Chapter 75: To Live is to Serve

"Persevere."​

You are Father Richard Anscham, and you are in so much pain.

There is no God.

He releases you.

You are being carried silently by an archdemon, through a night so complete that you cannot hope to see. You feel his bones. You are still carrying your cane underhand. Your shield and mace, your journal, and all of your other gifts are clinging onto you.

There is a woman beside you. She can see. Her eyes glow with divinity as she leads you all ahead.

Your dog is unconscious, having been put under a charm in an act of Mercy. The archdemon carries him as well, while you all all slowly and silently proceed through the City of Darkness.

Every motion is agony. There was lightning, and wrath, and ruin. Your vessel is torn. Having withstood the might of the Gods and lived, you recall that the last time you invoked Him, you nearly died.

The Gods are Merciful.

On the corners of your mind, you hear clawing, scratching, and the creeping of hundreds of demons lying in wait. There are screams, riots, and the promise of death. There is no flame. Overcast consumes all light save for the flecks of gold drifting across the backs of your eyes.

You close your eyes— wracked with pain— trying to understand where you are.

I must have been unconscious for hours. The city is enormous, and I no longer know its exact structure.

He carried me the entire way, didn't he?

They're still moving. They're still trying.

I have to be better.

People like us have no use for pride.

Mercy, I did enough.

You permit yourself to be carried. To rest.

I've done enough.

You cannot see where you are headed or where you are going, but your point-woman can see. You trust her more than almost any other.

We've been here before. We've all been through the city. These corridors, the winding halls, and even the library will eventually break way to the abandoned Church of Mercy.

Stained glass.

Flesh and Mercy.

Daggers—

A skeletal hand on your back holds you as you tense. Yech's strength, his leadership, and his ability to give you everything you need without question stills the rush of adrenaline. It calms the panic blossoming from the weight of so many demons laying into you.

We're rushing to meet them. We're surrounded in a city of darkness. I know we will escape to decay. Moss. The color green. The trickle of water. The stair. We will descend only once more— out and away from the city. To the ruins of its outskirts.

Who is ruling here now?

Is there anything but chaos?

I've killed so many demons in these ruins. They must be in utter disarray.

Is this all because of me?

Your thoughts go back to a time of clarity and righteous fury.

I killed Nehliht. I killed Tsilorm. I killed Mondost. I've killed so many— and I never once considered why these demons came across my path.

I've wandered in the darkness for so long without ever questioning what I was doing, or why.

You don't want to imagine it, but you try to retrace your steps.

You want to cry. You want to scream. It's all merely a descent into your own insanity.

You've been through so much.

You've made an alliance with an archdemon, and struck so much fear of the Gods into his enemies that you've escaped with your life.

You are very, very tired.

You want to get home.

Despite the mounting agony, the terror in the back of your mind, the fear of what's to come and the knowledge of everything you've endured, you remain as still as you're able. The silent procession continues through darkness and certain destruction.

Through the weeks you've spent under the world, you've learned enough to encompass a lifetime.

It's very hard to not remember it all.

You've learned of your Goddess. Though you were given the title of the Father of Her Church, it was at such a young age. Father Edmund's last words were lanced with agony, and it's often said that he was not in his right mind at the time. You know this is a falsehood. You know that the Goddess Herself has seen your potential, your devotion, your unending compassion and your will to serve Her. You've obtained the Relic of Mercy. You're already learning how to use it. More importantly, you're learning how to serve the tenets of the Goddess as you always rightfully should. You have sinned as well— but Her forgiveness is absolute.

It's not a sin to have friends, to drink, or to share your compassion with others. You've formed an alliance with a demon, and only through your devotion to your cause. It's only been possible thanks to your unwavering, unending capacity for honesty and the truth.

The truth is, you've always wanted friends.

You hate being so alone. You hate it enough to have taken your dog with you on a suicide mission. You hate running away. You hate having everyone leave you. You've seized the first chance you were given to share your amity and goodwill towards someone deserving. Though you've traveled with heathens and blasphemers, a killer and a sorceress, you never once really knew them. It's nothing short of a miracle that Yech's fellowship has been so strong. Even Celegwen questioned if he had placed a charm on you, to have formed such an immediate bond between you both. But there is no charm. There was no incantation. There are no tricks or deceptions. You know wholeheartedly that the fallen Lord— Archdemon Yech "the Disgusted"— is your friend.

He is a demon.

You're aware of the wine that's seeped into your robes. Blood is slick in your hair, smeared across your shield, and is all over your Relic. The demon holding you has killed countless numbers of his own kind without hesitation to protect you. He has done so before. He swore to do so again. He culled their numbers— as you and Ofelia have in turn.

You've learned of so many demons. You've learned of their hierarchy, to an extent. You're beginning to understand the severity of their order, their chaos, and the tenuous grasp that they have on it all. You've learned of the last elements of control left in the catastrophe of their unlife. You've come to understand— possibly better than any other— what their unbridled power means, how extensive their countless numbers are, and what defines them.

You've learned of the Catalyst.

There was a hope, once— naive as it was. Your heart was unusually light as you stepped into the ruins. The promise of death lay before you. There was a hope that you might find some information on the fate that surely awaited you. There was a Dream: that one day you might come to understand what plagued the hearts of humankind. You did truly hope beyond hope to find a cure.

I found something better.

You've learned that the Catalyst does not have to be a curse. You have met demons who are compassionate, empathetic, generous, and who are filled with humor. There are those who have an obsession to know, to feel, and to grow. There are so many creatures in this world who need your help.

A divine Relic has been bestowed upon you by a fallen Mother of your Church: Idonea. Your mentor. A demon.

You were told by the Goddess Herself that there was only one cure.

You do not profess to understand the Gods. You serve Them as best as you're fit, yet you have been utterly unfit for everything.

You've lost blood. Bile has poured forth from your hands and lips. Everything you've gained has fallen from you in an instant, leaving you emaciated and hollow. You are wracked with tremor. Your muscles are wasting. You have convulsed with your nerves aflame, thanks to the lightning of a God. You have slept for days. You have been visited by a Dream. You have prayed to them all, begged for Their forgiveness, and never once asked for more Time.

You can scarcely eat or drink— yet you are compelled through an utter lack of restraint after bestowing Their works upon another's hands.

You have suffered at Their hands. You have abused Their gifts in so many ways, so many times. You have invoked multiple Gods through your vessel at once— and you do not regret Their judgement.

You do not regret carving a demon into a living monument to Their works, the blessing of Vengeance, or of Flesh. You touched the Catalyst a thirty-first time.

You do not regret harnessing the gifts of Flesh and Mercy. For all of the punishment that has been laid into you, you've embraced their gifts in full. Pain is your blessing.

You do not regret walking with Spirit and Mercy to find your companions at the bottom of the world. You do not regret withstanding the mind of a demon. Your mind is in pieces, but you have Their favor.

There is a cane in your hand. It the only crutch you truly need (and you do need it, after everything you've been through).

You want to love yourself. You want to appreciate everything you've done, and all that you have achieved. You want to be proud of your mission, your success, your alliance, the friends you've made, and all of the things that you've learned.

You know without question that you must use your own vessel. You must preach through your own actions and words.

To live is to serve.

You're going to take Yech's advice, and will try to relax. After all, you've learned enough in a month to eclipse a lifetime of study and devotion.

Your eyes have been closed.

There is strength in your will to persevere.

You drift off to sleep.