Blasphemy: Saga of the Blackgoat Prince

THE BLACKGOAT PRINCE IS HUNGRY TIME TO FEAST

“Kshhhhht! Ladies an-shht-entlemen!” The speakers in the corners of the wagons cabin blared. 

Akane flinched at the harsh sound. This was not the first time the cabins speakers had gone off. Many times a mocking, falsely hearty and jovial voice had rung out, mostly to mock them or berate them or simply tell them in a voice deeply colored in irritation to ‘Shut up!’. But this was the first time the voice talking through them was so broken up and staticky. 

Was there some sort of interference? That would be… odd, to say the least. The technology in this world was fueled and developed with magic. What could possibly interfere with that? 

“If you ca-tsshhht-anage to maneuver those comfy lit-ssst-rist bracelets we provided you with, free of charge I might add,” The speaker, one of the guards riding in the front cabin of the carriage, paused his jovial monologue to laugh at his own joke. “You can jus-ssshhht-manage to make out the grand walls of your fabulous new home!” 

Akane strained her neck, heartbeat running rampant in her chest, making it feel as though it was fit to burst, to peak out of the window. 

Her heart, which moments earlier had been in a frenzy, stopped cold at her first glimpse of their ominous destination. 

Seeing what awaited them in the distance, she felt like she was a deer seeing death’s white light approaching and unable to do anything to alter her fate.

[Punishment]’s Holy City Chastening loomed massive and ominous in the distance. It was a fearsome place that somehow managed to draw similarities to both the fortresses and prisons of earth, as well as being a massive city that dwarfed even the biggest metropolis in her original world.

Great walls of steal stood defiant against the preposterous notion of intrusion. Or the more likely attempt, escape. Though how anyone would achieve either objective was a mystery. 

Since the carriage approached Chastening from a hill, the new prisoners could see all five of the Holy City’s layers. Five levels of barriers separated the captives in the interior from the freedom of the outside. Even though they were still some distance away, all of the passengers doomed to become residents of the prison city could tell just how impenetrable those gates were. 

Tremendous towers loomed towards the bleakening sky, reaching nearly high enough to pierce the clouds. They seared away the approaching dark with blazing lights that scoured the grounds searching for any who dared disobedience. 

The irony in this place being dubbed “Holy City” was its apparent absence of anything Holy. Even the vegetation surrounding it seemed to reject the notion. There was nothing that grew from the ground approaching the walls. None of the majesty that was rampant in this world of fantasy could reach Chastening. Only the corpses of trees remained. 

Corpses and the ashes of vegetation that had since turned to dust, which created a perpetual fog around the city. A miasma that reeked with the scent of death and doom. 

This was a place of misery. The Divinity implied by the title of “Holy” upon Chastening seemed to be nothing more than a mockery of its meaning. Or rather it would be if only…

“Beautiful…” Akane unintentionally spoke aloud, or perhaps it was drawn from her by the sheer awesomeness of the city. 

It was entrancing enough to momentarily distract her from the terror that was Chastening. Her mouth had frozen jaw  dropped, and her eyes were so wide open they threatened to leap from their sockets. 

“Almost out of place, isn’t it?” The kind old man said with a bitter smile. 

They were speaking of the temple that loomed atop of Chastening. Sitting higher than even the watchtowers, the temple of [Punishment] actually did broach the territory of the heavens. Clouds swam through its pillars ethereally clinging to solid structures and giving the temple a spectral visage. 

This was not the first time Akane had seen a temple of the gods in this world, but they never failed to stagger her. None of them were the same, but she could draw similarities from many different cultures of her original world. 

The pillars of the greek temples that bore the weight of the roof. The great gates and winding stairs popular in the shrines of her homeland, Japan. The totem-like faces similar to what could be found in the original tribes of the Americas or the easter island. And even Great statues of the god himself with his back fused to the wall like what remained in the ruins of ancient Egypt. 

It was like the kind uncle said. The temple did seem almost out of place. Almost, but not quite. For the temple was indeed beautiful, but it terrible in equal measure. 

It’s pillars covered in cruel spikes, hooked and barbed to both plunge into flesh and pull out what lay beneath. From the great gates hung cages designed to keep any inhabitant from having a moment of peace, and the winding stairs were formed of thorns that would savage the feet of any who walked upon it. The totems were twisted in various expressions of anguish, and some of them wore replicas of the devices of torture that were terrible enough to make Akane’s meager lunch threaten to come back up. Most terrible of all were the statues of the god himself…

As far as Akane knew there was not a single god that was anything less than gorgeous. From what she could see of Lord [Punishment]’s face, he was no different. 

Though the lower half of his face hid behind grinning steel jaws that looked like a closed bear trap, everything exposed above it was nothing short of glorious. Sharp eyebrows, a hairline that sang of ever-impeccable youth, and haughty eyes that looked down upon the sinners approaching his gates with a grandeur that proclaimed his divinity for any who dared to meet them. 

Akane thought she would fall for such a man the moment those eyes caught her up in their depths… She did think that but… 

There was also an air about this god. She had gotten pretty good at reading people over the week-long life she had been desperately struggling to sustain; there was an aura of oppression she could feel by just looking at the statue. 

An aura of oppressive cruelty that saturated Lord [Punishment]’s eyes. So much so that it felt like those eyes of his, though no more than stone, had gripped her heart and squeezed it until it felt as though her heart would burst. 

The other passengers felt that way as well. After having their bravado torn away by the inferno of mad hatred brewing within the cabin's walls, the arrogant visage of Lord [Punishment] bearing down upon them, looming closer with every turn of the wagon’s wheels, decimated any spirit they had managed to maintain. 

Many of them were rocking back and forth, some were clutching their faces their fingernails digging shallow furrows into their skin, and a few were even shedding silent tears of despair. 

There was a tiny portion of them that managed a face like stone. Somehow ignoring the calls of fate by sheer force of will, brutally crushing the tendrils of fear relentlessly attempting to strangle their will. 

They would endure; they had been born into the very depths of this shitty world after all, right? They had struggled, and survived, and killed, and betrayed, all for the sake of seeing another day. 

This would be just one more passing twilight. They were simply traversing from one hell where the odds of their survival were slim to another. They would cross this bridge just like they had all the others before now. 

It wasn’t as though they would die the moment they stepped through the doors, right? The Night Guilds they belonged to were already established there. They would welcome these legends of the underworld with open arms. This was just another city. It was simply a new place to carve out their slice of the pie. 

This is what sustained the most hardy of them, what kept their will intact…

Then that will was shattered like an egg that suffered the force of a blacksmith’s hammer. 

It felt as though all of Alotha’s gravity had suddenly crammed itself inside their cabin. The force was dismal enough that their nerves cried out to them in agony as their bones threatened to be ground into dust. 

“T-this… pressure…” Akane managed to gasp as her back bowed beneath the strain. 

“Ksssssshhhhht-Ah-shhhht-at you fol-kst-are feeling rig-sssss-now is the benevolent-sssshhhhkt-aura of Lord [Punishement].” the radio blared cheerfully.

“C-could it be the god’s aura if causing the interference?” the kind uncle had managed to keep his back planted firmly against the cabin wall though the veins in his neck bulged so much with the effort, they looked as though they might tear out of his skin. “But that doesn’t make any sense?!”

“Enjoy-ssssss-Lord [Punishment]’s love. Pleasant in’t it?” the speaker sang in joyful mockery. 

The speakers were even more overrun by static now. It was hard to discern a cruel word being spat out through them; not only was the serpent-like mysterious hissing interfering with the magic wavelength, beneath it all was a deep malevolent bass beat thrumming steadily with the rhyme of a savage hateful heart. 

“Don’ worry, luvs-sssst.” the speakers jeered. “They say-sssssst-it only tak-ssst-a few weeks ta get-sssst-sed to it. If-sst ya can survi-kssshhh-that long that is! -Kssssssst-AHAHAHAHAHA!”

The words chilled Akane made Akane's skin prickle. It didn’t help that the speakers had enough of the abuse of whatever tormented the signal, and begin to simply hiss. 

That would have been a welcome relief if alone, but somehow the mocking laughter of the guard had been left on a loop as if some cruel Dj had hijacked the wavelength. The simile only striking closer to the heart when Akane realized that the deep bass beat kept pumping away, merciless in the pressure it added to the already dismal scenario.

“How did this happen?” Akane moaned, clutching her head, her beautiful face twisted into a distraught mask. “Why did things turn out this way? This kind of punishment over a loaf of bread?”

“I-is that what landed you here?” the kind uncle said, both eyebrows shooting towards his forehead, propelled by pure incredulity. “Stealing bread?”

“W-well… not quite.” Akane said, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes until they spilled over onto her face. 

She told her confidant about everything--well not everything, she very much doubted that he would believe she was from another world after all--but everything that had happened to her since arriving. How she had wandered, almost falling victim to the traps hidden beneath the kind smiles of strangers in the city. 

She had almost been sold into slavery, assaulted, and lived each day eating what scraps she could scavenge from the garbage tossed out by markets and vendors. How she had spent every night huddled in the dark corners of alleys scared to submit to the temptations of exhaustion. The terror of what could be waiting to snatch her the moment she closed her eyes, forcing them to stay open. 

One day her stomach had been churning so painfully, it threatened to drive her to her knees. She was desperate, her hunger overwhelming her fear and sense of caution, forcing her to pilfer a loaf of bread from a stall with an unwary attendee.

She hadn’t even gotten a chance to sink her teeth into the still-warm crust when a vice-like grip snatched her wrist. She could only stare in dismay as the bread spiralled down into the dust of the street.

The eyes of the vendor might have been elsewhere but it appeared that a city watchman had been following her with his eyes for some time.

Dragged off into the watch-station with only the morbid hope of them providing her food in her cell, keeping her from falling to her knees. She trudged forward expecting the worst. After all, that’s all that had befallen her since coming here.

She sat before the watchmen barely noticing his finger-wagging long-winded lecture, with shadows of defeat beneath her eyes and a face as pale as a week old corpse. She likely would have stayed that way until she faded away from hunger if one of the guardsman's words had not cut through the shroud of despondency that imprisoned her in that zombified state.

“...eh? I’m to work off my debt for the bread at the stall?”

The blustery old guardsman nodded with a stern, but not unkind expression. He explained that while Akane had languished in her stupor, arrangements had been made to work at the very stall she had attempted to steal from. 

Apparently the stall owner had happily agreed even offering her a permanent job exclaiming, ‘With that pretty sis working here my profits will go through the roof!’

With tears and snot flowing freely down her face Akane lept sobbing into the stern, yet secretly soft-hearted guardsman’s arms, saturating his uniform with tears and mucus. As he awkwardly patted her back with a crimson tent to his cheeks, Akane thought her trails in this world were finally over. 

But that was when one of the Priests of [Love] walked through the door.

‘I heard there was a beautiful sinner being detained here? Ah!’ He said his ice-hued eyes landed upon her. 

The corners of his mouth curled up exposing the whitest teeth Akane had ever seen. They fit perfectly onto his well-sculpted face. On earth, he would have been a super-model but in this world all the servants of [Love] were gorgeous. Nevertheless, Akane was immediately swept up in his charm.

He stepped up to her. ‘Close! Too close!’. Akane had thought as blood rushed to her face, making it feel like it had caught on fire. He cupped the small of her back with a strong hand and Akane felt like she was going to melt into the ground, when he brought his lips close enough for her to feel his warm breath lapping against her face. 

‘I cannot let you leave here without chastising you at least a little, now can I.” he asked her mischievously in a melodious voice, ignoring the loud ‘harumph’ of the guard. 

Akane had already been swallowed by his charisma, he could lead her where he willed. She could feel hear her heart throbbing all the way up to her eyes. But he had other things in mind. 

Akane’s eyes almost bugged out of her head as his hands wandered to places that they should not stray! 

‘No’ she screamed pushing the man away with all her strength, which wasn’t much, but he must not have been expecting it. The push made him stumble back where he fell over a low table and gashed his forehead on its corner.

“Lock her away!” His melodious voice had warped into a malicious shrill. 

He stood, blood leaking from the gaping wound on his head, as he pointed a vindictive finger that shook with rage at Akane. 

He drowned out the protests of the old guardsman, while he looked at her with eyes that lacked a single ember of warmth. “Let’s see if a trip to Lord [Punishment’s] Chastening will teach her manners.”

“The priests are often accustomed to… taking what they want.” the uncle looked down, to avoid Akane’s embarrassed expression. “But, lass… there is something I don’t understand. When I first saw you here I had assumed you were the mistress of some noble. One whose jealous wife had you banished to Chastening.”

He shook his head with his lips turned downward in a confused grimace. “It is a scenario that has played out more than you would think. I cannot imagine a girl with looks like yours would live anything other than a pampered life no matter what social station they were born to. You may not be fond of the Church of Lord [Love], but they would have gladly welcomed you into their ranks. You probably noticed, but they believe that beauty is the purest form of love and your beauty could rival even that goddess [Love]. 

"Even the adventurers guild would have hired you to be a receptionist as long as you can read and write. To find yourself in that state when blessed with your looks… It’s just hard to believe. 

"Ah! But of course, there must be some reason that you were not able to do so!”

“...Ah!” Akane said, slamming her fist into her palm with a wide-eyed expression that conveyed she had realized something profound.

“...” 

Akane turned slowly towards the uncle, her lip twitching. “Ah! Please don’t look at me with that expression!”

The uncle stared at her with an expression so frozen that it was almost as if his face had turned to stone. To Akane, his thoughts were plainly written on his face. He was definitely thinking, ‘This person is an i***t’! Definitely!

“W-well, I suppose there is no use in trying to change the past.” the uncle said after he hacked out a nervous cough to break up the awkward moment. “There is no changing the fact that we are here right now. May as well figure out how to survive in our new home. Ah! I think I’n  starting to get used to Lord [Punishment]’s ether now.”

“R-really?” Akane said, glancing at his shaking shoulders quickly before she cast her eyes down to her own trembling fingers. 

“Hahaha! No, but perhaps if I endure with a smile, things will work out!” he said. 

With his eyes squeezed shut Akane couldn’t see his fear. But the man borr his teeth in a defiant smile that she couldn’t help but match. 

“-ehehe. It would have been hard enough to endure even without this creepy music.” Akane said. 

As Chastening loomed ever closer the baneful bass’ solo had turned into a duet with an equally ominous violin number set to a loop. 

Everyone in the carriage thought this to be some kind of prelude to the torture they were to face inside. It was quite effective working in concert with Lord [Punishment]’s ether. 

Not a single prisoner had been able to maintain color in their faces; instead of maintaining they were using everything they could muster from their ether to keep from collapsing.

“Akane lass… if you don’t mind me asking… How did you manage to develop your ether so well?”

“...Ether?”

“Your spirit… Your, ah, magic power...”

 Akane’s expression was like a void. The old-timer could search for the rest of the trip and he would still find as much understanding in her gaze as he would on a freshly wiped whiteboard. 

“If… If you haven’t developed your ether how is it that you can stay conscious? No, how is it that your heart hasn’t stopped?!”

“Well even though you say that…” Akane did feel as though the atmosphere was a bit troublesome. 

It made her feel like something that delighted in cruelty had wrapped itself around her ribs and squeezed; that was a far cry from the quesy diseased spirit suffered by the others.

WREEEEEK! 

The first gates of Chastening groaned as they parted, almost as though the act of unbarring themselves caused them unseen torment. As the carriage passed through them they were first greeted by two looming statues of Lord [Punishment] that towered to such heights that they rivaled the first walls containing the city.

Those cruel eyes glared down at them with an almost hungry hostility. That made it hard to believe they were formed of lifeless rock. The finely etched details of his long, torn, collarless jacket made it seem as though the wind could catch the tattered edges of his coat at any moment and send it flapping like magnificent wings. Cruel hooked spines burst from his flesh forming an x across his lean abdomen. 

Those spines didn’t limit themselves to the borders of his jacket. They pierced through them all the way to his broad shoulders; the large slopes were topped with tremendous spikes that sought to pierce the heavens up above. 

“Ah! New playmates!” A voice that could be called cheerful had it not been dripping with poisonous anticipation, called out, freeing them from the entrapping gaze of the god’s statue. 

The prisoners strained to glance out the tiny windows of the carriage and found themselves shuddering in regret for the action. 

“Acolytes of Lord [Punishment].” the uncle said with a wry twist to his lips. “Most of them used to be prisoners themselves before they were converted by the priests of the Holy Order of Penitence.” 

Akane trembled. It was like they had just crossed over into an S&M dungeon. Risque black leather seemed to be the uniform of those that followed Lord [Punishment]. 

The priests and priestesses ran their tongues hungrily over their lips while watching the passing carriage. They caressed tools that even Akane could tell were developed with nothing but causing pain in mind. 

“There is Pain in Penitence.” The speakers blared from the prison walls; they were even more potent than the sinister beat brewing in the carriage”.

CRACK!

“AH!”

The prisoners all flinched when they saw a man in a hood, covered only in the black leathers that clung tight to his nethers, convulse in pain. A woman who was scantily clad in similar material, which struggled to contain her voluptuous form, lashed his back with a braided cord. Every stroke made red bubbles well up through shallow wounds. 

“There is Pleasure in Pain.”

Clink. Clink. Clink.

“A-Ahn!”

A woman panted in a manner that fell somewhere between agony and orgasmic ecstasy. The mechanism that was pulling her limbs apart until her joints were screaming clinked as her tongue hung out of her gaping mouth.

“Therefore, Penitence is Pleasure.”

After each thunder of the speakers roared from their place on the prison walls, an act of torment was inflicted upon one of the leather-clad acolytes. There was such harmony between their screams of throe and bliss, that there was no telling them apart.

“This is where they practice their methods, “salvation”,” The old man said, his face a mask of bitterness. “That’s what they call it. This is how the prisoners who survive Lord [Punishment]’s prison earn their repentance. This is how he secures them to his faith.”

“They choose to go through this?” Akane’s face went slack as belief drained out of it. 

“Lass,” the old man said, sadly shaking his head. “They beg for it. And if we are fortunate enough to survive… we will too.”

“Is this where they live… the guards?” Akane said as she watched a woman lick a pointed device that made her shudder purely off the implications of its use. 

The thought came to Akane when she saw the houses built into the walls, humble buildings that she could believe were prison cells if they were further in. 

“Yes. The outer walls belong to the children of Lord [Punishment].” The uncle said with lifeless eyes that would look more in place on a gutted fish than on a man. “This is where they perfect their ‘art’.” 

Akane could only smile wryly as she watched what the Acolytes of [Punishment] called art; all she saw was torture. She waged a war against imagination itself. The battle was constant in keeping it from running away and filling her head with every horrible thing she could imagine. 

Already the gates leading into the second zone were groaning open, almost as if they were crying out their regret. The soulless iron guilty for admitting the poor doomed souls to what awaited them beyond. 

If only the walls were sheer. If only the endless height of stone before them signified the end of their journey…

But before them were the loading docks to their new home; the markings above it declaring the entrance for new arrivals. 

“Almost at our stop.” The kind uncle said. Cold sweat ran in rivulets down his face as he fought to smother the fear in his heart before it bubbled over to his expression or his tone. “I… I cannot bring myself to say… that I hope you are prepared. It would be… hypocritical of me. I am not prepared. I don’t think any of us are, though for what it is worth… I will stand with you for as long as I can.”

Akane reached out towards his hand which was showing the earliest stages of wrinkles and gripped it tightly to still his trembling. “And I will stand with you.”

They became pillars for each other as the carriage slowed and began to turn. The older man’s lips twitched just enough to be perceptible, if anyone had been watching him with eyes astute as a hawk’s, Akane’s grip had become that tight on his hand. 

Who could blame her? The carriage’s movements had finally come to a shuddering end. Unseen latches clicked so loudly in piercing notes of finality, it tore through the haunting melody that had gripped the interior of the cabin for so long. 

Akane’s face could have been the picture next to terror in the dictionary. Lines that seemed so foreign on such a stunning face, warped her appearance to a different kind of beauty; one that is fleeting, fragile, and approaching its end like a flower wilting upon the cruel breaths of approaching fall. 

Her reaction was normal; the older man felt as though her natural fear gave him the presence of mind to not only feel her dread, but share it. 

They had come to the most horrible place known to man, beyond Apocolypze. A fate of nothing but torture and brainwashing awaited them. And that was only if they were able to escape the finality of death at the hands of their eager persecuters, for whom torture was a religion. 

Perhaps death would be a better fate?

But they were the only ones who stared at the doors to the carriage with mounting trepidation; their cellmates were nothing more than zombies. 

Those with life in their eyes, in fact, stared at the doors with implausible expressions akin to hope. The music that had snarled them was so oppressive, they eyed the entrance into Alotha’s most terrible bastille as a chance for salvation. 

Their eyes even began to fill with hope that shone like stars sparkling in their eyes as the doors to the carriage creaked open. 

The smell obliterated all of that though. 

Blood polluted the air. Excrement, offal, and disease permeated with a reek thick enough to be called a miasma; The smell was terrible enough for the prisoners to forget the melody that had been eating away at their sanity long enough to gag and vomit. The putrid aroma won its battle against their stomachs. 

Some of the braver souls made their unsteady way towards the open doors. Their eyes unshielded not for the chains that bound them, but because the light awaiting them in their new home was even duller than what they left behind. 

The screams tested the mettle of those brave souls that shambled out of the carriage. There was no pattern to the sounds of abuse in the inner walls of the prison. Though the mantra of Lord [Punishment]’s Penitence sang out from speakers all around them, the terror and agony around them amounted to nothing more than chaos.

Their eyes instinctively sought out the source of the torment that echoed all around them, but only shabby buildings with barred windows and doors watched over them in silence. The only thing beyond the metal barriers was the wild flickering light of fire and shadows dancing to its tune. 

“I-I don’t want to leave the carriage,” Akane said gripping the uncle’s hand tight enough to restrict his flow of blood. 

“I… I know. But… if we don’t leave… there will be trouble. The prie--”

“Hmmmm? What’s this? New sweets. New treats. New dearies? New disciples?” A voice so over-ripe it stood on the threshold of rotten twittered out over the den of terror. 

Just the sound of it was enough to force Akane to shudder in revulsion. It sounded like a Doberman trying to sound like a chihuahua. 

“W-who’r you?” Spat one of the braver pioneers who had ventured deeper into the prison. 

“Hmm? My my, what a confident fellow.” That freakish voice said chasing its words with a giggle that was more guttural than girlish. “I would make you my boy toy for the night, but little birds have been singing sweet nothings in my ears all day about something even tastier in that caaabiiin.

“But, how rude of me! I didn’t answer your question did I, brave boy? I am Bishop Berthane and these sweet little toys are my cute assistants. I am your guide to Lord [Punishment]’s delicious little palace of pleasure.”

“A bishop?” Akane’s friend said. “Impossible! At most we should have been greeted by a deacon! Though even a deacon would be surprising! Acolytes usually handle these types of things.”

“Ah! Oh, adorable brave boy!” the bishop said. His tone was so trill, there was not a prisoner in range of his voice that didn’t flinch; his words sounded all the more bloodcurdling when combined with his tone. “Your courage is laudable, but I cannot allow my new sweets to be soooo rude.”

The air got cold as his voice changed. The dainty tone of his voice faded as something deep, dark and cruel thundered his titter into a fiendish growl. “I’m afraid punishment is in order.”

CLANG! “GAAAHH!”

“Eek!” Akane paled as they stole a glimpse beyond the carriage door. What waited for them was frightening enough to make them seek shelter back into the shadows of the carriage.

It was not the explosion of red and oozing slimy matter that slithered and dripped down the walls like slugs, the leftovers of the poor mouthy prisoner, that scared them. Though that churned the stomachs of all who saw to the point their stomachs threatened to rebel. Nor was it the men and women who crawled around on all fours, collared and chained like dogs, naked save for strips of scanty leather that hid only their most indecent parts. Though the expressions of ecstatic agony on plastered on their faces did manage to rattle the nerves.

It was the towering man who was three hulking meters, whose porcine body swelled in great protuberances. They bulged in jiggling masses that overflowed everywhere not constrained by the tight leather straps that crossed his body. 

A hood hid most of his face away. Which was a great mercy, for what it failed to conceal was a swarthy chin and mouth. His jowls sagged and shook like they were filled with gelatin instead of fat. 

Lord [Punishment] must have been a god well endowed in the area of miracles. That is the only explanation for how the Bishop squeezed himself into those leather pants; even that blessing was not enough to prevent the several seams from bursting, allowing veiny pink flesh to flow out through the gaps. On earth, a planet Akane was surprised to learn was favored with a certain modicum of reason, this would have been the limit to a single person's outrageousness. But they were on Alothas and reason was something the creators of this world added as an afterthought. 

Draped over his fleshy body like scarves, jingling away with every jiggle and bounce, were tools with wicked spikes, twisted points, and barbed hooks that were so savage they appeared to be living things that existed only for gouging flesh. 

“O dear…” the bishop brought a sausage sized finger up to pursed lips. “He died. I guess I played a little too roughly again. Oh my sweet Lord [Punishment] it is so hard to keep new toys from breaking… Bishop Birthane is sad.”

The massive heretic's fork he jangled on impact with his shoulders and the blood, bone, and tissue that rained down on him from its iron rim and teeth went ignored as it splattered on the ground around his gargantuan boots. 

Cold sweat pooled into shallow lakes where the prisoners who had lost their strength to stand grasped the ground with desperate hands. Each of their faces was drained of blood and was as colorless as corpses; the only signs of life were the sweat running freely down their faces and the trembling that stole mastery of their bodies in the face of this newest terror.

“Alas, there is no reason to be so excited, my sweets.” the Bishop said, as he dropped his heretic’s fork to the ground dragging it behind him creating an orchestra of screaming metal protest. “For I have not come to play with all of you. Only one of you gets the great honor of Bishop Birthane’s company.”

Akane gripped the shoulder of the kind uncle as the carriage rocked to one side after the Bishop placed a massive hand on its top keeling it to the side with the pressure behind the great weight. 

“Little birds have flown ahead courtesy of our dear brothers and sisters of [Love].” the Bishop said as a corner of his enormous head shadowed the front of the carriage almost completely blocking the exit. “They have informed me there is an, ah, especially delicious treat deserving a particular bit of, ah… personal attention.”

Akane’s chest locked up as the bishop’s great eye rolled around raking the insides of the carriage and those who remained. It only halted when it finally rested upon her. 

“!...and what a sweet treat she is.” the bishop purred like an obese cat being presented with a saucer of warm milk. He took his time appraising her from top to bottom. “Come here, my darling, I know we are going to be the best of friends.”

Akane found that she could no longer breathe. Her lungs simply refused to move. The warmth was robbed from her fingertips. Numbness spread from them to her arms, to the rest of her body, crippling her with a ruthless cold. 

As the bishop gripped her chain and tugged with deceptive gentleness, Akane stumbled forward on lifeless legs. To the kind uncle’s credit he only hesitated once before getting to his feet and following behind. 

Each step she took, the music in the carriage grew louder. Akane had come to think of it as the soundtrack to her execution. 

“To think suck wickedness could be found in the heart of something so lovely.” Bishop Birthane said as he ran his tongue over swarthy lips. “But you must be steadfast, my dear. It will be my great pleasure to purge such wickedness from your soul.”

“Most Reverand, Bishop Birthane…” The older man said, forcing saliva down his throat to moisten the area fear had left arid. “I-I beg you for mercy on this… this lass’s behalf. She meant no harm. She was just… she was unaware of how to honor your fellow priests.”

The Bishop c****d his head to the side as he half-turned to face the old man. His eyes lit with a cruel, cold light, before morphing without warning into a mask of benevolent piety. “Ah! It is good for you to plead for mercy for this poor sinful lass. After all, Lord [Punishment] is the very embodiment of magnanimity…"

He looked up with eyes of adoration towards one of the statues that loomed over the prison. Akane felt some warmth return into her limbs, and hope into her heart as she looked upon Birthane’s face.

“But… NO!”  

Before she could even react, Akane found herself drenched beneath a downpour of crimson. 

“Ah! Ah!” was all Akane could manage to force out. 

She turned a trembling head towards where her only friend had been standing a moment before. There was only a puddle there now. A puddle, bits of flesh, and chunks of bone that was spread everywhere. It was like the kind uncle had exploded from the inside.

“Before this poor sweet thing gets divine absolution, she must receive the Lord’s love.” the Bishop said lifting his torture device back onto his shoulder. 

He licked a bit of the blood that coated his face with his bulbous tongue. “She must receive the Lord’s love. She must suffer… She must face penitence… And then when she has found pleasure… Then she may be free of her chains of sin! After all…”

He raised his hands in rapture as the speakers around him blared, “...Penitence is Pleasure.” 

A bit of drool leaked out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes rolled back into his head in evident ecstasy. It took him a moment to come down from the high of his words. “Ah! Poor soul. He died. Tch. Tch. Tch. I got too enthusiastic in my holy fervor. Alas, I will be more… gentle with this one.”

He licked his lips. “Hold her!”

His Acolytes leapt forward as loyal as dogs, throwing her to the ground and pinning her there for their master. 

“I think…” the Bishop said, running a tongue over his lips again as he stalked forward. He placed a meaty hand on the tops of each of her knees and slowly forced them apart. “We shall begin with a bit of both in your case.”

“P-please,” Akane whispered as she fought to keep her knees together. 

“Don't worry my dear.” The Bishop said his heavy-lidded eyes overflowing with lust and greed. “This kind of torment transforms into bliss after a mere moment of pain.”

Akane’s heart was in her throat, and tears soaked her face as the speakers around her blared Lord [Punishment]’s mantra. She looked away from the Bishop’s cruel expression only to face the ruins of her friend’s remains. Bile threatened her stomach at the sight. 

“There is Pleasure in P-P-P-Pain.”

“Eh? What is this?” Bishop Birthane said his voice coarse and thick with interrupted anticipation. His eyes narrowed towards the speakers on the walls as he growled. It sounded as though the mad Dj that had highjacked the carriage radio, had infected the speakers inside the jail as well. 

“M-most Reverend…” One of his acolytes moaned his words coated with enough oil to mark him as a sycophant. “There is interference with the radio.”

“Impossible.” the Bishop snarled spittle spraying everywhere as his jowls quivered in rage. “The magic signal is powered by Lord [Punishment] himself, no one here could possibly interfere.” 

SCREEEEEE!!! PANG!! THUD! 

Metal screamed as it was torn, creating a sound so wretched that even the bishop was forced to cover his ears. 

SCREEEEEE!!! PANG!! THUD! 

The hair raising sound repeated itself three more times before silence left the air vacant save for the skipping speakers... and the overflowing ominous aura spilling forth from the inside of the carriage. 

Then, the silence was broken again. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Clip.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Clop. 

The sound of cloven hooves and the tips of claws. The sound of something inhuman coming.

“Grrr-Neh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-rrrrr.” 

Terror. It was difficult to describe the sound echoing on the inside of the carriage. But it was simple enough to describe the emotion it evoked. Terror. Terror of the unknown, of the unnatural; the terror of dark things and dark places, and the nightmares inspired from such things.

But if Akane was forced to describe the sound coming out of the carriage, she would say it sounded like the footsteps and voice of a wolf performing a dubious masquerade as a goat. 

Trembling beneath the weight of the Bishop’s meaty paws, Akane tilted her head back until she could look into the dark recesses of the carriage she left behind. 

The prisoners who had sought the familiar safety of the carriage, now fled it. They were shoving and stumbling over each other in their mad desperation to be free of whatever terrible thing their wild eyes sought out behind them. Whatever pursued them was terrible enough to overawe their fear of the Bishop. 

Whatever nightmare seized their hearts coiled around Akane’s as well after the darkness of the carriage was lit by a pair of glowing eyes. Eyes that were similar only in the foreboding they emanated. 

One corrupt, red, and slit sideways like a goat. The other as brilliant and silver as a burnished shield. 

“Grr-Neh-eh-eh-eh-eha-ha-ah-KUHAHAHAHAHA!” The bizarre goat/wolf, bleat/howl morphed into a burst of wild demented laughter, that froze everyone that heard it like they had been turned to stone. 

There was something awful crawling its way towards the outside of the carriage, and as it approached, the speakers outside stopped skipping. Instead, blasting the terrifying music they had left behind in the carriage. 

Akane swallowed on a dry throat. It, whatever it was, was almost out.  A few more steps and whatever monster lurked inside would be free. 

Just as it looked like the unnatural darkness that acted as a curtain hiding the monster, was set to lift, snapping sounds that were like a chorus of breaking bones filled the air. The eyes shuddered in the darkness like whatever they belonged to had been seized by convulsions. 

“KUHAHAHAHAHAHA!” the monster laughed as it shook. 

Then, the clip-clop, ticking sound of those claws and hooves transformed into the familiar thud of bare feet striking wood. The eyes which had been close to the floor of the cabin rose up to that of an adolescent boy or a short woman. 

With the slow grace of a stalking spider thin black fingers, tipped with sharp thick nails it would be irresponsible to call anything but claws, wrapped around the borders of the carriage. 

“I smell [Punishment]...” cooed a faux gentle Alto voice that made Akane shiver like it carried with it a winter breeze. “Is that you boy…?”

Chastening’s dim light illuminated skin that was darker than ebony, darker than pitch, so deep that it made the night sky seem shallow. It was skin Akane had seen before, though the last time his hands and feet had been nailed to the back walls of the carriage. His eyes were narrowed almost tight enough to be no more than slits as he scanned the silent faces that watched him; somehow they had healed, the sclera on his right eye was a little red, though not as much as that goat slitted pupil. And the sclera on his left was dark enough grey that it bordered on black around that pupil-less silver iris. But outside of the bit of red corrupting the sclera of his right eye, there were no signs of the screws that pierced them before.

The wild grin split his face in a manner that seemed more natural to a hound than a person, indeed it almost seemed as though his cheeks were being torn almost far enough to reach his ears. If that smile was too long to be anything other than alien, the teeth they left exposed were too bizarre to line the mouth of anything but a monster. They were like a komodo dragon’s serrated chompers, far more suited to pulling apart meat than chewing.

“...eh?” the boy said his lips slowly turning downward until his canine grin shifted into a disgusted sneer ridden grimace. “Yo! I smell that bastard’s shitty ‘Holy’ power everywhere, y’know? But I don’t see ‘m. Yo! [Punishment], I came all this way ta see ya an’ ya ain’t even gonna show?”

One of his shoulders slumped and he ran a finger through the immaculate crimson dreads that ran only over the center of his head cascading down behind his neck until they reached his waist like a raging waterfall of blood.

“And I’m starving too.” the boy seemed to have been drawn into a tangent of complaints as he gripped his slender stomach, scratching at the corded muscles on his wiry body that looked tight as braided steel. “Tch! I wanna go back to Apocolypze, yo… Why did I even bother coming back up here, y’know?” 

He seemed to have worked himself into a great depression as he hung his head sending his dread flowing before his face like a beaded curtain; he was mumbling towards the end, his words no doubt for his ears alone and they would have been had his entrance not been so ludicrous it both silenced and enraptured everyone in the vicinity.”

FLASH! Everyone who had been entranced by the boy’s debut tried to jump out of their skin all at once as lightning seemed to erupt from his left eye seering away the shadows around him.

“Tch!” the boy’s lips curled in disgust as he clutched at it and growled his voice heavy with menace to… someone? “I kno’, y’know? We came up here ta kill that shitty bastard [Punishment]. I ain’t forgotten, yo. So chill, y’know? Gotta find that piece of s**t first. Gonna be hard since this whole damn place reeks of ‘im.”

It seemed the insults to their master was enough to wake the Bishop and his acolytes out of their stupor.

“Who is this fool who dares speak such blasphemy?!” The massive man sputtered too stunned to even lift his hands off of Akane’s knees.

“It’s the Du-sith, most reverend! The sorcerer.” one of the Acolytes said from where he still held down Akane’s arm. “The one they caught in Lord [Justice]’s city after he went on a rampage.”

“Don’t be daft, moron.” a female acolyte said, managing to hiss out a lisp somehow around the horse bit in her mouth. “The Du-sith was supposed to be bolted hands and feet to the back of the carriage, and I heard Lord [Justice]’s Holy Knights weren’t none to gentle wit ‘em neither, carved off his pointy ears, burst his eyes wit screws an everything! But look at ‘im! Ain’t nary a blemish on ‘is pretty face. Must a been another Du-sith they caught those bastards forgot to tel us ‘bout.”

“Don’t be so sure. His prettiness is nothing more than deception.” the frown on the Bishop’s face made him look even more swarthy. “He is a sorcerer, remember. Who knows what abominable spells he’s learned. Du-sith, those damnable black elves such as he and all of the denizens that lurk in the great labyrinth beneath the surface, have access to magics those of us that dwell in the sun only have nightmares about.”

“Du-sith?” the boy said toying with the great hoop earring that hung off of clearly uncarved ears so long they fell just short of reaching his shoulders. “Ah… right. I forgot about those guys, y’kno? Yo, it's been so long since I’ve been up to the surface th… What the hell are you shitty bastards doing?” 

His voice was cold enough to make even the Bishop and his cronies shiver as his eyes roamed over their halted assault, seeming to notice them for the first time. It was as though they had been bombarded with a winter storm instead of words. 

The acolyte had been truthful when she had called him pretty. In fact, it was safe to say her assessment was understated. Black elves, like all elves, for the most part, were known to be nefarious if beautiful. This young man’s features, however, were fine enough that he would no doubt be confused with a beautiful girl…. 

On an occasion where he was wearing any clothes.

A snake is swinging! Swinging! Akane squealed internally, wrenching her eyes shut.

Unconcerned enough with his nudity one could question if he even noticed it at all, the boy leaped from the carriage landing as graceful as a dancer on the tips of his toes and making as much noise as his shadow as he straightened. 

Akane peeked at him with one eye. She was captivated by the silver eye that was pulsating in fast aggressive bursts as he moved towards them. What had happened to those vicious wounds that had carved a nauseating tapestry across his skin? Nothing but smooth black skin remained. It was only marred by the word BLASPHEMY, which remained a white scar that stood out like neon against the midnight skin across his collarbone. 

“What is it to you, dear black elf?” Birthane spat back, finally releasing Akane’s knees as he stood. He hefted his favorite torcherer’s device over his shoulder with a menacing clang. “I was just about to show our little flower here a bit of pleasure before the pain begins. Jealous? Worry not.”

His eyes narrowed in wicked delight. “The good Bishop has plenty of love to go around.”

The Du-sith’s grin was not beaten by the bishop’s in cruelty. He pulled the fat screw that had sealed him to the carriage without a hint of flinching, maintaining his smile all the while. The moment metal fragment was plucked from his hand in a splash of blood; the wound began to shrivel quick enough for Akane to catch the healing with her eyes. 

By the time the screw clattered on the ground the hole in the boy’s fist had left only memories behind. There was so little evidence of it ever being, even those memories could be called into question. 

The Du-sith’s eyes were filled with sparkles, moisture filled them to the point of threatening to overflow. He was the very image of someone so overcome with joy they could be overwhelmed by it at any moment. 

With eyes that faced heavens hidden away by [Punishment]’s temple, drowning in a fervor that was vast enough to put the Bishop’s reverence to shame, the Du-sith stretched out his arms like he was trying to embrace the ceiling.

“Oh, Mama,” he said his voice quivering with boundless affection. “How great… er(his silver eye gave off a particularly severe flash) yeah. Yeah. That’s a good word… acumen. Right at the, uh, height of my(another flash) deprivation--yeah! That’s great--you have guided me to a meal, y’kno? A meal of such…”

He lowered his eyes back towards the bishop running his wrist across his lips to wipe it free of spit. He growled in a ravenous tone after another brilliant silver eye flash, “Corpulence.”

As he flicked the moisture on his forearm away with a flourish of his wrist, the air screamed, torn asunder by wild streaks of black lightning that lapped up and down the Du-sith’s bare flesh. Every place the black energy touched, his body was cloaked in dark clothing. In an instant he stood attired in a flowing black hoodie that swept below his knees, and shorts that were bound to his calves by bandages fed into unlaced black boots. 

“S-sinner!” the Bishop said, studdering his words as he retreated back a step. “Law-breaker! Heathen!”

“Law-breaker?” the Du-sith tilted his head with his arms crossed as though deep in thought. “I suppose I am at that, y’kno? That is my "punishment", though my only crime was being weak. But I ain’t here ta break laws today, ya shitty Bishop. I came to cleave the crooks, Kuhahahaha! Bastards like your shitty master, y’kno? He’s like the biggest shitty lawbreaking traitor there is(save for those other bastards anyway).”

“Enough lies!” the bishop said, strength and conviction returning as the insults to his master mounted. “I shall pass judgment on you here for your Blasphemy as a Bishop of Divine [Punishment]!”

“Ya know I planned on rushing off to kill that shitty bastard the moment I got here,” the Du-sith said watching the bulky bishop approach with as much trepidation as he might have for  a menacing slug. “But I’m reeeally glad I came through here first, yo.”

His eyes touched upon the spot where Akane still lay confined by the acolytes. The silver in his eye blazed with a ferocious light that washed everyone around with searing waves of loathing. 

When his gaze returned to the bishop, both the cold anger in his eyes and the brilliant silver light had vanished, replaced by something even more malicious. 

It was strange, that eyes that seemed to glow on their own could hold such darkness within them. Odder still how eyes that brimmed with such ecstasy, they began to roll back in anticipation of levels bordering the orgasmic, could be filled with such terrible intent that the vilest heart would be crippled with terror at a glance. These were the idiosyncratic eyes that pierced Bishop Birthane as though he was just a mouse daring to bare its teeth at a cobra.

"Unfortunately, shitty rapists, you're the type of crooks I hate the most, y'kno?" He ran his tongue over those wicked flesh-tearing teeth. His cheeks split into a canine smile that threatened to reach his ears. "Well, unlucky for you bastards anyway. Kuhahaha! Cuz I'm starving! So thanks for the meal!"

"Lord [Punishment] give me strength to smite this abomination!" The bishop screamed his great body lumbering into a run as he raised his weapon above his head. The muscles beneath his rolling fat bulged and a faint glow formed a nimbus around him as he gathered energy to crush the enemy of his lord.

"[Holy Smi--"

"[Sinister Symphony]"

A thunderous bass ripped through the air, obliterating the bishop's momentum. The drumline assaulted his heart, as the violin cords sliced through the air sawing away his spirit. The assault was almost terrible enough to drive him to his knees. It was only the divine aura of his Lord that kept his feet beneath him. 

“W-what is this onerous melody?” Birthane said, clutching his head in a vain attempt to squeeze the sound from his ears. 

Feeling flooded back into Akane’s wrist; invisible needles danced across her skin without warning as pressure binding her arm to the ground was released. 

It seemed the acolyte arresting her had decided to clutch his ears instead to limited effect. His mouth was foaming like a dog gone rabid, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he battled for consciousness. Somehow he managed to sputter words out through the froth. 

“Th-this beat is savage!” It was all he managed to gasp before collapsing to the ground. His eyes were open, but there was nothing visible in them save the whites, as the savage sound beat him to unconsciousness. 

“I will not be overcome by your wretched magics, Blasphemer.” The Bishop used his heretic’s fork as a staff and heaved his great mass back to his feet. Defiance lit his eyes, though his face sagged from the weight of the music’s assault. 

Birthane’s hands trembled until he plunged his flabby fingers beneath one of his leather chokers; his fist raised high in triumph clutching a silver thorny rose in its meaty mass, the holy symbol of [Punishment]. 

“Acolytes of Lord [Punishment]!” Birthane said, his great lungs powering his roar to break through the brutal pulse of the Du-sith’s [Sinister Symphony]. A Golden Glow surrounded his fist as he held it above his head, and warmth began to return to the limbs of [Punishment]’s faithful. “Our Lord is our strength. Though we are weak our Lord is strong! This evil must be halted here. For the sake of our faith… no, the sake of our world get to your feet, brothers, and sisters! Stand with me and erase this evil from the Alothas!”

With [Punishment]’s warmth embracing them, the acolytes screamed out their defiance. They swept to their feet, swarming towards the Du-sith in a scantily leather-clad wave. 

Bishop Birthane had never felt his god’s power raging through him with such strength. Nothing could stand before him at this moment. He was as mighty as a hero, no. He was like his Lord’s avatar. His heretic’s lure shone with the brilliance of the sun, radiating his Lord’s power with an intense heat that would blister the skin of the unbeliever before it even touched the skin. 

With this power he would crush this heretic. Birthane’s eyes lit with serenity as he looked upon the lost soul, straining his muscles until they threatened to burst with the power of his swing. Wretched as the black elves were, he knew after this divine punishment at least this child would, at last, find peace. 

The air howled as the heretic's lure ripped through it, ending its decent with the thud of meat on metal.

“Kuhahaha!” the Du-sith laughed as the torturing device struck his neck and shattered with an inhuman death scream; its light extinguishing as the remaining raindrop sized fragments pitter-pattered upon the ground.

“Such valiant words, y’kno?” he said, his head tilted and eyes and tone alight with mockery. “Yo, like here’s a villain spittin’ out the mantra of a hero.”

His grin widened and his eyes glowed while his voice grew husky in sardonic amusement. “How conceited, yo!”

Every bit of blubber exposed on the Bishop’s flesh was leached of color as he stared at the ruins of his treasured toy. “I-impossible. This cannot be! No mere Du-sith sorcerer could have such strength!”

“You are strong, you know?” the boy said. He grinned as his hands slid into his pockets; it widened when he stepped forward and the Bishop stumbled backward twisting and floundering as he fought to stay on his feet while trying to put as much distance between himself and the black elf as he could. “I didn’t think there were humans that could remain standing after experiencing my [Sinister Symphony] skill.”

“[Punishment] usually surrounds himself with trashes that are like a mirror to his own shitty soul. Congratulations! I have acknowledged your skills!” The Du-sith lifted one stiff leg up before him and he gave the Bishop a playful bow; Birthane’s great bottom slammed to the ground with a thunderous crash as he caught the sight of the boy’s cruel eyes which were at odds with his words. “Since you are strong you can help me test out some of my skills, right? You’re special, y’kno? Kuhahahahaha!”

“D-DEMON!!” The Bishop said, his shrill scream echoing throughout the prison as he scrambled on his hands and knees using mad violence to bash his way through his subordinates in his desperation to escape.

“Correct!” the boy said, his voice thick with perverted joy. His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath and the color leached out of the surrounding area like he was sucking its essence out from the air.  “Special skill [Sanguinary Intent]”

For everyone unfortunate enough to be in sight the world seemed to blur; color evaporated into nothingness, and images of dark terrible deaths devoured every thought in every head until only they remained. The rabid skill was indiscriminate, the acolytes, the bishop, and even the prisoners were at its mercy, and of mercy [Sanguinary Intent] was resolute in its ignorance. 

Only Akane was unaffected, though she was not spared cold sweat leaking down her skin as she watched everyone around her thrash, vomit, and lose control of their bladders all over the prison’s floor.

“Y-you…” Birthane said barely able to do more than force air down through his throat. “Just what the hell are you?”

“...eh?!” the boy said curling his lip and raising an annoyed brow. “You got it right before, y’kno? Though I guess I do look like a black elf if I keep suppressing my powers. Hmm… I suppose thirty percent will do. That shitty bastard probably won’t notice if I only use that much, right yo?”

He tilted his head as though he were waiting for an answer.

The bishop was sweating even more than Akane. “I-I do not know…”

“Are you an i***t?” the boy said, his face sneering so deeply it twisted enough to almost lose its beauty. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

His silver eye burst into a brilliant flash. “Right? Right? That should be good enough for now. You say some good things sometimes, y’kno?”

The boy shook his head as though coming to a decision. “Might as well, y’kno. At this point it can’t hurt.”

Then he clenched his fists let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a bleat before black lightning rained down upon him until the dark light seared him away.

When the blinding darkness faded the creature that remained couldn’t be but a demon. Hand length horns that curved out and upward crowned the demon, sprouting on each end of his forehead; a whipcord sized tail slithered back and forth through the air like a serpent. It ended at a triangle-shaped head that wove back and forth like a dancing cobra, its edges gleaming with the wicked sharpness of a blade.

“A-a beast of Apocalypze!” Birthane said, tears flowing freely down his face as despair ate away any vestiges of hope. “M-mercy?”

“How many of the weaklings that begged ya for that did ya spare, yo?” the demon said, cackling. His beautiful Alto voice had become corrupted, and broken, morphing into something shattered, strange and demonic. “Besides I am starving! Time to carve up my feast!”

“Crook cleaver! Lawbreakers bane, come [Broken Law]”

The demon flexed his clawed hands in the air as though he was grasping for something invisible. Crackling energy began to lick at his fingers, all at once seeming fiery, electric and corrupt; it was insubstantial at first, before with a BANG of power it solidified in his hand becoming the handle of a razor blade-shaped sword. The monstrous blade was as large and long as the demon boy that wielded it. 

The sword was crossguardless and its blade was black as its wielder, though its edge glowed red like his hair. It radiated an evil aura that polluted the air. It made the already corrupted atmosphere of the prison even more putrid. Those that managed to keep their consciousness in spite of all the demon’s pressure began to find it hard to breathe.

“Shitty Bishop of the shitty bastard [Punishment], you have broken the Law [Thou Shall Not Violate the Unwilling].” The demon’s conviction rang with absolute finality as he passed judgment. “Be cut.”

Birthane opened his mouth to protest, but with a bored expression the demon was already placing the massive sword behind his back where it hung as though bound by an invisible sheath.

“A-a...eh?” Birthane, the disgraced priest tried to speak but could only manage a croak. His mouth began bubbling as blood welled within it, and red lines formed atop of his skin before his flabby flesh slid into pieces along with all of his cowering acolytes.

Akane watched the demon’s back as he bathed in the blood of his enemies. He stared in silence as a red pool formed around his boots, and though he made her heart quiver in terror, she couldn’t help but think the demon sad.

She trembled as she walked to his side, closing her eyes and ignoring her imagination. It was difficult. As she got closer warm liquid soaked her legs all the way to the ankles. It was a struggle to hold her composure but she bit her lip and pushed on until she felt that mass of swirling cruel energy that bombarded her with so many emotions she got nauseous just trying to separate them. 

Anger, hatred, grief, and terror flowed together in a vortex, but there was also ecstacy, passion, and the burning curiosity of a child. Cautiously she cracked open her eyes to glimpse at this strange… quite mad soul. What she saw there made her freeze.

There was no remorse in the demon’s eyes as he stared at the mass of meat he created. The only thing blazing behind those strangely colored eyes was a raging inferno of hunger. With drool oozing from the corner of his mouth, and his stomach growling like a beast was trapped inside.

“FINALLY!” the demon roared. “For the first time on the surface I get to have a decent meal!”

Akane wanted to… she desperately wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. So she ending up witnessing something that would haunt her dreams for many days to come. The only thing she could do was fight desperately to keep from vomiting.

It was a battle she was destined to lose.