Chapter 50

Atop the upper balcony of a finely crafted estate, a robed man sat at a single seated table. He glanced over at the wonderfully palatable plate, then to the dark horizon. Past the boundaries of Ember-Ridge, tiny spots of orange lights flickered in the distance as the faint popping of gunshots sounded from afar. The man’s health only deteriorated since the last time he sat within this seat, as the bags under his eyes only grew darker with each sleepless rotation.

“Lord Decimus,” a maiden voiced, “you must eat, for your strength is our own.”

“Nonsense,” the elderly man mumbled back, his gaze still sighted toward the horizon. “I have no appetite, share it amongst the others. Do not let it go to waste.”

“But my lord, you have not eaten since the previous the rotation. Food nourishes the body and heals the mind, we wish only for the betterment of your health.”

“And you shall have it once our enemies are few and our threats are none.” The man waved his hand to dismiss his maid. “Now leave me be, I am simply tired and wish to explore my thoughts alone.”

“Yes, your holiness.” The woman bowed before retrieving the dishes and departing.

Now alone, the man took a deep breath and a solemn sigh, mumbling his lament.

“Servia… Aelius… Livius… Lucilla… return home for these trying times… if not in body, then in spirit…” Memories of the past rushed through his mind; from his first meeting with the orphaned children to the pride he felt when witnessing their dedication. He prayed that they were safe, but in his heart, he knew otherwise.

Occupied by regret and grief, time quickly passed. The dim candle that supported his sight flickered with each gentle breeze. His fingers became numb by the cold, but he did not care.

Knock-Knock. The man’s trance was broken suddenly by an unexpected intrusion.

“I said leave me be.” he raised his voice. “If not an immediate matter, then let it wait.”

“My lord,” to Decimus surprise, it was not the maid, but his inquisitor. “Lord Articus has arrived and wishes to see you.” Hearing this, the old man immediately stood up and hid any traces of his melancholy.

“Inquisitor Marcus! Those are blessed words to my ears.” Quickly, he put on a smile and turned to face the inquisitor. “Where is Bishop Articus, I have no time to waste.”

“I am here, friend” a deep and soothing voice emanated from the room. Out from the dim light came a man of stern posture. He had combed gray hair which made him look mature, yet not elderly. He wore a sleek set of armor, trimmed and adjusted to better suit his mobility. “Has your sight grown weak in your aging years?”

“Tongue as sharp as ever, I see.”

“Indeed, Decimus, but still not sharp enough in my opinion. Glad to see you in a pleasant mood, despite your health seeming the contrary.”

“Confidence trickles, as does uncertainty. If I sport a face of worry, what is to prevent others from doing the same?” Decimus pulled out the chair he previously sat on and offered it to his friend. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss. Inquisitor, bring me another seating.”

“Yes, my lord.” The inquisitor rushed inside and retrieved another chair, on which the old man sat.

“We are of the same age, but a shame that you have aged better, Articus. No longer can I boast my youth. I trust that your domain faring well against the demonic invasion.”

“Your trust is misplaced, these demons hit my lands all the same. I see that the desperate seek refuge at the streets of your city, times must be dire.”

“Indeed, we lose settlements by the hour and lives by the minute… Diseases of unknown nature have begun to spread… Have you heard back from the Holy City?”

“I have.”

“Then… has the clergy of Ember-Cradle finally decided action?”

“Unfortunately not.” Articus gazed into the distance with disappointment and sighed. “The Pope simply ordered us to stand our ground.”

“Stand… stand our ground…?” Decimus said in disbelief. “Is he not to dispatch the Ashen Guardians?”

“The years have picked away at his sanity.”

“And what of the High Clergy?”

“Equally disillusioned.” Articus voiced with bitterness. “Years of comfort had made them forget the dangers of the realm. They still believe that the demons have perished along with the Witch during the battle of many decades past, that the Second Witch is merely a baseless rumor.”

“They… they do not believe us…?”

“They do not want to believe us.”

“...” Decimus was shocked at what he had heard. Along with the news, he had order corpses of the creature to be delivered as well. It baffles him that his warnings could still be brushed off.

“What of the other Chapters, Articus? They must be more sensible.”

“Indeed they are, however, defense of our domain does not take precedence in their mind.”

“Then are they not willing to help?!” Enraged, Decimus dropped his facade and slammed the table with his fist. “Not willing to help a brother in need?!”

“Calm down, Decimus. Do not lose your temper. The other chapters have their own dilemmas to deal with. Help will come, whether it will be timely, I know not.”

“Among all the resources I lack, time is the most crucial of them! There is neither that luxury for me nor my people to ‘wait’ until they can be bothered!”

“What do you suppose? Drop the guard of their own in favor of yours?”

“I suppose aid! Can you not see the suffering that has befallen onto my people? We bare the brunt of the demonic resurrection!”

“As I said Decimus, control your emotions as it will do nothing to alleviate our situation.”

His eyes shifted to the accompanying inquisitor and he saw the discomfort his words had brought. The old man immediately composed himself, pressing his hand against his eyes before taking a deep breath.

“Articus… my brother. Tell me… what must I do? I’m afraid my chapter cannot last much longer. Every rotation, more fled to the safety of these walls. Our food stocks dwindle while our munitions empty. Tell me, what must I do…? I can bare a fake smile and assure my people, but that is meaningless if the end results in the same.”

“I fear you can only stand and fight, brother. My chapter can spare only a handful of men and machinery, it is the most I can do for now.”

“I thank you but… Machinery…? What do you mean by Machinery…?” Decimus lifted his head and stared at his friend. “You don’t mean…?”

“Yes, the treacherous relics of their so-called Ancestor Gods. These ‘gifts’ that Order desperately seeks.”

“You would dirty your hands with their forbidden artifacts?! To use the corrupted tools of the despoilers?! Have you gone mad?!”

“In these dire times, who can fault me for wanting what is best for my people?”

“You have forsaken the teachings of Solis! Have you forgotten what plunged our world into eternal darkness?”

“As you said before, none of it matters if the end results in the same. Tell me, Decimus, who will uphold Solis’s return if our cities burn and our people decay?”

“Do you hear yourself, Articus? If we are to return to the ways that have foreordained the Ancients to their fall, then what makes us different from the Order?! What is preventing us from succumbing to yet another cycle of self-destruction!?”

“And what wrong can be derived from using the tools given to us? The Order does not achieve victory due to their diligence in their beliefs. Is it a crime to be resourceful?”

“You walk on a dangerous slope, as sugar is most sweet in its absence. A taste of convenience and power will lead one to desire more. Once this conflict ends... if it ends, will you be willing to surrender the very tools that brought you your ‘victory’?”

“I did not come here to argue philosophy, Decimus. My aid has been brought, whether you use it or not. It is none of my concern.” Articus stood up and adjusted his attire, ensuring the fittings were not out of place. “The supplies have been deposited within your armory, and with it a special set of armor that you may find useful.”

“A special set of armor…?”

“Indeed, one created from the perils of the Old Ones. A treacherous machine that mutates the form of its wielder.”

“Articus… Why… why would you send me such a thing…?”

“You are free to refuse it if you find it too insulting to your faith.” The armored man spoke as he walked toward the door, but right before he reached the exit, he stopped dead in his tracks. “I forgot to mention, brother. My agents have informed me of an impending attack on your domain. It seems that the hounds have sensed weakness, and they salivate at the chance to kill.”

Decimus’s eyes gaped wide, he opened his mouth but did not utter a single word. Seeing this Articus simply continued.

“Instructions for these devices have been left for your men. May Solis find you well.”

After Articus left, the inquisitor quickly rushed to the Bishop’s side.

“My lord, what shall we do…?”

Decimus slowly regained his posture. He turned toward the table and faced the vast abyss that encompassed the city.

“Prepare everyone…” he said with a grainy voice. Even when he tried, he could not alter the grim expression that surfaced unwelcomely. “Anyone that is able, train them to fight...”

“What about the heretical artifacts?”

The Bishop sighed and lowered his head.

“What choice do we have…?”