Chapter 13: 13. Within One’s Own Silent Hell Part 1 – Heresy City Arc.

13. Within One’s Own Silent Hell, Part One – Heresy City Arc.

 

Hiraeth – (Homesickness for a home you can’t return to)

 

 

 

Hermés’ eyes shot open and began to work out his surroundings. He was in the middle of a field of thick, diamond-shaped scarlet leaves that grew in groups. Red spider lilies… Mother loved these flowers.

    The sound of children giggling and running through the fields filled Hermés’ ears, it was a familiar sound that imbued him with a sense of nostalgia and comfort.

   He got to his feet, wiping the dust and a few leaves that stuck to his black exorcist cloak before looking at his surroundings again.

   Hermés gasped at the spellbinding sight of a gorgeous manor made out of the finest black stone, the roofline filled with spires, pinnacles, and black gargoyle statues, opulent shrubbery lined the sides of the house with servants working on them.

      Something about this house was so calm and just…wrong. The serene, paradisiacal tree-lined paths, had the ambiance of gazing at this surreal, fantastical reality, a place outside the realm of human comprehension but somehow very familiar.

   Hermés marched towards the ornately carved doors of baroque, architectural designs. Some of the servants nodded at him, others choose to ignore him, and regardless of their choice, it felt uncanny that even his servants were alive in the flesh.

   Hermés looked over his shoulders, and a small fog began to creep and envelop the surroundings within its reach. That’s odd… to say the least. Perhaps her keshaphim has its limits, it is a creation-type incantation yet it seems to sacrifice space for detail, impressive.

    A golden doorknob, embellished in strange demonic iconography and runes, greeted him as he stood in front of his old family home. Maybe he would meet his siblings, and his parents, and maybe they’d be a family again.

   Hannequin. Elisse. Rinylle. Markome. Esra. Sibylicia. My brothers and sisters, I miss you so dearly, maybe if I stay here, we can be a family again. A world with no holy war. With no Klipah. And a world with no Order.

    Hermés opened the door and screamed, plunging further and further down the depths of his own hell.

    His nails scratched at random places all over his body, and the odd sensation of sharp pains and itches spread throughout his body like some flesh-eating virus. He immediately recognized what it was, the nerve-chilling feeling of knowing what you’re feeling and its implication coming all at once was something he didn’t wish on his worst enemies.

     He simply knew that there were thousands of bugs, cockroaches, worms, and rats crawling underneath his flesh, trying to come out.

  What was worse was the voices, a cacophony of hideous otherworldy overlapping voices, Hermés covered his ears with his palms, falling for what felt like an eternity in a pitch-black void of nothing.

   That’s when the most horrifying thought crossed his mind, something he wish he didn’t even contemplate, the more he did the more it horrified him to the core. The fact that he couldn’t help himself from having those self-destructive thoughts only quickened his descent into utter madness.

   What if I never stop falling? What if I never grow old… go hungry or anything? What if… I spend an eternity trapped in this nightmare, searching for an escape, or maybe there is none? Will I lose my sanity or stay stuck here with this madness?

   The more he tried to drown out the voices, the more pronounced they became. Out of the hideous discord of shrieking chaos, four voices were discernable.

    One male, even though he couldn’t physically see him, could feel him in his mind, crawling out of the deepest corner of his subconscious. A heavily cloaked, eerily humanoid thing, with no organs or features beneath his garb.

   You’re not needed there. The man said, his voice echoing backward before it spoke.

   The other voices fell silent at the statement, it was even more disturbing than them shrieking obscenities his way. The silence only reminded him he was alone in this lonely void, falling further and further into unknown oblivion.

   “I have friends. Serafim, Saewynn, Adin, Macaria, Zeke, and everyone at the Old Order.”

   Who said they want you?

A single question brought out the most buried insecurities in Hermés’ mind, a storm of doubts and worries clouded his mind. He smacked himself on the forehead. How can I even think over this rubbish, of course, they want me?

    They only pretend to be your comrades, deep down you know I’m right. You’ve sensed it, they know you’re broken. You’re an abomination.

“Silence! You don’t know what you’re saying.” Hermés shouted to the void. “You don’t know anything about me!”

   Oh? I don’t? You don’t remember me? I am Charadiel, we’ve known each other since the womb, Hermés. We’re trying to help you. You have so much potential, you don’t need them. We are God. you don’t need to surround yourself with insects.

  The other three voices were rabid and uncontrollable. Kill them! Serafim. Saewynn. Kill them all!

  Almost as if someone flipped a switch, their voices became soft and calming, their overlapping and in sync nature despite being three separate voices was still unnerving. You don’t need memory work, if it isn’t broken don’t fix it. Poison. It’s poison, that Klipah girl is trying to kill you. You need to kill her.

   “Yvon, mons fils! (“Yvon, my child!”)”

Hermés shook his head in a rapid motion, snapping back to reality for a moment. He squinted his eyes and inspected his surroundings. I could swear I was falling just a few…

  He sat at a long, mahogany table draped with an assortment of dinnerware on top of an ornate, embroidered tablecloth with their family crest of a peacock, carrying the motto, which read: “You need to get out before they kill you Hermés.”

  Hermés froze, bits of sweat formed on his forehead whilst his knees buckled underneath him. He glanced around the table, the familiar faces of his six younger siblings and both his parents, all smiling despite feigning concern only a few moments ago.

   The more Hermés studied their facial expressions, the faster he tapped his sweaty fingers together. There was an unusual sharpness to their features, almost as if someone or something reconstructed their faces, the faces of his three sisters and mother had these odd feline looks in their brown eyes that peered into his soul behind those veneers of smiles.

    I…I have to get out of here… I need t-

  Hermés gasped. He hadn’t noticed it before but his fingers were smaller than usual, almost childlike in size. He was still wearing his exorcist cloak but it was as if he shrunk down to size.

   He looked up at his family, they all looked way bigger than before. His heartbeat raced with the speed of an out-of-control sportscar, something about being so helpless as a child with the idea that the ones meant to protect you mean you the most harm was more frightening than any other Klipah he’d met so far.

     “Tout va bien, mon fils? (“Is everything okay, my son?”)” His mother asked, Hermés flinched at the sound of her voice, something about her voice was stiff and rigid like a marionette being controlled by a puppeteer.

    “Oui, tout va bien, maman. (“Yes, everything is fine, mother.”)” Hermés replied, the sound of his voice when he was less than ten only compounded the idea that he was not fit to fight his way out of this state.

    “Allez, mange ta nourriture alors, tu t’inquiétes. (“Go on, eat your food then, you’re worrying yourself.”)” His father replied in a deep nonchalant tone, he was the closest thing to the real deal, except his choice of words sounded rather strange for two reasons.

   The concern in his father’s voice was nonexistent as far as Hermés knew, he was more focused on his projects, and sometimes Hermés thought he was more of a nuisance than anything else.

    The second was the choice of words, ‘You’re worrying yourself.”

  Why would I worry myself if I don-

Hermés looked down at his voice and jumped out of his chair, still screaming, the fleshy tentacled mass resembled a charred human corpse that still whipped at Hermés.

   His feet took off underneath him, he dashed out of the banquet and into the hallway, each breath he took in was like taking in carbon monoxide.

     He ran and ran until he bent over, hands touching his knees as he collected his breath. His eyes widened once he realized the extent of his situation, the hallway was filled with dark brown mahogany door after dark brown mahogany door, the red carpet beneath his feet gave a faint pulse akin to a vein of sorts.

     The hallway was barely illuminated at the far end, parts of it flashed from the flickering lamps overhead revealing random words of nonsensical rambles scribbled all over the walls. WE DO NOT ALWAYS LOVE YOU. WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BURN IN HELL AS A FAMILY.

        YOU LEFT US.

  Hermés clutched the sides of his head, and waves of emotions and stress crashed into his mind at once, combined with the non-Euclidean dimensions of the room didn’t help his mental state.

      Hermés continued down the endless hallway of the renaissance era of well-painted faint green walls filled with tapestries of biblical stories, classical tales of the demigod children of the God-Queen, and histories of Veelon’s greatest kings and warriors.

   The further Hermés walked down the hallway, the more cramped it became, he could swear it was inhaling and exhaling like he was in some massive organ.

    Paintings of his father’s paintings of hellish landscapes and sceneries filled with apocalyptic predictions drawn in beautiful crimson shades and maintaining a dreamlike tone to it that made it unbelievably beautiful

    Hermés pressed his lip into a thin line, curling his fingers into a fist and smashing it into one of the paintings. “How a monster create something so beautiful? Life has a cruel sense of humor.”

    Hermés’ attention was drawn further across the hallway, amidst the blinking lights to a black-cloaked man, facing the wall, drawing disturbing eldritch imagery of unspeakable beings long lost to the waves of time next to strange runic symbols and Latin words.

     His illustrations were scarlet, dripping down to the floor with unusually loud echoing plops.

Dear god! Is… Is that?
   Hermés recoiled once the rancid smell of rot filled his nostrils, he had to hold himself back from hurling. The scarlet text on the wall still dripped down the wall, letting off an overwhelming metallic tinge, the cryptic language lacked any discernible meaning, at least to the mortal eyes.

    Hermés’ eyes widened, gasping the moment he saw what the man used to write, the beautiful cursive began looking more and more familiar, leaving a strange hypnotic effect on Hermés. Is that father’s handwriting?

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    The bone and remaining bits of flesh that stuck to the stump left cracks of bone and blood at the tip.

    Hermés squinted, honing in on what the script was trying to say.

 His mouth was agape once the meaning of the words dawned on him. Tears began streaming down his cheeks,

   Je ne comprends pas où je me suis tellement trompé avec toi que tu n'as pas d'amis et que personne ne t'aime. (I don't understand where I went so wrong with you that you have no friends and no one likes you.)

     Va acheter de la corde et pends-toi, alors j'aurai un problème de moins (Go buy some rope and hang yourself, then I’ll have one less problem.)

   The man turned to Hermés, neck-snapping backward to glance at Hermés with a creepy smile. It shrieked at him, its cloak blew open, flesh ripping in half, revealing its cavern of sharp-toothed maw.

    The rot devoured most of the creature's bodies, Hermés drew the sword at his waist, and his older form returned as he faced his enemy.

    Each time the light flickered, Hermés caught a glimpse of the creature’s form, a ghoulish trope of abominations made of his siblings and parents joined at the lower half.

    It scuttled on two legs, bones snapping in its wake, a whoosh blew past Hermés followed by a spray of blood from his shoulder.

    He dropped to one knee and clutched his shoulder, teeth gritted, at the sound of bones snapping again, Hermés created some distance with kefitzat-haderech.

   The sound of floorboards being smashed echoed around the hallway.

 “I hate you. We never wanted you. You’re trash. We were all happy until you were born. I hope you rot in hell. You should have died not us.”

   Hermés paused, they sounded so much like his family, he wasn’t sure if it was a part of his subconscious that believed this or if it was an illusion but despite it all, there was a part of him that knew what this thing was saying was true.

   They did love you.

Hermés raised his sword in time to block an attack from the creature’s legs, the force made Hermés’ entire body shake just enough time for the creature to counterattack, sending Hermés flying through the hallway.

   Hermés looked up, the sight of Charadiel hanging on the roof of the hallway in a spider-like position would be enough to put Hermés in a coma just from the sight of it.

   Charadiel appeared to be human-like, his head jerking and twitching in erratic motions that could snap any normal soul’s neck.

   He leaped down from the roof and snatched Hermés, dashing away from the monster, its echoing shriek could be heard behind them.

    It covered a large distance in a single leap, the creature’s shriek fading away in the background.

   “Why did you help me? Wh-What are you?” Hermés asked, mouth agape, rushing backward to gain some distance from this thing.

    As I said earlier, we’ve known each other since the womb. It wasn’t the creature’s voice that echoed in his mind, but rather his own albeit more distorted.

    “Charadiel?”

The more Hermés focused on Charadiel’s features, the more revolted he felt. He was dressed in some ceremonial black half-robe that blended in with the darkness to the point Hermés could barely tell the difference, a series of random stitches filled all three of his faces, closing shut his mouth.

    On his shoulder was an odd yet familiar seal that reminded him of Serafim for some reason, two outer circles with a pentagram inside the inner circle with multiple magic wards etched in Hebrew.

      If you want to live, your next two decades will be mine, king.

Without a second thought, Charadiel clasped Hermés’ hand, and a seal erupted between them, the same seal on his shoulder now etched in an eerie purple on his wrist.

    Around the corner, the creature showed itself, shrieking and hurling insults at Hermés. He could feel Charadiel taking hold of his body, the creature charged, Hermés didn’t feel the urge to dodge or run away, he held his blade out now burning a dark purple.

    He swung his blade, the purple flames erupted between him and the abomination, two halves of its body dropped to the floor with smoke billowing out of the scorch marks where it was cut.

   “B-But…why?” The creature said in a quivering voice that blended all eight of his relatives’ voices before it faded away into a pile of smoldering ash akin to a Klipah.

   “The day I chose the path of an exorcist, my own name was lost to even myself, so I took on a name with the first letters of all my kindred. They wished to honor the house of Saint-Laurent in the future, so I decided to carry on their wish by bearing their names.” Hermés said, sheathing his blade. The purple flames of qlifot from his blade slowly began to dissipate. “The words of the Punishment Squad’s vice-captain seemed to be true, I wasn’t aware of the Klipah I was contracted with, but now I can rise to the rank of a true exorcist. Charadiel, the Klipah bearing the epithet of fear, how fitting.”

    He watched on, the hallway around him began to crumble, he wondered whether his mind had crumbled a long time much like this world. I still wonder. Was that how they felt or was it me seeing myself as not good enough? As worthless? Not worthy of love?

    He thought of Serafim before he found Saewynn in the town of Baciennes, he was so solitary often watching the other trainees from a distance and keeping to himself.

    He wondered how despite everything he’d been through he still felt worthy of being cherished by someone without worrying that he doesn’t deserve it.

    Other thoughts swirled in his mind, especially that of the symbol on Charadiel’s shoulder, he had read about that symbol in one of the forbidden tomes at Old Order Headquarters.

   The memories of what it was exactly evaded him but he knew that something about it was not meant to be in this world, it belonged in the darkness, not the afterworld. Do I really know who he is? If the day comes when he awakens would I be able to put him down?
   Hermés thought back to the aftermath of his battle with the Punishment Squad captain Rolfa and his subordinate, when Serafim was about to undergo Klipafication, there was a slight hesitation as conflicting thoughts filled his mind. Whatever you are, if you’re an apostle of darkness, I’ll have no choice but to do what’s necessary to stop the Age of the Abyss from dawning on soul kind, if he comes to our world.

    

***

 

“Dost thou believe it was in good faith to conceal knowledge of my abilities to the exorcists, what if they get killed? Aren’t we allies?” Yesenia asked, all three of them facing the three ethereal orange lotuses.

   “I understand your concerns Yesenia. I want this to be as close to the real thing as possible, for them to be able to be effective Contractors would require them facing their darkest insecurities.” Leaifa said. “It’ll allow them to truly understand the Klipah they are capable of forming a contract with.”

   A loud cracking sound formed on one of the lotuses at the far left before it exploded into shards that dissipated into the light. Hermés staggered out of it, clutching his shoulder that was wrapped in black cloth from his exorcist’s robe.

   “You have my gratitude captain,” Hermés said to Leaifa, turning to Yesenia. “My apologies, Yesenia.”

   Yesenia nodded. “Don’t worry, exorcist. Thee apologies are welcome.”

“It hasn’t even been six minutes, impressive,” Malaenna said with an approving look on her face, offering Hermés a faux clap.

    “You okay Hermés?” Suman asked.

 “That was …something to say the least,” Hermés replied, turning away to avoid their gaze. “It’s best we don’t talk about it.”

   “Now then I wonder what’s going on with those two,” Malaenna said.

   “If it’s anything like you and Yesenia, the exorcist’s soul has been tainted by the Abyss, who knows what he carried with him back here,” Leaifa said, Yesenia, noticed her sister hug herself subtly. She understood talking about two souls in a single body always made her uncomfortable.

   If the exorcist was anything like them then Yesenia had to wonder.

When this exorcist emerged from the pools of the Abyss what did he bring to Veelon on his way back?

    

 

 

   

 

 

    

 

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