stoked a certain fire within him.
One he so desperately needed to satiate.
He would take him under his wing.
Turn him.. no… make him—stronger.
Make him a man amongst men.
An opportunity that any follower of the Holy Light religion would die for.
"You are no longer simply a Sentinel," Mordostophales said.
"You are now a Vessel of Wrath."
And he planned to fill his vessel.
Silence filled the chamber.
Even the other Luminarchs watched carefully.
"Rise."
Kaspian stood.
His eyes were brighter.
Steadier.
Existential dread replaced by a burning certainty.
"There is a God."
The Luminarch said as he walked back to this throne and sat up on it.
"Your god."
He took a hefty sip from his chalice taking a final gulp and pointed up towards Christophales.
Above them, the Pontiff's halo turned slowly.
Watching.
Calculating.
"Luminarchos."
"The Dark Lord does not exist."
He continued on with a smirk.
"You will serve your god and make him proud. Without mercy, and absolute zeal—You will SMITE HIS ENEMIES WITH SANCTIFIED WRATH!"
His Luminarch throne erupted in a destructive and majestic visage of golden Holy fire.
Kaspian gasped in shock at Mordostophales glorious display of power.
'Flames of Sactified Wrath!'
He thought loudly, immediately dropped to one knee again, his head hanging low in awe and reverence.
He never would have imagined ever meeting his Luminarchs.
Let alone the Supreme Pontiff.
Not many ever got this chance, and now he was standing before them.
A Luminarch had even shown him divine favor and bestowed a blessing upon him.
Today was the darkest and brightest day he's ever had.
"ALL HAIL GOD LUMINARCHOS!"
He shouted with all his might.
The high sentinels and high saint Ceeli behind him shouted as well.
"You all may rise."
Christophales commanded from atop his radiant throne.
Kaspian returned to the Sylvrins side.
"High Sentinel Sylvrin."
"High Sentinel Brock.
"High Saint Ceeli."
"Sentinel Kaspian."
Mordostophales called out to them and one by one they stepped forward.
"The Luminati thanks you for your service."
The three Luminarchs spoke as one.
"Eternal Glory to the Luminati—may they reign in perpetuity, without end."
They beat their chests and stomped the floor.
"ALL HAIL GOD LUMINARCHOS!"
"You are all to return your positions on the wall and await orders from your supremes."
"Yes my Luminarch."
They bowed one by one.
"You are now dismissed. Leave."
The massive chamber door swung open from behind them.
Devotion is a chain so heavy, its bearer thanks it for its weight.
A happy, dutiful slave does not think to question the holy iron grip strangling it.
And so they continue their work…even as the iron presses deeper into their throats.
Back towards the gate to finish their shifts.
Zealous, as ever.