A shrine to decadence and depravity. But then again, the Eternal Paradise temple always had been just that.
He knows not if it is a dream, the afterlife, or a vision. If the gods finally deigned him worthy of such, he would find it laughable. But somehow, he knows exactly where to go. Stepping over the corpses of women, some half devoured and others picked clean., his feet carry him to the architect of this horror.
Douma sees a mirror, distorted and bloodied, the ghost of a life he did not live. A chill that rattles his bones, as if he stood in the presence of a god of death itself.
( How stupid. It was just a pretender.)
Prismatic eyes scan the room, taking in every inch of its gaudy decor.
❝ I don’t know how you can stand this kind of thing… ❞
The Chamber of Deliverance was a cavernous room in the more cryptic parts of the temple. Its floors gleam with polished wood, smooth as glass, though faint scratches mar the surface in patterns best left unexamined. Heavy curtains dampen the outside noise, a womb-like quiet disturbed only by the faint rustling of movement. The air is thicker with incense here, though it does so little to cover up the putrid stench of death and the metallic aftertaste of blood sits heavy at the back of one's throat. Beautiful patterns of unfolding lotus leaves and engraved vines creeping up the walls serve as a lacquer over the horrors unfolding in that room at the heart of the temple's secret. Followers come here only when called to receive that ultimate blessing — the gateway to eternal peace, they call it.
Behind that heavy curtain lies a cushioned throne, embroidered silks adorning it as a place of honor. It was here where Dōma would once receive confessions as a child; the very beginning of his life as a bodhisattva. But now, those holy fabrics bared stains of red and an arrangement of bones and hair strands was decorating it.
Lying on his back atop the soiled cushioning, the demon was holding up a slightly fractured grey skull. It was smaller in size, perhaps belonging to a woman, once. Even when stripped down to bare bone, the structure spoke of a delicate, humble beauty. The priest's expression had been blank while gazing over the various ridges and curves of it, a pointy claw faintly caressing its cheekbone with the same affection one would offer a lover's cheek. So enamoured he was with that skull, that Dōma didn't notice the slippery intruder until he was snapped out of his trance by the familiar voice.
He threw his head back into a mattress of his own hair to spot him; polychromatic eyes rekindled to spark after the realization. It looked and sounded like him — but it could not be him, could it? That decoy was scrunching up his nose at the stench in a way Dōma never would. ... Or maybe he would, if he had been human still. A life that never was.
Suddenly, Dōma becomes more animated, prudently placing the skull by his side. Stuffed and hazy, the demon lazily rolled over on his tummy, dragging along that waterfall of birch oak white. A coy smile stretched on his features; similar to the mirror that stood in front of him, yet so drastically altered by the progenitor's blood. His smile pooled into his cheeks, revealing pearly fangs and tight, dark lips. His gaze held a maniacal gleam that challenged the other's serenity, long and sharp claws grew from his pale hands where the vascularity was most prominent. He lifted one of them to comb through his ruffled mane as he spoke, picking a small phalange bone out of his hair with a lighthearted giggle.
❝ Ah, the task can be overbearing at times - but someone has to offer a solution to these hopeless humans... They struggle so hard to make something worthwhile of their futile existence; and I offer them an escape from that struggle... ❞ He wears a sympathetic pout while prismatic eyes traverse over the scattered remains decorating the once holy chamber. But when his gaze returns to the other, something sinister creeps into Dōma's tone. A dark sense of knowing; unfazed by the presence of his own self before him, as though the implication that this is an alter from a life he could have had left him completely unbothered. His conviction over his own past choices was just that absolute, unshaken.
❝ It's not very polite of you to lie in my face like that, though. Because you do know. ❞ His grin broadens, form shifting atop the cushion. He rests his chin in his palm, but the cutesy antics only make his words more eerie.
❝ You know exactly how I can stand it. We were born for this, after all~ ❞