CollaterHell

[Project_Xii]

Greetings. I'm Project_Xii, new to this forum, but infamous on more then a few others. Always on the look out for other forums to post in; this one seems pretty good. I've read the rules (they seem a little harsh), and i'll try to abide by them. Although that whole "edit your first post, don't post a seperate chapter for 5 days" things is going to hamper me, I feel.

I'll make this my debut story. It's Diablo 2 based (you guys have Diablo 2 stories here right?), but you don't need a complete understanding of the game to enjoy it. Later

CollaterHell

Contract 1 – Priest of the Rogue Citadel

“5 million gold. Right here, up front. I can offer double that upon completion of the job.â€

Mortis studied the little man offering the trunk full of gold before him. Black suit, slicked back hair, a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth and bright blue eyes that took in every detail. It had been a while since anyone had required his 'special skills', and this man seemed almost too eager.

“How is it that you can offer me that much money?†he inquired in a voice that betrayed nothing but general curiosity. “Not even the Sultans of Lut Gholein would be so quick to give a sum like that.â€

The little man smiled slyly and wrung his hands.

“My... employers also believe it is a generous amount. But the task is not an easy one. It will take a creature of your cunning and abilities to manage it.†He paused and gestured to the large membranous wings protruding from Mortis' back. “I think you'll find those invaluable.â€

Mortis instinctively folded his wings closer to his body; he always got uncomfortable when people mentioned them. But there was no denying what he was, and he never tried.

The little mans eyes glinted mysteriously, as if he enjoyed the fact that he could unnerve an assassin such as Mortis - despite the obvious physical danger.

“Will you accept?â€

Mortis leaned forward, his light blue skin looking a shade darker in the lantern light. His sharp, feline-like nails dug into the desk between them.
“What's there to stop me from simply taking the gold and your life right now?â€

An uneasy silence filled the small room, broken by the sudden creak of crossbows being loaded. Glinting bolt heads appeared through the cracks of the curtains and the door behind him. The small man stared at him calmly.
“Your employment being terminated earlier then desired, and my employers being -very- displeased.â€

The silence continued for a few more moments, then Mortis relaxed his grip on the desk. Deep gouges in the wood revealed what his hands could do when only slightly riled. His hard expression changed to a casual smirk.
“I'm glad to hear it. You'd be surprised how many of my previous contractors pissed themselves when I said that. Weak fools.†He spat.

The little man smiled.
“I'll take that as acceptance.†He extended his hand, “My name is Braca. Welcome to the first assignment.â€

*******

Mortis closed the door to the tavern’s back room carefully behind him. A wave of warm air mixed with the smoke of random narcotic herbs washed over him. The main bar was filled with drunkards and potheads, wasting away their lives or running from problems they were to weak too fight.

Mortis didn't have time for the likes of them. He tucked his wings in close and headed for the door. Something smacked into his legs hard and grunted.

The midget carrying a tray of drinks stumbled a bit, regained his balance and then stared at the kneecaps in front of him. His eyes slowly worked their way up to the barely human looking face, and he gulped.

“D-d-do you wan' sumtink?†he stammered?

Mortis stared down at him silently, his golden eyes glowing.
“No. Thank you†he said at last. The midget shrugged and waddled off towards a pot smoker in the corner.

Mortis scanned the tavern one last time and strode to the exit. A thin layer of sleet crept under the crack in the doorway, melting into a pool when it met the tavern’s heat. He braced himself for the icy chill he was about to meet, and opened the door.

The howling gale whipped into the tavern for the three seconds it took for Mortis to get outside and slam the door behind him. Then he was out in the blizzard, struggling to see a few feet in front of him. As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his keen senses picked up the sounds of snow crunching underfoot. Someone was coming towards the tavern. He shielded his eyes, squinted, and a vague outline came into view.

The hooded figure stumbled slowly up to him, a rusty sword dragging deeply in the snow behind. He appeared to be focused on the ground, heading straight for the tavern door. Mortis made to move out of the way... and froze. He caught a whiff of something. Something familiar. Something he'd smelt before in the depths of Hell, long, long ago. He wanted to run, to fly, to get as far away as he could, but he couldn't will his body to do anything.

Slowly the figure approached the door, still appearing to have not noticed Mortis. His hand reached for the handle... and he too froze. After what felt like an eternity, the hooded head turned Mortis's way.

He saw a human face; a man. Haggard and deeply troubled. A closed wound in his forehead festered and bubbled with infection. But the eyes – windows to within – revealed what lurked inside this fast fading husk. An evil so ancient Mortis dared not move nor say a word.

The stranger started to speak, but before he could he went into a violent spasm. He doubled over and clawed at his face, making guttural noises and shaking wildly. When he at last rose again, he was something different. The eyes burned with unearthly fire, and the mouth gaped wide open. He gazed blankly at Mortis, head lolled to one side.

“So, Son of Hell, you sought refuge in the world of Man?†The voice was deep and growling, and definitely not human. It simply rolled out of the man’s open mouth, over an unmoving tongue and lips.

Mortis felt the terror rising inside him, not knowing if it was his own doing or if the creature before him was instilling it. He opened his own mouth but succeeded only in gulping like a drowned fish.

The corners of the man’s lips curved into an open mouthed grin, and his eyes darkened.
“Fear not, traitor to your brethren, I am not here to deal upon you the justice you deserve.†His head slowly lolled to the other side as he continued to speak. “Soon the Three will be reunited, and the worlds of Man and Hell combined. It will be your own kind that takes their revenge, not I.â€

With a start the man’s head snapped upright, the possession twisting his features gone for the time being. He merely stared at Mortis sadly, nodding in greeting, and entered through the taverns door.

Mortis stood in the freezing blizzard, thoughts churning furiously through his mind. But as the terror faded and was replaced by his usual calm demur, he pushed them aside and resolved to think about it later. Whatever the Lords of Hell were plotting, he wanted no part of it. He was free, and would never be chained again.

'Besides,' he thought, 'I have an assignment to concentrate on.'

Spreading his wings wide, he easily caught the howling winds and sailed swiftly into the night.

******

He was still flying when the sun crept lazily over the horizon, warming his ice whipped face and frost covered wings. As he gazed down at the lush green meadows and thick forests of Khanduras, he felt the numbness seep from his mind and body, and finally, he allowed himself to think.

The stranger at the tavern; he was one of the Three. Diablo, Lord of Terror, had somehow escaped his fate of being sealed in the soulstone, and was roaming the lands free once more.

Mortis shivered, despite the now hot sunlight, at the thought of meeting his old Lord. It had been so long; so long since he'd left Hell and met any real demons in this land of Mortals. Yet he remembered it well.

*

He remembered the moment – the very second – Izual’s sword had struck him during the battle for Hellforge. He remembered how the power surging through that mystical blade, Azurewrath, had severed the connection between his mind and that of the Lords; the puppet-masters, the greater wills pushing all demons into a blind, suicidal frenzy.

Things had become instantly clear. Rational thinking, reason, self-preservation – these thoughts had been kept at bay by the minds of his controllers. Now he saw clearly, he alone. The weight of such free thinking brought him to his knees, confused and bleeding from his wound. His Balrog brethren still fought blindly around him, falling under Angel swords, and Izual himself once more raised Azurewrath to finish the kill.

The desire to fight had all but fled, and so Mortis fled with it. Escaped from the executioner’s sword and ran for all his worth. The battle had raged all around him between demons and the forces of heaven, and he wildly dodged through the fray, wishing only not to die. When he at last stopped, he was on the furthest most reaches of Hell, staring out over a gaping black abyss.

He'd sat there huddled, on the edge of the world, coming to terms with his newfound mind. Days, possibly weeks passed. He couldn't be sure, as Hell was forever cast in an eerie twilight. At last, a comrade in arms – and once close friend – had stumbled across him.

“Why did you flee?†his once-ally had asked accusingly.

Mortis merely rocked, arms cradling his knees, and stared up with confused eyes.
“I'm free†he mumbled. “I am no longer a pawn to the Lord’s eternal will.â€

“The Lord’s will is the will of us all!†came the booming reply.

“Not mine any longer,†he whispered back.

The opposing Balrog drew his sword from its sheath and stepped forward, fire blazing from his nostrils.
“Such blasphemy. Such emotion. You've become no better then the humans!†He raised his sword high.

“I should kill you now, you weak, pathetic vermin.â€

The two remained motionless, locked in a time free state... and then the sword came down. With a crash it struck the stone at Mortis's feet and disintegrated. The Balrog snorted heavily, fire blazing in his eyes now as well.

“But I won't,†he said, tossing away the useless hilt of his sword. “I am a Balrog, just like you. I enjoy the thrill of the hunt.†He bared his teeth viciously.

“Now flee, traitor†he continued, “Do what you do best. But know that I will find you. I or one of the other survivors. And when we do...†he nodded towards the silvery remains of his shattered sword, “There will be no mercy.â€

And once again, Mortis had fled. Not just from the Lords and demons he had once fought beside, but from the whole of Hell. Remembering his comrades’ words, he managed to locate and fight his way through one of the few portals leading to Sanctuary, the world of Men. He knew in his heart that he would find even less acceptance there then he would now in Hell, but at that point in time he had no other choice...

*

He snapped alert again as he realised he'd been gliding dangerously low. A wide wall of treetops was rushing to meet him, and he purposely pulled up at the last second, savouring the rush of adrenaline. In the distance, high above the trees and all else, rose the peaked and domed roofs of the Rogue Citadel. It was an impressive structure, well maintained and crafted to perfection, Mortis noticed.

On either side of the main building stretched the Great Stone Wall, which divided the lands and travelled for miles in each direction. The only method of entry – massive wooden doorways complete with metal spikes and a steel bar to hold the handles – sat embedded in the walls to the right of the Citadel.

Mortis slowed his descent and landed gently not far from the main entrance. He crouched in the shadows of the woods around him, and surveyed the area. Guards at the doors. Guards on the walls. All women, and all armed with very well crafted bows. He flinched as a carrion bird passed over the wall and was brought down with a single well aimed shot.

Closing his eyes, Mortis concentrated on the summoning spell and called in the contract details Braca had given him. The words were bold, heavy print, so no mistake could be made on what they said:

“Assignment 1 – Priest of the Rogue Citadel

There is only one man welcome to live in the home of the Sisters of the Sightless Eye. The priest, known as 'Brother Brent', has been there many years, providing spiritual enlightenment and blessings at all the occasions that require them. He was once, by all standards, a noble and holy man.

But over the years, unbeknownst to everyone in the Citadel, Brent became old, demented, and open to corruption. He resented the way his body was becoming frail and weak, and his prayers slowly turned to that of the Lords of Hell. He begged of them eternal life, and in return he would make the Rogues weak so that when the Day of Redemption came, the forces of Hell could take Khanduras with little or no interference from the Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

The Lords granted him his request by imbuing him with an aura that would drain the life and soul from all those around him. He has been doing this for years now; feeding off the essence of these women to sustain himself. Soon they will be too weak to defend their lands.

Your orders: find a way into the Citadel’s Cathedral – undetected – and slay Brother Brent. If you are seen, the Sisters will sound the alarm and Brent will flee deep into the Catacombs; a veritable maze of corridors and burial rooms that spans an unknown amount of levels. If this happens, he will be beyond even your reach.

The life of every single woman in that Citadel rests with you. Their lives are being stolen to feed an evil and belligerent man, and it is highly likely their souls will be forced down into a place you know all to well, to be tortured by creatures you once called brethren.

Do not fail. My employers demand it.

Bracaâ€

Mortis studied the signature for a second, then scrunched the paper up and vanished it. His orders were clear; the Priest would die for his sins. It was also clear that any kind of assault on the Citadel would have to be attempted at night.

Resigning himself to that fact, he flapped lightly up to an over-hanging branch. Settling into a roosting position, he wrapped has large wings around his body, let out a deep sigh, and relaxed. Before long, his mind drifted into the misty netherworld of sleep. And he dreamed.

 

[B)ushid(o]

It's excellent, so far. It's definately one of the better FF's I've read. The pacing's perfect, and the main character's developing well.

Overall - 9/10

btw: This section's basically dead. I dont think breaking the rule's going to have any real consequence

 

[Project_Xii]

Thanks Bushido. Are you like the only person on this forum then? Should i just post away, or are there others who would like to read?

 

[Pale_Horse]

Excellent work. I used to post storeies here, but my grammer sucks.
9/10

Cant wait to see where this goes.

 

[Project_Xii]

*****

He dreamed of the hardest time in his life; the first two years after he came through the portal. Running. Hiding. And learning the hard way how the laws of Sanctuary differed to the laws of Heaven and Hell.

In Hell, the air was always warm and suspended in an eternal twilight. Food and water were not required to sustain life; although many demons took pleasure in feasting on the blood and flesh of new cursed victims, no nutrition was derived from it. Hell’s minions never suffered from thirst or hunger, never needed sleep, and never faltered under muscle fatigue. They could fight relentlessly until their body was rendered incapable by an enemy’s weapon; such were the Laws of Hell.

In Sanctuary, Mortis found himself facing every mortal element. The weather changed constantly, alternating between a bright time that was both warm and blinding, to a dark time that was very similar to Hell. Both times had glowing orbs in the sky, the dark time one more to Mortis' liking. It radiated a soft glow that illuminated the land with silvery beams. He travelled mostly under this orb, as the other burned his blue skin and made him squint.

Sometimes water fell from the sky, cold and wet, and other times it combined with howling wind and ice. He hid from it the first few times, fearing it’s cold and the strange slippery feeling it left on his skin. Like blood, only clear. His mind could not comprehend where this liquid fell from.

Aside from coming to terms with what he later learned was “day and nightâ€, “sun and moon†and “rain and snowâ€, he also had to face strange needs occurring in his body.

“Hunger and thirst†were things he learned from watching the birds and bests roaming around him. Water didn't exist in Hell, the closest thing being bubbling tar or the Lava River. By following animal example, he discovered not all water was safe to drink.
Streams were good, they ran fast and clear. Puddles and dams were not; they were murky and riddled with parasites. Though a demon could stomach almost anything, being host to a gut-full of these creatures could cause severe discomfort and pain. Not to mention unpleasant toiletry experiences.

He was forced to watch his body physically 'de-evolve'. He lost his enormously broad chest, and perfectly toned muscles. In Hell, it was easy to maintain such a physique, but in Sanctuary doing so would take half a ton of raw nutrition and enough exercise to consume most of the daylight hours. Mortis could only despair as his once powerful figure shrank, almost to that of an ordinary human.

Almost, but not quite.
He was still abnormally strong, and far taller then any human he met. And the surprising agility that came with this leaner form he found to be a necessity when hunting out in the wilds where he roamed.

Hunting also required new skills. In Hell, victims were forced to flee over flat, barren land with few places to run and even fewer places to hide. The demons could track them down at their leisure.
In Sanctuary, the landscape played an all too important part in the hunting routine. Trees, rocks, grass, burrows, hills: anything that could be used as cover was taken advantage of by the prey he sort. Mortis simply did not have the experience needed to hunt for himself.

So once again he followed packs of animals, picking on the remains of their kills. Over time he became more confident, and joined in on the hunt.

He always chuckled at the look on eagles’ faces as he glided beside them.

The day he made his first independent kill was a great one. He revelled in it, gorged himself to the seams. And then became acquainted with another mortal trait.
Vomit was definitely not something demons, or at least Mortis’s kinds, were used to. He’d panicked, believing his insides were now on the outside.

But he found that to be untruthful. Upon closer inspection, he realised it was merely the flesh of the beast he'd consumed, and he resolved that next time he'd eat slower, eat less and perhaps chew his food.

Oh yes, those two years had been a harsh time. He had lived with the wild things because, as he expected, any human he came in contact with fled in terror. He was as lost in this world as he was in his own.
But then he met a man who hadn't fled. A crafty, suave old man, highly skilled in many things. He had taken Mortis into his home, and taught him how to survive. Mortis would one day refer to this man as 'the Teacher'.

******

A cricket chirping in his ear roused him from his slumber. The dream faded quickly, for which he was grateful. They weren't the most pleasant memories.

Flicking the cricket from his shoulder, he unfolded his wings and saw that, once again, it was dark. The great domed entrance of the Citadel glowed slightly from within, and he could still see guards pacing in the torch light. Entry was going to be a challenge, but not impossible.

In one swift motion he leapt from the branch, hit the ground and bounded back into the air. To his disappointment he discovered there wasn't a breath of wind, so he was forced to beat his wings heavily to get appropriate lift. Although a fair distance from the Rogues, the sound still travelled to them, but it merely sounded like a flock of bats to their ears.

Reaching a height he thought would attract the least attention, he began to glide slowly over the massive Monastery.
The domed main entrance opened into a three pronged cloister, which then led onto what could only be a barracks. Even at night the women were continuing their vigorous training routines in the courtyard outside; firing a constant barrage of arrows at distant scarecrows tied to poles. It made him uneasy to see all the arrows in the heart or head locations.

Mortis glided on further, identifying what appeared to be the roof of a prison, but from the small size of it he gathered most of the building was situated underground. Another cloister separated that, the mess hall, and the very location he was looking for; the great spiralled peak of the Cathedral.

He floated quietly towards the roof, wondering exactly how to go about his entry, but at the last second curiosity got the better of him and he changed course towards the mess hall instead. He landed softly and peered about. A number of wide windows allowed viewing inside, and he silently paced up to one.

Pressing his hands carefully against the glass, he gazed down on the rows of tables below. The room was illuminated by large chandeliers and candles, and although he couldn't make out the words a steady murmur was coming from the happily eating women. They sat in small groups, dipping bread into soup, or chewing well cooked meat from the bone. The occasional laugh told him they were carefree and completely oblivious to the evil that lurked just across the cloister from them.

''Monster', thought Mortis. These women were so strong, yet so innocent in their faith. He ground his teeth as his eyes swept over the sea of feminine faces. And so young, some of them. Would they die before their time because of a priest’s greed?

He suddenly realised his nails were digging too hard into the glass, and hairline fractures were beginning to appear. Turning from the window, he crouched, and with one mighty leap, cleared the inner cloister completely. He landed on the roof of the Cathedral with a thump, and almost staggered as the frail tiles shattered to dust under his weight.

''At least I didn't smash completely through' he thought with relief.

Carefully he stalked the outside of the roof, searching for a window or maintenance hatch, and annoyingly found neither. The stained glass windows on the walls of the building were heavily barred, so there'd be no going through them without a considerable amount of noise.
No, the only way he was going to get inside was through the front door. And that would mean going through the guards stationed out front.

Mortis got down on all fours and peered over the edge. Two female guards indeed stood at attention below him. Moving with exaggerated caution he slid off the roof and began to crawl down the wall, digging his claws deep into the stone for support.

He hoped to Hell no one would come into the cloister; they would die of shock at sight of a large, dark, winged being nestled above the heads of the guards.
'Like a giant spider, ready to pounce' he thought with amusement.

He hovered above them, motionless, so close he could hear them breathing. Gripping desperately with his toe-claws, he reached out his hands, ready to render them unconscious with two simultaneous blows.

And then one of the women spoke.

“Have you been dreaming lately?†she asked. Mortis jerked back with a start. The other guard made a 'tch' sound and shook her head.

“Oh gods, Quinn, not this again. Are we going to talk about the meanings of your stupid dreams every time we have guard duty together? I swear I'm going to ask someone on wall-watch to trade places with me, if you keep this up.â€

“There's no need to be rude!†Quinn said, sounding hurt. “They worry me, Karla, and it helps to talk about it.â€

Karla sighed.
“OK. Fine. What were they about this time?â€

“Same as before, but stronger. More persuasive. It's still dark, and I can't see whose speaking. All I can make out is a silhouette. It looks human... but much larger. And definitely female. I can distinctly remember... red hair.â€

“Red hair?â€

“Yeah. Red hair. It matches the voice somehow. She calls to me, or pleads with me, even acts motherly sometimes. I've only ever once got the feeling she was trying to command me, but I didn't like that so she stopped. It's not a disturbing dream... about the only thing that bothers me is the snakes.â€

“The... snakes? Riigghttt...â€

“I'm not kidding! The silhouette has snakes all over it. At least, that's what it looks like. Long, whip-like snakes coming up over her shoulders and waving their heads around menacingly. It's really creepy, actually.â€

“It sounds it.†Karla shuddered, “Perhaps you should lay off shooting the wildlife. Sounds like they're after revenge or something.â€

“Do you think?†Quinn asked, sounding worried.

Mortis, still hovering above them, was completely intrigued by the conversation and had forgotten he was quite exposed in his current position. He quickly came to his senses and reached out again.

“Sorry girls,†he whispered.

“Did you say something?†Karla asked her companion.

-CRACK-

Mortis brought their skulls together hard, and the women slouched unconscious. He quickly dropped from the wall and dragged their bodies to a dark corner. The mission was in full swing now; it wouldn't be long before someone entered the cloister and saw that the guards weren't at their posts. Then the alarm would sound, and he damn well hoped Brent would be dead by then.

Laying them respectfully on the ground, he hurried back to the large Cathedral doors and tested the handles. Unlocked.
'Never know when one of the Rogues might have a crisis of faith' he supposed.
He pulled one side of the door open, thankful it moved silently on its well oiled hinges, and slipped inside.

 

[B)ushid(o]

Awesome. Keep up the good work.

 

[Pale_Horse]

This reads very well, the flow is natural. Just out of curiosity, do you have a set story, or do you envision it as you write it out?

 

[Project_Xii]

This reads very well, the flow is natural. Just out of curiosity, do you have a set story, or do you envision it as you write it out?

This story is nearing completion and (as a pre-warning i guess) it's currently 115 pages.
It goes:
Contract 1
Contract 2
Contract 3
The Palavers <--- Currently just finished these Total: 115 pages
Contract 4
Final Contract

Up until the end of Contract 2, i was writing it as i envisioned things. By the beginning Cotnract 3, i had a set story. I know how it will end and the base gist of the things in between. But i still impulsively will write something that'll take me off on a 12-15 page tangent, think "hmmm.. didn't mean to do that... but it's still cool!"

And there will be a sequel.

Hope the idea of it being this long doesn't scare you's. It's a popular story on the other forums, and have set pieces i post (i call them 1.1, 1.2, 1.3 etc.) and so on, which makes reading each section comfortable. Since you guys seem to be the main readers left, i can post the last part of Contract 1

*************************

Inside, the Cathedral was beautiful by any standard. Rows of pews filled the main hall, and a long, red carpet ran down the centre, leading to a large canopied altar. Two prayer rooms were located on either side of the hall, filled with the exquisite stained glass windows he'd seen from outside. The high ceiling was filled with hanging ornaments, intricate chandeliers, and tapestries that depicted feral looking women: the original Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

Mortis saw his prey, kneeled at the altar, deep in chant. Brother Brent’s soft words drifted to him, sounding strange, alien. Whatever they meant, he was certain it didn’t bode well for the Rogues. Mortis strode up behind the old man and waited.

“Who do you chant for?†he asked.

The priest stopped mumbling but neither stood nor turned around.
“Another man in the Citadel?†he asked calmly. “You are honoured indeed.â€

“Answer the question.â€

“Patience lad,†Brent replied, standing up now, “I pray to the Heavens, seeking protection and guidance for these women. I keep evil at bay via a holy shield that must be strengthened every night.†He gestured upwards; “Do you feel it, brother, feel its divine power? The power of the Gods, it is. Perhaps you wish to join me in worship?â€

“The Hell I would,†Mortis hissed.

Brent paused, and then turned around slowly. He gasped and stepped back in shock, seeing the being he'd been conversing with over the past few minutes. He pointed accusingly, a strangled look in his eyes.

“You're a... a...â€

“A demon,†Mortis finished. He lunged forward and grabbed Brent by the throat; “and I've come to make you pay for the lives you've been stealing to feed your own corrupted soul.â€

Brent struggled and kicked, but soon found himself dangling in the air. He grabbed Mortis's huge hand and tried to pry it from his windpipe.
“What... do you mean??†he choked, fear welling in his eyes.

“You can't lie to me, Priest. I can smell evil; I was it once.†He brought his face in close to Brent and breathed deep... then paused. He smelt nothing. None of that particular taint that was so common with the other men he'd been assigned to kill.

He shook his head.
“Tricks! I heard you chanting just now; those were no normal prayers.â€

“Ward spell... protects... the Rogues,†came the strangled reply.

“Stop it! Stop lying, old man. I know all about your evil scheme. You've just become adept at hiding your taint. Even mortals can sense it, and the women eventually would if you didn't hide it well.â€

“Not lying... you... are the tainted one... ENOUGH!!â€

A sudden blast of raw energy sent Mortis catapulting backwards. He sailed through the air and smashed into the right hand row of pews, breaking through three of them before coming to a rest. Groaning, he sat up and pulled a large splinter from his shoulder. He glared vengefully at Brent, who was leaning against the altar, gasping heavily and glaring back.

“I've had enough! I don't know who you are, or why you've barged in here accusing me of such evils. You were even willing to take my life! But I can deduce one thing: your intentions are not in service of the mighty Heaven, and therefore you are a threat to these women.†He raised his hands; “You must be destroyed!â€

Two bolts of pure light flew from Brent’s palms and struck Mortis in the chest, sending him back through another two pews. The demon reeled; the light neither cut nor scorched the flesh, but inside he was burning up. He struggled to breathe.

Brent continued to yell in his fury, “I was a Paladin of the High Order; I swore to protect the Rogues. I will lay down my life to do so!â€

More orbs of light flew across the hall, but Mortis was up and staggering aside. He summoned the energy to leap onto the wall, despite his pain, and began to scurry towards the dark peak of the ceiling.

“Flee, demon! My holy fire will slay you!â€

The light orbs followed Mortis's ascent, blowing holes through tiles and rocking the building. He climbed, dodging and clawing for his life, circling around the peak until the canopy of the altar finally shielded him from Brent’s view.

The barrage of orbs halted, and Mortis waited, crouched on the ceiling, for the second the priest came out to find him. After a minute, Brent cautiously did so, and Mortis pounced. Hurtling down, hands outstretched and claws flashing, he looked like a vision from a nightmare.

Brent paused but a second before unleashing another volley of light. An orb struck Mortis at the last moment, doubling him over, and the falling demon barrelled into the priest. They tussled on the floor, clawing and punching for all it was worth. Brent’s thick robe protected him from the slashing talons, but he was too slow to avoid the massive head-butt that sent him flying.

The two were back on their feet in an instant, the priest proving surprisingly nimble for his age. They circled each other, watching their opponent’s movements keenly. Brent suddenly drew a large silver crucifix out from his robe and thrust it in Mortis's direction.

“Burn!†he cried, and made two slashing motions.

The beams of light that came this time did cut, and the smell of his own burning flesh filled Mortis's nostrils. He looked at his chest and saw a still-sizzling sign of the cross scarred deep.

Mortis bared his teeth as he saw the crucifix rise again and instinctively hit the floor. Brent snarled in triumph as beams of light streaked over Mortis’s head. The agile demon dodged left and right, bearing down on his prey, and with one swift motion he rolled and lashed his wing outwards, knocking the cross from the priest’s hands. He came up and took a blind swipe with his claws, hoping to at least injure Brent. The warm, pulsing chunk of flesh that suddenly appeared in his hand surprised him.

Brent looked equally surprised at the blood flowing from his slashed throat. He put his hands up to stifle the flow, but the damage had already been down. Paling, he fell to his knees, then slowly slouched onto his back.

Mortis dropped the piece of meat and sighed. Tiredly, he stumbled over and knelt beside Brent’s face, expecting to see hatred in the old man’s eyes as his final moments slipped away. Instead, he saw only a resigned sadness.

“Repent, old man†he said softly, “Admit the corruption you succumbed to, and go freely to the Heavens.â€

Brent’s eyes widened and a deep gurgling rose from his mangled throat. His chest rose with the effort to speak.
“My place in Heaven… is assured. But the women...†he made a sound that was either a laugh or a cry of anguish; “You have… doomed... ... them all.â€

His head lolled, and the severed artery in his neck ceased to pump blood. Mortis rose, his kill complete, and turned to leave the Cathedral.

From somewhere deep underground, the earth gave a mighty tremble. It shifted and growled, shaking the foundations of the building. Mortis took to the air in surprise; unnerved by the sudden disturbance.

At that moment the Cathedral doors burst open, and a large contingent of Rogues poured in. There was fury on their faces, and vengeance in their eyes. But that quickly faded to shock, as there eyes met a horror from their dreams.

A great, winged being hovered over the body of their beloved priest, the gore still dripped fresh from its claws. They saw by its face and the golden eyes that it was no man. It was demon, and it had defiled their Cathedral.

Mortis wanted to explain, to tell them he had actually saved their lives and Brent wasn't the man they thought he'd been. But he could see the hurt, the horror, and the anger bubbling inside them, and knew they wouldn't listen to anything he said.

With a unified cry the women nocked arrows to their bows and began shooting wildly. Mortis flapped his great wings and rushed towards the ceiling, arrows nicking his chest and thighs. The roof was his only means of escape, he knew, and as he powered upwards he clenched his outstretched hands into fists and closed his eyes.

At the last second he folded his wings down close, and let the momentum carry him into the brittle tiles. With a crash he exploded out on the other side, sailing out into open air and soft moonlight, and then began to fall. He quickly unfurled his wings and brought himself to a hovering halt.

A stream of arrows followed him out of the hole, arcing far into the night, and he swooped down low over the rest of the Citadel to avoid them. The nicks in his flesh and holes in his wings would heal quickly, he knew, so he ignored the stabs of pain for the moment. As he crossed low over the rest building, he half expected to be assaulted again. But something wasn't right.

The women were in hysterics. Some rolled on the ground; other held their heads in their hands. Most just stood swaying and staring blankly like zombies. In the barracks courtyard, the ones holding weapons had actually turned on each other.

Mortis glided past, somewhat worried about the strange events unfolding below him. No force he knew could make this many humans act in such a way. The ominous rumble beneath the Cathedral also made him uneasy.

Some of the Rogues spotted him at last, and started shooting arrows. Their aim was nothing of what it used to be; they barely paused to judge the distance. Mortis quickly veered away and left the chaos behind, heading east to the lands of Aranoch. He had a feeling there was nothing more he could do.

*

His mission was complete, although the aftermath had been strange. He couldn't stop seeing the blank stares of the Rogues in his mind. Brent’s words still rang in his ears, niggling into his mind and conscience.

“My place in Heaven… is assured. But the women... you have… doomed... ... them all.â€

Braca was going to meet him at the foot of the Aranochian Desert at midnight tomorrow, and Mortis promised himself he'd get some answers from the mysterious little man.

But for now he was determined to take his time and try to unwind. He had a long flight ahead of him, and two days worth of events to think about. And he knew sleep wouldn’t come for him tonight anyway.

 

[Ntrik_]

“Patience lad,†Brent replied, standing up now, “I pray to the Heavens, seeking protection and guidance for these women. I keep evil at bay via a holy shield that must be strengthened every night.†He gestured upwards; “Do you feel it, brother, feel its divine power? The power of the Gods, it is. Perhaps you wish to join me in worship?â€

Couldn't help to notice here (wasnt going to post at all to keep this clean so far so good, keep posting your works!) but word "via" used in stories like this? Meh just didnt feel right for me.

 

[Sly]

Havnt read it all, but pretty good none the less. The other few people are right, it flows nicely.

 

[Hitsua]

Seeing as I am entitled to my opinion: it sucks. Shitty style of writing, I hope you never go places with it and make people experaince the genocide that is your writing.