Slowly, Mortis began to pull himself up. He still needed clothes.
He tried to stand on the altar and slipped a few times, hitting his head against the marble floor.
Finally, head throbbing, he stood upright and stumbled toward the edge of the dais.
The rain blurred his vision, but he could still make out the surroundings.
The altar was medium-sized, placed on a patch of grass. A short distance away, a circle of white marble pillars surrounded the dais. Beyond them—nothing but grassland stretched endlessly.
Could this be considered a temple?
The blue screen appeared again.
[Temple acquired!Temple count: 1]
He carefully slid down the edge of the altar and landed near a body.
As bad as he felt, he was desperate. He began stripping off its clothes.
The red robes were too big—and too conspicuous—but better than nothing.
He smeared mud over them, trying to dull the color. Though with the rain, it probably wouldn't last.
Now… I need to find people. Normal people.
I hope everyone else isn't a cultist.
He looked up at the pouring sky and sighed.
He didn't know where he was, or how he got here. He just wanted to go home.
And Mom… she must be worried out of her mind right now—
A sharp gasp cut through his thoughts.
Mortis spun around.
The man from the altar—alive.
Mortis ran to him and turned him so he rested in his lap.
The hood fell away, revealing a pale face—skin like snow, hair and eyes equally pale. He looked like a snow spirit, except for the deep red gash across his neck.
His lips trembled.
"My Lord… you have come."
[Follower count: 1]
Mortis ignored it, holding the man tightly.
Trembling, he whispered,"How are you still alive? I thought that thing killed you—"He broke off.
The look in the man's eyes stunned him: pure devotion.
The man laughed weakly, then began to cry, tears mixing with the rain.He looked at Mortis' ordinary face—dark hair, dark eyes—with ecstasy.
"I refuse to die before your eyes, my Lord. It would be… unsightly."
Mortis shuddered.
After a long pause, he said quietly,"Do you want to come with me? I may not be much of a god right now… but I'll try to help you."
The man's eyes lit up."It would be my greatest pleasure."
The man's name was Malachai.
He had been born into what he called The Temple of the Blood God and trained to serve it, even at the cost of his life.
Mortis thought it was more like a cult.
Malachai had served all his life, climbing the ranks until he became head priest.
The legends spoke of a day when their god would descend. Malachai had waited for that day with fanatical fervor.
And now, he believed it had come.
Mortis hated this treatment, but he endured it. Even when he asked Malachai to call him by name, the man refused.
The two walked across the grassland together.
Mortis had said he wanted to reach the nearest town to "spread his word," and Malachai had happily agreed to lead him.
They trudged through the marshy land in their matching red robes.
One bright. One dark.
One a fanatical priest.
One a godly pauper.
Mortis certainly looked the part of a pauper.