â !! (( this is going to make me shed tears isn't it? ))
[ I do not know if some of what she does in here would be out of character, so sorry on that DX
And for those of you who donât know, her character is mute. Which is a nice tidbit to know for some of these answers.]
Another one, intent on killing the evil creature who haunted the Bastille.
That should be the Lost Sinner.
That should be the monster restrained below.
And perhaps once, it was.
He heard her footsteps, light against the stone. No armor with this one?
The warden turned to see who would confront him, and the sight was like a hammer to the chest.
Robes flowed in the cold wind, held together by tattered cloth and hints of leather. She held only a single object; the chime in her hand.
He blinked, he looked her over again and again, he opened his mouth but despite all he wanted to say, only one word came out, like a whisper.
The cleric said nothing; just as well. No need to mince words.
The warden gripped his whip tightly as his glare became more and more intense.
She would dare judge him? Did she come to rid the world of a sinful beast? Was that what she thought? She, a cleric, so self-righteous? Was his very presence now a sin?!
There would be no capture here, no intent on torture.
He would stomp her out on the spot.
He pulled the whip and her blood splashed onto his gloves; he grinned terribly at the anguish on her face.
He yanked his whip back and she fell before him, her wrist becoming only the more torn and shredded from the motion.
He chuckled, the sound deep and ominous like thunder in dark clouds. Before she could try and get up, he slammed her head to the ground, his boot holding the cleric in their rightful place.
He pulled the whip once more, if only to see the flesh fall from her torn muscles, to see the steel cut deeper into the mortal body.
He looked down, filled with a flurry of emotions at the sight of the defeated cleric, the fallen blood from her wrist pooling near her face.
"Your miracles were quite useful, cleric." He spat the word out like the poison it was. "Your lightning is full of power, and your healing did you well at times. Yet, you gain all this power from your precious gods. You ask them for help, you speak of old tales, you praise your gods and you treat them as if they actually care about you."
He sneered, pressing his boot harder down on her head. âIf they cared about you, where are they now? Shall they strike me down at this very moment? Should I fear their wrath? Should I fear the possibility that they will intervene to save your sorry, worthless soul?
You think they care. You think they will save you. But you are wrong. Your miracles mean nothing. For all of your glory and grace, all you clerics are the same. Hypocrisy and evil; all of you, so useless. What good have your brought to the world? What good could a cleric, one who swears loyalty to meaningless lies, what good could any of you be?â
His breaths are heavy now, his eyes full of excitement.
"You can do nothing. And so, you are naught but a worthless bug. And nowâŚ"
He raised his boot, his eyes fixed upon hers.
"I shall crush you like the pest you are."
Beneath his robes was scorched skin, blackened and cracked. He felt it burn with every motion, every twist and turn of his body.
He leapt to the side, narrowly dodging another lightning bolt. When he stood, he saw another light fill his sight.
The power tore through him, eliciting a scream, one more full of pain than anger. He almost fell to his knees, catching himself at the last second. Each time, he had felt the pain rush through every nerve in his body; each time, it was more and more painful.
With great effort, he stood back up, stumbling backwards from the pain in that simple motion. He managed to tilt his head up to look at the cleric at other side of the room, her attire partly shredded and stained in blood.
His breaths were deep, erratic, pained. By the time he had spoke, not a single attack had come from the cleric; was this mercy? Or a morbid curioisity?
He slowly raised an arm to point at the cleric, who still stood silently.
"YouâŚYou think you know what sin is?"
He stumbled towards her, causing her to step back, but not yet attack. The distance between the two was still great, and from the way his body was shaking, it would seem that the warden would collapse any moment.
"You, know nothingâŚNothing."
A cough. A fainter voice.
"IâŚknow sin. I know evil. I know what is right, I know what is wrong, IâŚ"
He coughs again, and for a moment of pure silence, it is as if he had stopped breathing.
"âŚYou frown on my justice? You, think that I, am evil? Do you think of my actions as sin?"
He lashed at the air, grip surprisingly strong given his weakened state.
"Do you think I jest?! Do you think of me a sinner?! Do you think I have done wrong, that I kill for the wrong cause?!"
"âŚYou, you, you self-righteous fool! Do you think yourself higher than me?! Do you think you are righteous?! I am righteous! I am the good of this world! I am the advent of justice! I am justice! You are nothing! Nothing!"
There was only silence. And never before had he hated one so. When he broke it, it was with an inhumane, desperate scream.
He ran towards her, nearly falling over with every other step, screaming the whole way.
Lightning tore through him again, and again. He felt their shocks, he felt their power fill him, he felt them pierce his very flesh.
Was she going farther away? Was this room bigger? Was he moving slower?
He was shocked from a bolt once more, and it was the last. He fell to his knees before her.
The sound of his faint breath was all that proved he was alive. His body was motionless, his whip finally loosed from his grasp.
With shaky eyes, he looked to the cleric, who looked back.
When he broke it this time, it was with the smallest of whispers.
"âŚDo you believeâŚin what you fight for? Your preciousâŚgods?"
His eyes, blood-red and wet, stared at her.
She raised her hand, and he saw the light.
"âŚDo not mistake me, cleric. I shall not let these hollows kill you, but that does not mean I care for your safety. Once this is over, I shall destroy you myself."
He lashed at her and grinned savagely at the sight of drawn blood.
He lashed again, and again, and again. He missed each time, but that did not deter his attacks.
"Your miracles are nothing! Your work is nothing! Your gods, nothing! What have they done for us? What have clerics done for us?! Nothing!
You will leave no effect on this world. You will not change it for the better. No, that is for I to accomplish! For I know justice, and shall cleanse the world! You are naught but another for me to wipe away.â
His grin remained, his face hurting but his spirit more passionate than before.
"Come! Let me tear your head from your body!"
[ Not sure what she would do, maybe show more defiance or a gesture ]
He threw his head back and roared. When he looked back at the cleric, his eyes were full of hungry flame, thirsting for death and destruction through its inferno.
He roared again like a beast and charged.
No. Never. Not to them. Not the cleric. No. A cleric could not kill him. Not a cleric. NotâŚAckâŚ
He ran after her, chasing her around every corner and hallway.
He would never let her live! He could not! He would not!
The cleric will suffer for their crimes!
The cleric must be punished!
Why had she not ran away?
Why had she not rang that chime, filled him with lightning, made any attempt to kill him at all?
She had stood there, doing nothing but holding her hands together in that oh-so-familiar gesture.
She had not looked at him. She had not held her chime. She had not doneâŚanything.
But she had to have known he was there, she had to have seen him, and anyone would have sensed his malicious intent.
He asked himself that question over and over, ignoring her blood that fell from his hands.
2087
origamiaround
prguitarman
