Chapter 5: 5. Reap The Soul of The Devil – Heresy City Arc

5. Reap The Soul of The Devil - Heresy City Arc.

Captain of the Second Punishment Squad, Rolfa marched beside the High Kraslucist and the rest of his squadron, knowing any mistake would lead to her immediate execution

High Kraslucist Bedric, a thin alabaster-skinned man adorned in the finest fiery orange liturgical robes stood before the imposing, alien statue of his goddess as Rolfa caught sight of him reaching down to touch one of the tentacles from the mass with his hand not even touching it before touching his forehead with a smile on his face.

    It’s that time again. Rolfa said with a sigh, the memories of broken bodies and malnourished prisoners begging for her to help them crashed into his mind, his hand grasped at the orange cloak of flesh over where one of his hearts would be. I don’t know if I should help them, would it be heresy? No, it’s against the Kraslucist’s will and if so it’s against All-Mother Yhan’s will

    They continued past the darkened underbelly of the temple, the rest of his squad gave their respect to their indomitable goddess before rushing back to his side.

    Masked Lihaa priests whispered indiscernible chants of holy reverence from all sides, everything they did, was all in the name of their All-Mother, Yhan. All around the narrow hallway, emblems bearing the seal of Yhan, a circular glyph with blasphemous letters of eldritch origin on the inside it spread like wildfire.

    It was a time for jubilation for everyone but Rolfa, just a few hours earlier, the First Punishment Squad had intercepted a group of Ain Soph sympathizers and revolutionaries in their city. They’d eliminated most of them in an unexpected whirlwind of macabre violence, their cloaks stained in the name of their Red Dead Queen.

     Some of those blasphemous heretics were taken prisoner and brought back to the bowels of the temple for “questioning”. Rolfa noticed a broad, fiendish grin crossing the High Priest’s face that made Rolfa swallow a lump in his throat. I’ve heard rumors of what happens to the prisoners sent to the Devil’s Den but from the look of joy on the High Kraslucist’s face I don’t think it’s pretty

After a sermon with his followers, Rolfa and Squad Three had accompanied the High Kraslucist down into the lower levels of the temple that many in the Punishment Clerics began to call the Devil’s Den.

Rolfa caught glimpses of a wide array of the High Kraslucist’s renowned ‘tribulation tools’ from around Veelon which he took great satisfaction in using against the heretics who refused to bow to his ruthless goddess. Rolfa knew of the High Kraslucist’s reputation from stories he’d heard during the time drinking with his squad.

   One of his guards swung the towering stone doors etched in ancient and long-forgotten Lihaa scripts that resembled crooked, uncanny glyphs etched around the sides of the door with an engraving of the twenty-four Daskalos, the wisest teachers in their faith.

      The moment he rolled into the room, he could smell the air, entangled with the stench of blood and sweat that was all too familiar to him.

    The so-called ‘exorcists’ of the Old Order who still had their tongues intact and mouths not sewn shut by flesh craft let out horrendous shrieks so spine-chilling, that he noticed a few of his Punishment Clerics gasp, Bedric noticed the glee in the eyes of some from the holes in their masks.

    Most knew of the Punishment Clerics and the High Kraslucist’s reputation when dealing with those who opposed the Lihaa people or the Holy City.

    Rolfa’s gaze went across the room, he held to hold in a gasp as his mouth opened slightly held behind a palm. He noticed some of his squad mates began to take a few steps, some of their hands shivered at the sight of an unlucky exorcist that was crooked against a breaking wheel letting out loud, nerve-chilling screams that made a grotesque symphony with the audible snapping of bones.

     In the opposite corner, a half-naked revolutionary’s skin was extended beyond what Rolfa thought the human body could endure, bones cracking in correspondence with his desperate, high-pitched screams on racks.

    This was just the beginning of this remorseless, grotesque spectacle as Rolfa’s mind grappled to cope with the carnage, tears began to swim inside his mask. He wasn’t the greatest supporter of the Ain Soph Revolution especially after hearing the legends of God-Queen Odelia’s betrayal and the enslavement of the Lihaa half a thousand years ago but even in his eyes, this was too far.

     He watched as some had their mouths boiled as they were forced to drink molten gold, their screams dying inside their throats whilst others struggled inside pods, banging against pod doors as multiple snakes bit their skin.

   Choke pears, iron maidens, boiled in water, heretic forks, and other abominable tools Rolfa couldn’t even begin to describe. We once fought for what we believed in when they ruled us under an iron fist when they ruled us, when they hunted us down and forced us to practice the craft of our ancestors in the dark, now we’ve forced them to do the same in the dark. This is not what we fought for.

    Rolfa’s eyes widened as his son’s words crossed his mind. Rolfa was adorned in the garb of the Punishment Clerics, a silver plague doctor’s mask hanging on the side of his face, his son tugged at the flaps of his grey cloak with an adorable grin lining his fair-skinned face as he looked up to his father.

     “Are you going to keep us, safe father?”
Rolfa reached out and grabbed a handful of his son’s messy black hair that often reminded him of his own when he was younger before the silver tips began to streak, shaking it and beaming at his son. “Always.”

     His mind returned to the bowels of the temple he now stood in, multiple years of capturing the so-called ‘heretics’ crashed into him in a wave of guilt.

   “Is there something wrong, Second Captain Rolfa?” Bedric asked in that whispery tone that still maintained a hint of authoritarianism in it, his gaze fell completely on him, those unnerving silver eyes had the power to untangle every strand of the flesh of his body and reshuffle him from the inside out and it made Rolfa stiffen at just the thought of it.”You seem rather… uncomfortable hmm?”
   Rolfa’s gaze darted to the ground, breaking away from the High Priest’s glare. “You have nothing to worry about your Righteousness.”

  Rolfa watched with uncertainty as the High Kraslucist strolled further down the darkened underbelly of the temple, a great golden statue of Yhan. Two beautiful humanoid females with strands of flesh joined their back, one had their palms brought together over a strange scepter with hellish glyphs adorning it whilst the other did the same with a sword in between her palms.

     Rolfa knew any heretic that fell into the hands of the High Kraslucist, escape was considered fantasy, the closest thing to mercy would be a painful but immediate death. Rolfa’s mouth went gape at the sight of the statue of his goddess, those single alien-looking eyes seemed to have this inhuman sway over him that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

   So, the rumors…they’re true, the prized weapon gifted from the bosom of the All-Mother. He thought as he shook his head, denying the possibility such a thing could exist and trying to justify it. When I gave my life to the Lihaa people, this was not what I fought for. Is this what Yhan would have wanted?

   The more important question came down on him like a warrior aiming to seek retribution for the fall of a loved one. Is this what you want? What Juhan and Ella believed I was doing in service of our people?

      He’d heard the legends of this ingenious tool that induced unimaginable torment and nightmares in the hearts of both heretics and Lihaa alike, positioned at the far end of the room just at the point where every captive could see the High Kraslucist use it and hope they die before they're next.

   Huge golden grates fell from the strands of flesh joining the two forms of Yhan, at first Rolfa could only make out heavy flowing black hair and feminine features, her hands held up by shackles from the inside, preventing her from using her incantations.

   Rolfa watched in stunned horror as the High Priest approached the grates, the prisoner raised her head and even that looked painful and heartbreaking to watch.

   “This… Th-This doesn’t feel right.” Her lieutenant, Agatha whispered into his ears. Rolfa looked over his shoulder and noticed his usually ruthless second-in-command fidget with her fingers as she watched on.

    He could tell this woman spent ages having parts of her tenderized skin flayed from the barely healed scraps of flesh missing from parts of her body only revealing the pulsating layers underneath alongside a series of still bleeding cuts.

   Rolfa knew what was coming next would make skinning her look like a pleasant stay at a resort tended to hand and foot.

  “My, my. The High Kraslucist himself came to end the life of a measly traitor like myself, I’m honored.” The woman said, that voice made Rolfa’s eyes widen. That voice, soft-spoken and motherly had seen to his training personally was now faint and dry yet still recognizable,

    Two of the members of his squadron poked at the woman’s beaten down body with glowing red pokers of fresh craft, the gut-wrenching sound of sizzling against her beaten down body, and her attempts at a scream with only faint sounds escaping her throat.

   Rolfa’s arm clenched around the blade at his hip upon seeing the High Kraslucist’s grin at the sight, a hand over his own that was quivering which he didn’t need to turn around to recognize was his third in command, Theodolph, Rolfa sighed and released.

    “I never expected such an act of treachery to come from one of our own. Giving refuge to the Old Order and our enemies, especially this Red-Eyed Reaper I’ve heard of, you’re lower than those of the old flesh.” The High Kraslucist said, a sneer on his face as he looked down at Rolfa’s mentor. “Especially from Ailena, the First Cleric, how the mighty have fallen.”

   “Years and years of hunting down and torturing innocents tends to take a toll on the mind, I’m sure the hundreds of other Clerics that retired could say the same hmm?” Ailena replied. “Regardless, the acts of horror you’ve brought to this city are no different from what our ancestors were put through, you’re no different from Odelia’s Circle.”
      “I see.” The High Kraslucist said with an emotionless tone, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Which age did you hail from in your first life?”
      Ailena sighed as if resigning to her fate. “There’s no use fighting it. I’m from the first thousand, eight hundredth era.”

   The High Kraslucist smiled, Rolfa’s brow raised as he tried to glean some understanding from their conversation. “Would you like to be with your fiancé and fulfill your dream of traveling the afterworld together?”

    Rolfa noticed Ailena perked up, her lips quivering as she began to speak. “We’d always wanted to visit Valhalla but y-you promised you could bring him back to me if I came out of retirement and served you! Yes, I want to be with him, you promised!”

     “Any last words before your flesh rots in the pits of the Abyss?”

   I need to do something, anything. Rolfa said, his quivering hand couldn’t even move to his blade, the gaze from the statue seemed to lock him in place almost as if this was preordained by fate itself and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was just another insignificant speck in the never-ending ocean that was the cosmos.

     “Don’t even let the idea cross your mind, it could be a test,” Theodolph whispered into Rolfa’s ears. “She trained us too sir, conviction can be a great sword in battle but false conviction is as good as a double-edged sword, don’t stab yourself with false conviction.”
     “The Reaper will see you soon enough Bedric, the last thing you’ll see when the hand of hell drags you into its jaws will be those red eyes and the souls of the innocents you’ve killed, pulling you into the flames,” Ailena said in a low, cryptic tone, her gaze solely focused on the High Kraslucist as Rolfa caught sight of a sneer on her lips.

   Rolfa’s upper brow raised upon hearing what the High Kraslucist said next. “And the final question, what is the true sixty-six lettered true name of our All-Mother?”

   Rolfa’s lips trembled as Ailena took in a ragged breath and whispered under her breath as if uttering a prayer. “Red-Eyed Reaper, I ask you for one last wish. To reap the soul of the devil himself, so that the sinners may rejoice at his downfall…. I don’t know the true name of your goddess.”

   Rolfa gasped as multiple writhing torrents of organic flesh whipped out in her direction, Ailena screamed as she was ripped apart, and bits of viscera, bones, and other limbs were sent out in every direction as the sound of flesh ripping imploded inside Rolfa’s ears like someone standing in the middle of an explosion.

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     Rolfa gritted his teeth and let out a barely audible growl at seeing the High Kraslucist’s look of extreme glee at the sight as Rolfa’s mentor was torn apart, by the time it was done, the only thing left of her was a spray of red where she once stood.

The High Kraslucist turned to face Rolfa and his squadron. “After questioning the heretics, we’ve come to learn that the Red-Eyed Reaper and allies of his are assisting the revolutionaries in this city, prepare yourselves they’re here.”

   Rolfa dropped to one knee to give a customary bow of the Punishment Clerics, his fist clenched into miniature cannonballs that he wished he could aim at the High Kraslucist especially after he said. “Now, who wants to go next?”

 

**

Serafim held the body of a collapsed guard in his arms, making sure the sound of him falling didn’t alert any of the others as he and Hermés made their way through the shadowed corridors of the eastern side of the High Kraslucist’s castle.

    “Someone’s become quite the expert in stealth hmm?” Hermés joked as he planted the body he was holding to the ground before they proceeded down the stairs. “The least you could do is show some appreciation mon ami, it’s not every day that you’re gifted with my presence you know.”

    “Two years and you haven’t become an expert in keeping your mouth shut huh?”

“How rude,” Hermés replied as they snuck deeper into the castle, flicking a lock of his copper-colored hair with a part of it kept in place by a black hairband around his forehead. “You should appreciate those around more mon ami, they won’t always be there especially in this line of work.”
    “You heard about Wilhem?’

    Hermés didn’t respond, instead, his gaze went to the tiled floors beneath their boots, his eyes filled with sorrow was all Serafim needed to know. “I received an execution order from Asja, it’s rather peculiar wouldn’t you agree? It’s not often a single exorcist sends out an execution order to two exorcists unless they’re a potential Sephira candidate and even so two may not suffice.”
   Now that he mentions it, it is rather strange Wilhelm sent out two execution orders when he was contracted to Bestia, it would take a single one of us to get the job done.

     Serafim came to a halt, his hand dropping to the hilt of the sword Hermés gave him. A trio of three cloaked figures each wearing a curved, plague doctor mask on their face

   “We’ve been waiting for you, red-eyed heretics.” A gravelly, gruff voice said, proceeding to draw a blade with a brass hilt and a lobed pommel. “You can either go to his Righteousness in chains or as a corpse, the choice isn’t yours to make.”

    “Do I need to say what my answer is,” Serafim said, replying to their command by drawing out his blade. “Tell his Righteousness, the Red-Eyed Reaper’s coming for his head.”

    The trio of Punishment Clerics didn’t even hesitate, one of them had their flesh bubble and contort as their body expanded and reshaped with disturbing speed.

   Their body turned into a multi-legged, vaguely human abomination with its upper body made of a mouth that looked like it was being forced open. Hundreds of knife-sized teeth lined it as multiple arm-like appendages emerged from within the mouth forming a mane of sorts with a human head.

    Serafim took a few steps back as the beast gazed at him, although its eyes were shut, the massive eye that filled the entirety of its mouth was laser-focused on him.

   The other two clerics lunged forwards in an instant, Serafim gritted his teeth as he dodged the swing but was launched aside by a kick, sending him flying backwards.

    Serafim noticed the flesh beast close the gap between itself and him, a flurry of clawed appendages whipped out in a nightmarish frenzy and piercing both him and Hermés. Serafim got the worst of the barrage, only being able to dodge on raw instinct and luck alone.

     The other two clerics weren’t letting up either, pushing both Serafim and Hermés with a relentless onslaught of slashes, Serafim winced as the tip of one of their blades grazed his forearm.

     Serafim barely caught sight of the oncoming attack from a blurry figure, the reverberating clang of metal clashing was the only thing he could make it before noticing Hermés in front of him having parried an oncoming blow.

     Serafim took in a deep breath an focused on releasing more qlifot to match their strength, the veins in his wrists exploded to the surface as the red glow from his eye illuminated the darkened hallway.

    “Serafim, be careful don’t unleash all your qlif-“ His sentence was cut off by a hard kick in the gut from what Serafim assumed was a female cleric from her hair and physique, forcing Hermés to gasp for air as he take a hard roll on the floor.

     Serafim knew the dangers of using too much qlifot, he’d end up as a Klipah but to him it didn’t matter at the moment.

   Serafim managed to dodge the swipe from his blindspot, in retaliation, he swiped at the cleric’s face and slicing his mask in two before ducking underneath a strike from the flesh beasts appendages. Dust clouds covered the hallway in the wake of the attack.

      The female cleric moved like a leaf in the shifting winds, swift and effortless as Serafim matched blows with her before a wave of pain erupted from his side as he was sent tumbling backwards, his feet making craters in the ground as they sunk in.

     They’re attacking from all sides, damnit.

Serafim heard a whoosh sound as Hermés’ spiritual presence behind him was noticeable, a smirk formed at the edges of Serafim’s lips upon realizing what he planned to do. The two of them rotated an entire one-eighty, swapping opponents as they divided the fight amongst themselves.

    Serafim steeled himself as he prepared to attack, a jab of pain hit the side of his neck the moment he leapt back as if anticipating an attack, a spray of red shot out from his shoulder.

     Serafim matched the two clerics blow for blow, missing death by a small margin as he jumped out of the way at the last second, a severed lock of hair blowing past him.

      “Regardless of whether you can be it us, it’s pointless you’ll still have the Captain of the First Squad and the High Kraslucist himself, can’t you see this is a fruitless endeavor?” The male cleric said in an angry almost self-pitiful tone, it was if it was more of a statement to himself than Serafim.

    The sound of flesh ripping rippled through the air, as something wet splattered against Serafim’s clothing, something red, followed by a heavy object landing with a thud and rolling on the floor.

     Her… Hermés? Serafim’s mind immediately began to think of the worst case scenario, upon closer inspection realized the severed head looked inhuman and lacked the peacock feathers that adorned Hermés’ eyelids and eyebrows.

 “Th-Theo?” The female cleric said, her palm over her open mouth and widened eyes that slowly turned into a sneer as she focused her attention to the two exorcists. “I think it’s time I awaken.”

    “Lieutenant Agatha, we’re under strict orders to apprehend the two exorcists but under no condition are we allowed to awaken in His Righteousness’ castle.” The man who Serafim assumed was her superior said in a commanding voice

     “To hell with his Righteousness!” Agatha said, tears streaming down her face. “Nothing but fake promises. He said he’d help life Theo and I out of poverty but it’s been three years and nothing’s changed since… ex..except all the people… all those people that died because we sent them to their grave.”

      Serafim tried to swipe at Agatha before she could awaken but was blindsided by a kick aimed at his jaw by the other cleric, the least Serafim could do was redirect it to his cheek as his body flew sideways and tumbled to the ground.

     He tried to get up to his feet with his legs and hands shivering, sweat and blood trickling down his already blood-soaked body.

     All he could do was watch as Agatha’s flesh split at different parts, reshaping and remolding itself into a bleach white, alien-angel hybrid creature with thin golden wings fluttering behind her as she strode forwards. Strange, five finger-like appendages emerged for her waist and obscured parts of her bare chest, all lined with blinking veiny red eyes.

   “It’s over, heretics.” She said, a smile formed on her splayed lips that went all the way through her cheeks as the multitude of honeycomb shaped eyes looked down on them, the scepter in hand.

     Serafim began to question whether his path to reap the soul of the devil would be filled with demons trying to protect him, whether or not he dies whilst on his path was now in his hands.

   

  

  

    

   

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