Chapter 72: Unity

"The unholiest of alliances."​

You need to give this item purpose.

You need to give it meaning.

You are the Father of the Church of Mercy.

What is your symbol?

Music

Change.

There is potential within the palm of your hands. You press the gold together. Shaping it. Giving your Mercy unto it.

The gold congeals— burning with such intensity that you expect your skin to blister and peel— but there is no pain.

There is a pair of swords.

From mindless violence—

The gold bends.

To compassion.

Radiance bursts forth from the item with such intensity that your companions cry out, shield their eyes, and turn from the sight of it.

Yellow and luster catches on the green intensity of your stare, encapsulating your bond, and all that you have to give. An immaculate divide crosses between the blades and handles. It is a heart. It is a skull. It is a weapon. It is restraint.

On the other side rest two interlocking hands, with which to unite the hearts of humankind.

Within lies a mirror. A reflection. The other half of your whole.

Between the divide, the chasm, the emptiness, the Catalyst and the Gods, there is a promise.

The locket is closed. You unite them all.

The symbol of Mercy you've carried around your neck for the length of your service is removed with no hesitation. You fasten your symbol over your heart, and put the symbol of the Church away. The outstretched hands are faded, scuffed, and stained with so much blood and sin. They rest now against your journal of demons and death. Alongside reminders of your failings, your journey, and your mission.

The symbol of your success is in your hands.

"The Gods are Merciful."

​

With fear in your heart, you place a hand over your Relic, and shield its light from the eyes of your companions. "Ofelia. Yech. Are— are both you alright?"

The halfling parts the fingers over her eyes, lowers her arms from her face, and slowly looks to you with disbelief. She's stunned beyond words.

"Fine! Fine!" There's intense fear in Yech's voice, no small degree of pain, and he still does not turn to you. "I'm fucking fine. You done? Are we good?"

You've used a cane before, during months of recovery from broken ribs and pierced lungs. With much more ease than before— your pain subsiding rapidly— you move towards the archdemon. "It's alright. Yech— I still need your help." The stable bone underneath your grasp is so reassuring that you do not need to physically reach out to the demon. He's already beside you. "Now, more than ever—"

The demon of generosity can't help but wince as he finally turns towards you, anticipating blinding radiance.

You look away from the Relic and archdemon, towards the animal by your side. Ray has been so patient, so calm, so quiet. He's often confused— unable to understand the weight of your responsibility— but he's never strayed from your side.

I would have never made it this far without the aid of my friends. My best friend.

"The Gods will not see fit to protect all of us. I need your help, from both of you. He needs to get home safely as well. Please—"

There's so much confusion and fear written across Ofelia's face.

"I know you are afraid. Please, try to understand— he doesn't understand any of this. I need to know how to protect us all." The Relic seems to have alleviated your pain, but it's up to you to alleviate the pain of others. Your voice drops to a murmur. "How to protect my boy."

Your dog, your companion, your unwavering ally looks up to you with love and devotion. You don't dare try to kneel in your current state to pet him, but he knows how much you care.

The skeleton beside you doesn't dare to touch you while you wield an item from the Gods, but he embraces your request with every other part of him. "The streets are overrun, Richard. We can make a break for the stairs, but there's going to be too many to stay and fight. It's like I said! We'll need to run. The stairs to the city make sure we're at a huge disadvantage. They have elevation, they have their scouts, their numbers, they've had time and I know they're going to come at me with everything they've fucking got."

Yech produces an entire bottle of dark liquor from his vest and begins to drink through his caution. "I can dish out a lot, Richard, but I can't protect you all, fight them off, clear a path and stay my hand. I know your half-baked bitch can do a lot of damage, but we need you. I need you to help. Once we clear the stairs, we'll be in Ostedholm proper— and shit's literally on fire. I don't like to burn, Richard. I need to grow."

The demon's form is so tense you can scarcely stand it. He's ready to do whatever it takes to protect you— and is asking you to do the same.

"It's do or fucking die. How much can you save? Really?"

Without hesitation, you take hold of the demon's hand before you. Complete trust holds you back.

You turn to Ofelia with gold in your eyes, and unity in your heart. There is weakness— there is an utter absence of restraint— but you are the Father of the Church of Mercy. You're willing to sacrifice everything to serve. "I made you a promise: to get you home safely. We need your help. We need your alliance. I can't help you without your Mercy."

The halfling looks to you— a human man— imbued with the power of the Gods. You aren't certain if it's the fear of death, her all-encompassing desire to escape the ruins, her blood lust, or her growing understanding of how dedicated you are to your mission. She nods her head, grits her teeth, and tosses up her hood to conceal the terror in her eyes. "Yeah. Let's do this."

Ofelia takes hold of the archdemon's hand. You clasp their embrace together, and form a bond stronger than the trees. Sharper than a blade.

There's a pulse of light.

A burst of gold.

An out pour of devotion.

Love.

Mercy.

Music

A criminal enterprise's mistress joins her blood-soaked hand with the bones of an newly erected archdemon. Miasma, smoke, and the promise of death spawns not only from your collective will. It floods from their hands, and from your very palms blooms a golden flower. It is wilted and deadly to behold.

Rot seeps into the soil. Decay culls the flowers. The desire for the only cure pools, and kills everything that stands before you.

An innocent soul keeps his head bowed before the unholiest of alliances. Ray backs up whining, and rapidly gives the blackened earth as much distance as he dares.

Your allies, your friends, and your companions at the end of the earth each wordlessly pluck a petal. Your symbol is within their grasp.

There is a Goddess. You need not speak to see Her light. You are taken in an embrace so devastating— so all-encompassing— that you are seized by Her warmth, Her relief, Her compassion— Her blessing.

You part your hands, take up your shield, and lean hard on your cane. Her Your voice rings out. "Smoke. Shock. Awe. We will step forth with your sorcery, your growth, your destruction, and your slaughter. Together We will embrace your destructive potential in full. Cover Us. We will protect you. We will guide you. We are Merciful."

Ofelia is devastating in her will to strike silently and perfectly.

Yech's voice is disembodied— seized with understanding— with the compulsion to unite, and to serve. "Let's fucking go, then! Step out! TAKE my gift, everything I have, and GO!"