#the congregation

New page of IF I is up, and it appears they may have won!

But how exactly will they be getting to their destination, closer to the all consuming mouth of Nimis Ardenter?

Click the link and find out!

5. Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

The congregation trickled into the church like sheep unknowingly circling the slaughterhouse. Whispers clung to the air in idle gossip, nervous speculation, the brittle hope that the gnawing guilt inside them might finally be silenced. They shuffled to their seats with uncertain glances, some clasping their hands in piety, others clutching their shame like an old cloak.

The Entity felt every flicker of doubt, every wound carried behind lowered eyes. Each soul that passed through the threshold lay open before him, naked to his regard. Yet to them, he wore his Shell: a figure of poise and warmth, carved to command attention but softened with gentleness. His smile disarmed; his presence pulled them closer.

He stood at the altar, hands resting upon the polished marble. Offerings of fruit and bread lay scattered before him, paltry tokens meant to appease, but he ignored them. His eyes roamed instead over the people who had come, hearts trembling in expectation.

When he spoke, his voice slid effortlessly into every ear.

“It warms me,” he began, tone rich and measured, “to see so many gathered here… so many ready to wrench free the shackles you have carried for far too long.” He inclined his head toward them, sympathetic yet piercing. “You have heard the preachers of the Light, haven’t you? Their voices dripping with scorn as they call you weak. Sinful. Broken. Incomplete. They say you are less—because the Light has not chosen you.”

He let the words hang. A subtle smile curved his lips as he stepped out from behind the altar, robes of shadowed cloth rippling with his movement. Violet sigils embroidered in forgotten tongues caught the dim glow of the candles. Though strange, his presence radiated reassurance, pulling their attention deeper into his orbit.

“But I ask you,” he continued, hand pressed to his chest, “must you deny your nature? Must you mutilate the very essence of who you are to appease their doctrine?” His voice grew firmer, carrying conviction. “No creature is flawless. No soul is pure. The Light itself is incomplete without the shadow it despises.”

One by one, the candles guttered out. Darkness folded around them. Only his voice remained, threading through the silence.

“Sin…” he said softly, almost tender, “is but a name the self-righteous carve into your flesh to make you bleed guilt. But guilt is no truth... it is a leash.” His gaze swept across them, violet gleam kindling in his eyes. “I tell you this: you are not wretched. You are not unworthy. You are unbound.”

His hands rose, sweeping wide.

“So drink deeply. Feast boldly. Shake free your chains and discover the splendor denied you. In this sanctuary, there is no shame. No judgment. Only freedom. Only power. Let this hovel be your refuge, your crucible, your path.”

He leaned forward, voice dipping into velvet.

“And know this above all…” His violet stare seared into them, heavy with promise. “…here, in my embrace, you are l̴̫͎͍̙̜͓͗́̔̄͒͂̌ơ̷̫̹͆͐͒̄̊͐͑̀͠v̴̢̛̝̺̍̆͌̍͘͝è̴͕̙̣͗͐d̷͙̬̪̻̝̝̰̏.”

At his final word, the church itself seemed to exhale. Shadows peeled back, not into light, but into splendour. Crimson and gold banners unfurled from the vaulted arches, their edges rippling though no wind stirred. Marble columns gleamed as though polished anew, veins of violet fire pulsing faintly through the stone. The air thickened with incense, sweet and intoxicating.

Then came the revelry. Men and women, draped in silken robes that clung like whispers, swept into the aisles. They danced and twirled with abandon, laughter spilling freely as if all restraint had been forgotten. Platters of roasted meats and ripe fruits appeared as though conjured, goblets brimmed with dark wine that overflowed without end. The congregation was swept into it—first hesitant, then ravenous. They drank. They ate. They laughed until their voices broke.

Every morsel, every drop, every shimmer of pleasure carried the taste of the Entity’s blessing. And they knew it. One by one, they bent low, some crawling, some pressing their lips to the very stone at his feet. Their voices rose in fevered cries, proclaiming their devotion again and again until it blurred into a single chorus of worship.

The sheep had come willingly. And in their joy, they never realized they had already bared their throats for the slaughter.

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6.. Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

The Entity gave a low, guttural sound: half a grumble, half a growl. The question itself was insulting, and yet the answer weighed bitterly on its tongue.

“I take counsel from no one,” it rasped, voice thick with disdain. “Every decision is mine alone, forged in my own design, wreathed in my own making.”

A pause followed, the silence broken only by another rumble deep in its chest.

“...Yet there are two that cling.” The words curled like venom. “A Rat. A Shadow. They gnaw and whisper, not because I grant them privilege, but because they refuse to release their grip. I endure their words, for they are useful in rare moments... and intolerable in all the others.”

Thank you, @hazriel!)