Chapter 7: 7. Kuebiko – Heresy City Arc.

7. Kuebiko – Heresy City Arc.

 

 

Never felt like shit this much in my life. The pessimistic thought breezed through Serafim’s mind like a leaf in a gale of wind, scattered amongst a load of other meaningless things.

     The three of them made their way around the intricate, labyrinthine castle until they stopped at an imposing set of oak doors. Both are etched in scattered, illegible Lihaa scripts that Serafim likened to a combination of Arabic, hieroglyphs, and a strange variation of Nordic runes.

    “This is the room Sayanim Heija spoke of, the eastern room of the top floor,” Serafim confirmed, his eyes still glued to the engravings of occult pictograms of people raising their hands in exaltation to a familiar esoteric symbol of Yhan. “You ready?”
    “Not even close,” Hermés replied almost instantly. “Either way, what choice do we have? If he’s here right now we need to take him or else more people are going to be killed.”

    Serafim turned to face Saewynn. “Try to stay out of the way, okay?”
 Saewynn nodded, and that was all Serafim needed before kicking down the doors, the light from the lanterns mounted on the outside walls crept its way into the pitch black room.

     Serafim and Hermés stumbled their way into the room, weapons drawn. Instead of being met with the High Kraslucist, they were in the presence of a tall, muscle-toned man sprawled out on the Kraslucist’s silver throne, one elbow on the arm of the throne and one leg crossed on top of the other.

    “Might I ask who the hell you are?” There was no mistaking the authority in his bellowing tone, or the odd hint of playfulness behind the question that made Serafim tilt his head and raise his eyebrows, waiting for clarification. “You don’t look familiar, doubt you’re one of my men. So tell me who are you?”

    Is he a Kraslucist? I can’t get an accurate read of his spiritual presence. It’s not forcefully concealed like a Klipah using leha’alim, so is he human? An exorcist?

    “We’re with the Old Order,” Serafim replied. That alone made the man raise a brow if even for a second followed by a smirk appearing on his pale-skinned face. “We received word from the Children of the Ain Soph that the High Kraslucist is suspected to be a Klipah, and after confirmation from our intelligence division we were sent here to terminate him and a traitor.”

    “The Old Order huh?” The man said, a twinge of surprise in his tone as he got up to his feet. He was dressed in a brown fur coat and brown pants with a black belt filled with knives around his waist. A pair of swords lay dormant in the black sheathes on his back, the sheathes embroidered in swirly, golden-colored tree branches that seemed to coil and twist forever. “They do a great job of protecting Veelon don’t they? Only half a million dead this time huh?”

     “Don’t get the wrong idea monsieur,” Hermés replied, pressing his lips into a thin line, glaring at the man with his fan raised in his direction. “Our duty isn’t to protect the nation of Veelon but to protect ungrateful people like you from the Abyss and its denizens.”

    The man raised his hands in surrender, rolling his eyes before focusing on the two exorcists with a glazed expression on his face. “My apologies your peacock majesty if I ruffled some feathers but I’m just stating the obvious. If the Order wanted to protect Veelon from whatever dwells in that god-forsaken place, then they wouldn’t have stepped in when it interests them. Tell me, now that the nobles have fallen out of favor with Edenia they plan on sending out exorcists to help in overthrowing the High Kraslucist isn’t that so?”

   “Like you know-“

“I do know.” The man replied, his response laced with absolute indifference that matched his facial expression. “I came from a noble family myself, the House of Mercia. And the only reason why you were sent here is to ensure that the High Kraslucist is ousted from power, whether he’s a Klipah or not. You wanna know what pisses me off about that? The Three Holy Dukedoms didn’t send you exorcists here when the High Kraslucist got into power but now that he threatens their little egos they send out their pawns to do their dirty work.”

     “Look. I don’t care about the Three Holy Dukedoms, noble drama, or any of that nonsense, I made a vow to my master that I’d save Klipah from themselves and the only way to do that is as an exorcist.” Serafim said, this only made the man cock his head back and guffaw, slapping his thigh and bending over in a fit of laughter.

      “Don’t care about the Three Holy Dukedoms you say? Everything in Veelon starts with the three of ‘em.” The man said, swiping at a tear and striding his way towards the three of them, his attention was now on Saewynn. “We’ve met before haven’t we girl? You’re the one who wanted me to train you in knife fighting correctly? Saewynn right?”

   Saewynn nodded, facing Serafim and Hermés. “It’s alright, he’s with us. He was the one who saved me when Ailena’s inn got ambushed by Punishment Clerics.”

    Serafim looked up to the man, a sly smile etched on his face as he ran a hand through his short, slicked-back honey brown hair, still wondering why he couldn’t get a read on him. Serafim let out a sharp breath as the man got closer to get a clearer look, he had an eyepatch over his left eye, adorned with a golden inverted spade embroidered on it.

      The man stroked his small, neatly trimmed goatee as he one-upped the two exorcists. “From the looks of it, you must’ve fought Rolfa and his lieutenant ‘Bloodborne’ Agatha. Reports say they weren’t present at the battle, plus I can feel some of their spiritual presence coming off of you two.”
   So he’s not an ordinary soul, the only beings I’ve encountered with the power to mask their spiritual presence are exorcists, Klipah, and…

Serafim’s eye widened at the realization. The man slung his arms over both exorcists’ shoulders, and a devilish smile formed on the edges of his lips. “Name’s Leaifa, the last of the House of Mercia and leader of the Children of the Ain Soph. How ‘bout we head to our camp to discuss how we’re gonna kill the High Kraslucist?”

***

Hermés winced as Saewynn wrapped the bandage around his ribcage. “Tch! I’d appreciate it if you were a bit gentler.”
   “Sorry, my hands were shaking,” Saewynn said in a low tone, he could feel her fingers run over his chest before stopping right where it was. “I have two questions.”

     “What does the tattoo mean and why do I wear peacock feathers on my eyes and eyebrows?”

 “How did you-“
     “I get it all the time. It’s not every day you see a guy like me wearing peacock feathers on their eyes.” Hermés said, a pang of sadness in the last part of the sentence, he reached up and touched the feathers on his eyebrows. “The peacock was an emblem of my family, a symbol of royalty and honor, what my family stood for. It reminds me of someone but I’d rather not talk about it.”

    “I understand,” Saewynn said, putting the finishing touches on his wounds. “And the tattoo?”

    “Dieu est mort. Dieu reste mort.” Hermés began with the grandeur of an actor of a great play reciting his lines to the audience, slow, confident, and elegant. “Et nous l’avons tuée. ‘God is dead. God remains dead. And we killed her. A quote from an age-old philosopher from the Ma’avak Era.”

    “Uh, Hermés? I didn’t grow up here so I’m not in touch with the eras of Veelon.”

    “Heh heh, I forgot that you and Serafim are not soulsborne. My apologies, mademoiselle. “Hermés said, closing his eyes and smiling at Saewynn before looking at the sunset bleeding into the sky from underneath the large oak tree. “Might I ask what age you hail from?”

    “The thirteenth hundred age, from what I remember from what my friends at the circus told me.”

    “I see. From what I can recall, the Ma’avak Era, or the Struggle Era as others would call it wasn’t the best of times for soul kind, to say the least.” Hermés started with a tone suited for a campfire story, playing it up for dramatic effect as he’d often do. “These were dark times, the lands of Veelon were plagued with rebellion, plague, disease, hunger, civil wars, and the list goes on. The people of this time were extremely superstitious and attributed their suffering to evil spirits, all this negativity turn ordinary souls into extremely powerful Klipah more violent and vicious than in any other era. All led as an army by an individual known as-“

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     “Hey guys!’ Serafim’s voice made Hermés look in his direction, he was wearing the new exorcist’s uniform. A militaristic, pitch black coat with a standing collar, multiple gilt buttons and red trim flowing down the flaps of the coat teamed with black trousers and boots. The golden embroidery of the Hamsa Hand adorned the breast of the shirt.

      Accompanying him were two individuals dressed in black tuxedos and recognizable black top hats, one of them a man and the other a woman.

   “Asja madame, it’s nice to see that you still care to see me after all these weeks,” Hermés said in a teasing tone, that only made the woman cross her arms and sigh.

    “Jeune maitre Hermés, I’m glad to see you’re still alive,” Asja said with a slight bow, her face filled with worry. “It would do your mother a great disservice if you joined her too early. I knew this mission was too dangerous, would you prefer to withdraw?”

    “There would be no point in doing so, Asja, mon chéri.”

Asja sighed, knowing it would be pointless in trying to convince him otherwise, it was just the type of person he is, if he starts something he has to finish it unless circumstances changed.

    “Now that we have this little reunion out of the way let’s get done to business.” Eliott said, Hermés remembered him as the man Serafim would often call ‘stupid handler’ under his breath whenever he was around. “Our plans to ambush the High Kraslucist didn’t go as we expected-“
    “No shit genius,” Serafim muttered under his breath, crossing his arms one moment before having his feet swept from underneath him. He landed on his stomach, exhaling a burst of air from the wounds where Rolfa impaled his feathers causing Hermés to wince and touch his wounds.

    Eliott proceeded to sit on top of Serafim’s back with a mischievous smile on his face. Hermés caught sight of Saewynn covering her mouth and trying not to laugh, even Asja had a smile on her face.

    “Now that my lovely, little exorcist here can’t interrupt me,” Elliott said, raising a single finger as he began to speak, Serafim struggling to break free all whilst cursing Elliott out and shouting to get off him. “Our plans didn’t go as expected, from what we could gather from Serafim’s reports is that Sayanim Heija has been declared missing and will be considered dead until further notice. However, we’ve been able to trace the High Kraslucist’s whereabouts to a secluded manor in northern Edenia. And we’ll be sending three exorcists to accompany Leaifa’s party to kill him.”

    “I heard from one of Leaifa’s men that they’ll be executing the revolutionaries they captured as a declaration of war,” Saewynn said. “If the High Kraslucist will be there why can’t we take him out there?”

     “That would be too risky for exorcists to attack him in public, not even considering the potential casualties that could incur.”

    “You mean, it would be damaging to the Order’s reputation if they are seen as aggressors?” Serafim asked, still fighting against his handler’s weight on his back much to the amusement of Hermés.

   “Not quite,” Elliott said. “It would be damaging to the Children of the Ainsoph, if they were to have outright killed the Lihaa leader in cold blood, they want to overthrow the High Kraslucist and establish a new theocracy not start a Crusade.”

   Hermés focused his attention on Elliott, there was this air of calm charisma right down to the way he crossed his legs to the way he spoke with this spellbinding undertone to it, Hermés couldn’t help but be enthralled by him, like a fly to a spider web he was trapped.

    And like a fly to a spider web, he felt this guttural sense of unease from his spiritual presence, a faint hint of mischief that was hard to pinpoint.

       “I appreciate you getting Serafim his toy before he got himself killed,” Elliott continued as Hermés snapped back to reality. “He always was an average swordsman, never knew why he choose a scythe for an Anti-Klipah Weapon but that’s beyond me, anyways for now you’ll rest and train. Your next mission is already waiting.”

     Almost as if a timer was set for them to get the message across, the two Top Hats vanished from Hermés' line of sight. Leaifa watched, propped by the same oak tree as if he’d materialized that very moment, flanked by a group of men adorned in similar outfits.

     “If there’s one thing your handlers and I agree on is that you three need some rest, quite frankly you look like shit,” Leaifa said, the group of men behind him erupted in laughter that died down the moment Leaifa spoke again almost as if he had flipped a switch in them with his voice. “And then we’ll have you trained to fight against flesh craft, from the number of dead exorcists looks like the Old Order’s got quite the track record against Kraslucists don’t they?”
    “Hmph, very funny.”

“Regardless of how I feel, the two of you managed to beat a Kraslucist and their second-in-command. That’s quite impressive, not many can achieve such a feat, without you I’m sure we wouldn’t have been able to be successful knowing Rolfa was around.”

     Hermés yelped as his feet left the ground, Leaifa’s men carrying him as they chanted as whistled in praise for their feat. Hermés let out a child-like giggle, reveling in the appreciation, he even noticed the half smile on Serafim’s face.

     It’s so thrilling to be praised as an exorcist rather than eliciting fear in others, to be appreciated for your efforts rather than shunned and shamed. It’s almost… alien, in a way. Hermés wondered as he was carried further into the campfires where other men sat around, raising their mugs in the two exorcist’s direction. A slight frown formed on Hermés’ face when he noticed Serafim’s downtrodden expression. He’s probably thinking about Rolfa or worried about the promise he made. Even if that’s not the case it could be about the Beast of The Ill-Omen or whether he’ll ever defeat the Maleficent Earl and the Kalma. I don’t envy his struggle but I hope he finds peace amidst it.

  Hermés began to think of his own struggles, the promise he made to his mother. He remembered it clearly, he was standing there in the middle of the opulent shrubbery of the family garden. The memories of its serene, fairy tale ambiance were almost burnt in his mind.

    A field of velvety, scarlet-red flowers would’ve been something out of a child’s fairy-tale, if it wasn’t burning with flames that matched the intensity of Hell itself. Pillars of grey and black smoke shot up into the sky as the pungent scent of burnt flesh of both birds and humans alike hung in the air.

     His gaze was focused on the burning manor made of smooth bronze stone in front of the garden, once tall and filled with all the splendor to rival that of the Three Holy Dukedoms now burnt as if condemned to the eternal pits of Gehenna itself.

     One of his hands held a handful of peacock feathers and the other was held by the only surviving servant of his, Asja.

His mind returned to the present moment, the exhaustion from the senseless violence he’d been involved in over the years as an exorcist began to set in. And all for what? To protect those the Three Holy Dukedoms, deem worthy to be saved? Those that suit their interests? And destroy those who threaten their existence?

    He remembered the vow he made at that moment, the reason why he donned the peacock feathers on his eyebrows and eyes, and the weight of every member of the Saint-Laurent Family that died that night.

    He wore the feathers of the bird on his family emblem not out of vanity or a sense of family pride, but because the pressure weighed on these feathers he wore, the pressure of people he loved more than anyone else in the world. I will kill every member of the Three Holy Dukedoms, even if it meets destroying the Old Order.

    

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