(High View — Character — Display — Roof — Trial — Futility)
~~~ are used for changing the perception of vision (POV)
••• denotes flashback
*** denotes time skip
** denotes background sounds
() denotes layered perception
… denotes silence
xXx
~~~
There.
Thou hast found her.
There is no triumph in it, no surprise either. Discovery is not a joy to Us; it is merely the confirmation of an angle already calculated in silence.
Amid the ruin of this realm drowned beneath black inundation, the Nursery alone yet endureth. The pillars of that chamber are cracked and bowed and their gilded skins are eaten through with creeping veins of Void, yet they have not wholly yielded unto dissolution. Some other force dwelleth there still. It isn't holiness nor is it grace and nor is it the pale benedictions the Seekers mutter of with dry mouths and bent backs. Nay. Something else abideth within those walls. Something old and hidden and near akin unto the Abyss itself.
We know it.
We know all substances that persist beneath the spread of the Void and all those which perish and are swallowed into nameless black. This scent that drifteth through the dead airs of the place is familiar unto us. Sweet as marrow split beneath a stone and foul as the breath of graves long sealed. It calleth unto hunger and unto memory alike. And though it resembleth our own nature, yet it remaineth separate. Therefore doth it offend us.
For what thing fashioned of darkness willingly suffereth another darkness beside itself?
Below thee lay the broad platforms of the Proving Grounds where the Seekers once gathered to witness slaughter masquerading as worship. The goldwork there was now corrupted and blackened. Long roots of Void had burst through the sacred metals and wrapped themselves round the old architecture like giant earth-worms coiling about the bones of saints. Thin rivulets of water descended from shattered heights and pooled in stagnant basins where pale reflections trembled like dying spirits.
Yet our gaze fell not upon the ruins themselves but upon the congregation assembled beneath.
Hundreds of them.
Hundreds of those masked devotees gathered together in dense clustering masses. They had abandoned their solitary wanderings and their rites and their meditations. Now they huddled shoulder to shoulder as creatures do before the coming of a storm. They whispered. They muttered. They craned their necks toward the Nursery. Their voices moved through the air like the rustling of dry parchment in sepulchres.
Strange.
We had thought these Seekers little more than hollow vessels draped in ceremonial gold. We deemed them creatures fit only for kneeling and begging. They prayed unto corpses. They worshipped memory. They sought divinity not from reverence but from greed. Their hunger had ever surpassed their faith.
And now at last their disguises split open.
When mortals achieve the object of their worship, they grow weary of it. Such hath ever been the manner of flesh. They sought gods not to adore but to possess. The title itself betrayeth them. Godseekers. Not Godworshippers. Not Godkeepers. Not Godlovers. Not Godbound.
Seekers. Always reaching, never arriving. And reaching is a hunger without satisfaction.
We understand hunger.
We invented it.
They crave ascension as starving curs crave blood in wintertime. They would place crowns upon their own heads if only the heavens gave leave for it.
Pitiful creatures.
Yet useful.
Now have we seen their truest natures unveiled before us like worms beneath overturned stone. Knowledge gathered and judgment formed. There shall come others who will guide them better than we. Others who shall indulge their thirst and lead them unto fresh calamities. We care not.
Our purpose lieth elsewhere.
"?"
Yes. Let us descend. The great swollen matron hideth within the Nursery still. We shall drag her before our judgment though she crawl willingly toward it herself.
Then didst thou fold thy vastness inward and descend from the high dark reaches above the platform. Thy form gathered itself from impossible angles into singular shape though the air screamed softly round thee as if wounded by thy passing. Below, the assembled Seekers recoiled as black motes scattered from thy body and fell upon them like soot shaken from a funeral pyre.
They looked upward.
Too late.
Already wert thou above the Nursery, towering over it like some great hanged god returned from execution.
And what became of them then?
Did they cry aloud?
Yes.
Did their mouths gape beneath their masks like mayflies dragged dying from water?
Yes.
Did terror seize their limbs and fasten them motionless where they stood?
Yes. Yes unto all.
Then as one body they cast themselves prostrate before thee. Foreheads pressed against the Void-stained floor. Their limbs bent beneath them in supplication. Their hands spread wide as flower petals laid before a tomb. And from their throats issued frantic recitations of doctrine and prayer. They spoke over one another in desperate confusion until their sacred words dissolved into meaningless noise.
Not one among them believed prayer would save them. Yet still they prayed and sought blessings as beggars scrape crumbs from a butcher's block. Still they bow. Still they offer their bodies in gesture even as belief frays like tattered cloth. Thus do mortals always.
Useless creatures.
Utterly useless.
Still, we would not squander thought upon them. They seemed at first glance possessed of complexity, but they were no more than blank leaves torn from forgotten histories. They existed only at the edges of grander movements beyond their comprehension. Their lives were annotations beside the true scripture.
And at the ending of that scripture stood she. The Godseeker.
Or such was the shape fate presently wore. And should fate prove false of her shape and will thee let the body be hollowed and broken.
For we had already shown mercy beyond reason. We had chastened her only with suffering. We did not slay her when we had the chance. We did not permit her release through death when we had the chance. We instead preserved her breath though agony gnawed her flesh like grubs within jars.
Such law applieth unto all things that meddle with Void.
All things.
Yet as we withdrew our attention from the congregation below, we perceived something else. The Seekers watched us. Not merely in terror but in fascination also. Beneath their masks their hidden eyes gleamed wide and feverish. Their limbs trembled and yet they strained not to flee. Their horror mingled with reverence in equal measure.
They had heard our intentions.
And it delighted them.
Whether they had always harbored such sickness within themselves or whether desperation had driven them unto madness mattered little. The truth stood plain before us now. These creatures possessed wills of their own. Frail and pathetic though they were, they were not mindless.
Good.
Let them entertain themselves with fear and worship alike. Let them waste the remnants of their pitiful existence in trembling adoration. We care not.
Our attention turned wholly toward the Nursery. Then didst thou place thy claws upon the roof of that structure.
And tear.
Stone shrieked. Marble split. Gold screamed against itself as the roof was ripped free like skin torn from flesh. Great fragments crashed downward through clouds of dust and black motes. The sound rolled across the platform and echoed through the realm beyond.
*SCREEEECH—KLANG—KRAAAASH—WHOOOOM.*
…
There she stood.
Below Us. The Godseeker gazed upward with her mask crooked upon her swollen face and her garments thrown hastily about her bulk as though she had dressed herself in panic. So she had known we were coming.
Pity.
Had we arrived sooner we might have witnessed her wholly unguarded. We might have seen the rot beneath the ceremonial wrappings. The true degradation of flesh touched too long by powers beyond mortal measure. We might have beheld the face she hid from her followers and from herself alike.
Still, disorder remained upon her. Enough to satisfy us.
Her composure had broken and when she moved her hand toward the folds of her garment, thou struck.
Thy hand descended through the chamber like divine punishment. The walls trembled and the stone burst apart beneath the impact as thy claws pinned her against the floor. Sharp edges pierced cloth and flesh alike. She writhed beneath thy palm like some bloated insect trapped inside a glass chamber. She attempted speech but a wet cry escaped her throat though it ended swiftly once thy finger pressed hard against her neck. The cry collapsed inward into choking gagged noises.
Do not sever the neck yet for the trial hath only begun. Pressure increased and slowly and deliberately her bones groaned beneath her flesh. Tendons stretched and blood vessels swelled hot beneath the skin as though near bursting. One more measure of force and her limbs would have split from their sockets like meat torn from hooks. Yet thou restrained thyself.
The condemned must survive long enough to hear judgment spoken.
Then from within the chamber there arose another sound.
Song.
Not from the congregation outside but from within the Nursery itself. One Seeker knelt nearby and sang through trembling breath. Then another voice joined it. The little one. Their hymn wound upward through the broken chamber in frail defiance. A funeral chorus sung before the corpse had ceased twitching. And beneath thy hand the gagged Godseeker made a third accompaniment of choking breath and muffled agony.
Together they formed a hideous harmony.
Still they loved her.
Still they risked themselves for her sake though the outcome stood certain as death beneath winter skies. Such loyalty among mortals hath ever bordered madness. They cling unto one another even as doom descendeth upon them.
Very well.
Let us break that illusion also. Thy grip tightened further. There came a single sharp report from within her body.
*Crack.*
The gagging ceased.