Chapter 2: Chapter 1: Godless Evil’s Holy Maiden

After the 'fight', Desoll looted the old mage's corpse, then carried Ayil on his back. He removed a thin needle-like tool from his coat and quickly carved runes on the nooks and crannies of the building. 

It was a sight to behold, his wrist flicked around haphazardly but the inscriptions showed beauty and precision like no other.

"That should do," Desoll said, intersecting the final line of the geometric symbol on the building's outer walls. "Now we can leave."

He shot up into the night sky, using the rooftops as his step stools, he whizzed through the city. 

Ayil groaned in agony, although traveling on Desoll's back could be considered a 'smooth ride', his battered insides throbbed with pulses of hellish burns. Rattling his consciousness to oblivion.

'Don't close your eyes,' he thought, eyes rolling to the back of his skull. 'Don't die.'

Suddenly, Desoll halted, skidding on the cobblestoned street. He stood there quietly for a few moments, before entering a severely damaged house. 

Contrary to its exterior, the interior of the house was clean; the holes plastered shut. And though it was extremely small—maybe fit for a family of three—just barely—it felt inviting. 

"Claire," Desoll said, bowing respectfully to a woman Ayil hadn't noticed in his delirium.

The woman sat next to a small, crackling fireplace. She had her eyelids narrowed placidly, and her irises were lit up with an unnatural blue glow. Her wavy locks of black hair reflected the flickering light brought by the controlled flames beside her. 

Closing the thick book in her hands, Claire nodded curtly to Desoll. "Ah, Ollie," she said wearily, her breath cold; it smelled of a late afternoon drizzle, "mind explaining your actions with the Heretic? And my, what's that on your back? Al Loth, not another child..."

"I know what Mother said," Desoll said coyly with a grin. He tossed the pouch he retrieved from the old mage into her hand. "But it couldn't be helped, we're already short on Lurthinine, how do you expect me to hand over a full bag to a wannabe Kallomancer?"

"...You know what Mother says, but I'm afraid you cannot comprehend the implications of Her orders," Claire said, annoyance coloring her words. "Do you think we'll be able to conduct deals with mages if they fear being murdered afterward?"

"Well..." Desoll begun.

"And even more aggravating, you call on my Will to deal with the aftermath of your foolishness," Claire continued, cutting off whatever he was about to say. She paused, took a small sip of the teacup that sat atop a small hardwood table, then sighed. "Ollie... please, stop acting recklessly. You know as well as I do, Mother's benevolence has its limits."

Desoll took a knee to the floor, his head bowed. "Forgive my insolence, First Sister."

"...You are forgiven," Claire said wearily. She opened the pouch, shaking its contents. "I will handle the mess you've caused, Mother will not know of it—or rather, I won't tell Her, lest She asks. You may take your leave."

"As is your will," Desoll said, carefully placing Ayil on the carpeted floor. "But before I leave, please heal this child for me."

Claire waved him away, sparing an apathetic glance toward the dying young man. "Leave. I will send him to you once he's healed."

"No. Not to my chambers. Straight to the Hollow Mansion if possible," Desoll said,  walking over to a door leading to the inner quarters of the house. He opened the door, vanishing into thin air as he passed its boundaries. "Fare thee well."

Another sigh escaped Claire's lips, she stood and gently wiped some blood from the back of Ayil's head with a slender finger. 

"...This is off-putting," she said, frowning. She took a slight whiff of her finger  "Forget your wounds, your blood's infected with a multitude of ailments. Did you stick your little pecker in every hole and eat trash for dinner every day? Surprisingly, you aren't long dead..." Her words trailed off.

Ayil barely paid mind to the woman, focusing purely on his haggard breathing. He trembled uncontrollably, his muscles convulsing in deep pulses. Not that he thought the woman, Claire, cared in the slightest. Even now, she moved elegantly throughout the house opening drawers, collecting material.

Finally, after what felt like nine eternities, she moved to treat him. Claire carefully snipped apart Ayil's clothes with a metallic scissor, then, after shaving his head, she slowly pricked and drew symbols on him with a sharp-pointed vibrating tool.

The pain came and went, as did Ayil's consciousness. Minutes trickled by in this feverish state... 

A wet crunch resonated within Ayil's chest, he screamed as muscles and bones tore and broke before mending themselves all over his body. The pain was as unbearable as it was fleeting.

Ayil shot up, clasping his chest and breathing heavily. Trying to collect himself, he glanced around. His eyes soon fell on a heavenly sight. To get a better look, he swept his maroon hair—which seemed to grow tens of inches—behind his ears. 

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Claire sat back on her chair, garbed only in black leggings and petticoats, her bare chest covered by a thin, damp article of cloth. This sight, however, wasn't enticing at all. Her skin was a sickly pale blue, and her breathing was erratic, sweat plastered her glossy hair to her forehead.

"A-are you okay?" Ayil asked subconsciously, his expression unreadable, dwindling between confusion and warped despair. "...Miss?"

"I'm fine," Claire replied in a weakened whisper, staring down at him. "At least fine enough to kill you if you step out of line..." she pointed to a door—different from the one Desoll went through—and continued, "There are some old clothes in the drawers within that room. Pick adequate garments to dress in."

Ayil nodded, finally paying mind to his naked form. He went inside the room, scouring for clothes. There were a lot, both masculine and feminine designs.

Once he found something pleasing—a brownish leathery trouser, two white tunics, and a thick, black jacket—he could not help admiring their quality. Their feel on his skin was soothing, and it all seemed to be able to withstand cold temperatures. 

'Amazing... truly,' he thought, exiting the room. He stood just outside the room, beside the entrance.

Claire hummed softly. Her expression wasn't as sour as it was a few moments ago. "Well, now we have quite the conundrum," she said. "It seems you haven't brought me anything to wear. Might I remind you, it was because I healed you that my clothes are soaked?"

"Fo-forgive me!" he turned to do just that, face white as a blank piece of paper.

"No," Claire snipped, stumbling to her feet. "It's already too late, you've trampled on a lady's dignity; my dignity."

Ayil's legs suddenly gave out, and an invisible force pulled him out of the room, gently pushing him against a wall in the main room. 

"I'll do it myself," Claire said, glancing over her shoulder as she entered the giant wardrobe of a room. "You, dear child, should just hang in there."

She shut the door.

'She's also a masochist,' Ayil thought, letting out a breath in relief. He gently felt around his body as he hovered against the wall. 'Forgetting that... I feel amazing. My breathing is smooth, that ghastly cough is gone and I'm rash—and wart—free.' He glanced around. '...Is this a blessing or a curse?'

"You're the curse," Claire's voice came from beyond the walls. It was the same as when Desoll first spoke to him, except maybe less eery. "Seriously, it's absurd when I put my mind to it. Enthil TaraLoth would rather fold space-time than heal you."

Ayil started, 'Can she hear my thoughts?' he slowly wiped the cold sweat from his brows.

"Hear your thoughts? No, I can't," Claire said, opening the door and straightening her dress. "But God can. I simply asked what those thoughts were, and He told me."

"I-I see," Ayil murmured, baffled. The force weakened and he was able to get back to his feet. "May I ask what it is you mean? By 'I'm cursed.'"

"Just that," Claire said simply, wiping her face with a handkerchief. "Or is there another way to refer to a human despised by the Divine?"

Ayil frowned slightly. "Is there a reason for this hate?" 

"Maybe," Claire said, shrugging her delicate shoulders. She opened the door Desoll passed through. "Maybe not. In the end, it matters not. What could you do to rid God's malice?"

'Pray,' Ayil thought. 'Get Christened in His name, perhaps even become a Tara Priest...' 

Claire chortled softly. It was an innocent sound that shouldn't have belonged to a grown woman. "What bravado," she said, between breaths. "Your life is a constant tragedy, yet you still have the heart for humor? Truly splendid, I must say."

"...I," Ayil sighed, and wordlessly passed through the door—no, it sucked him in and mercilessly shot him through an iridescent hyperspace. "Wha—?!" 

Space stopped spinning at impossible angles. Ayil stumbled, almost tripping over his own feet. He let his eyes adjust to normal reality, then squinted. He had to. The space he found himself in was large—seemingly endless—and lit up by countless harsh lights. The walls on all sides were bleach-white and smooth.

"Welcome to your new home," an ethereal voice came. "We've been expecting you, Ayil."

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