Chapter 38: "The Dawn of the Cataclysm"

Neryuth’s army formed its rows and marched at my side toward Aurethys. The Feather not only offered the hope of saving their city, but of making their pain disappear as well—through vengeance.

Vengeance is the only way to expiate human pain.

A month after the last time I set foot in the City of the Greedy Star, I returned. This time I was accompanied by thousands who would fight for the future of their nation.

However, that doesn’t matter to me: I only want to take delight in a massacre.

That night was the right one: the Knights of greatest faith applied Punishment and Penance at the apices of the rings of Kaleron. They would be distracted and wounded. It was the moment when the city lost its guardians.

The Order of the Infected positioned itself on the outskirts of Aurethys, silencing the horses’ steps with the Plague and using the veil of night to camouflage themselves in their black armor.

It’s now or never.

They crossed the rivers and lakes that surrounded the city as if they were solid mud. The Plague spread over the surface and the soldiers marched across it, leaving footprints that burned in silence.

They were not men, but a horde of borrowed bodies that smelled of metal and death.

They attacked the houses ruthlessly. They brought down doors and then burst into rooms, searching to tear out the most precious things Aurethys kept.

The townspeople were treated like livestock. They looted the houses and dragged men, women, and children alike out of them, treating them like trash.

There was neither order nor compassion in their violence. A man tried to protect his daughter with his body and received a lethal cut that left him lying on the ground; a woman bit her aggressor’s hand until she tore it off, and even then she was taken.

Where there was resistance, it was annihilated with the same impatience with which a trapped animal is shredded in a snare.

Death moved through the alleys like a ravenous beast and did not distinguish whom it devoured.

In a blink, half the city had died in a frenzied attack, submerged in chaos and destruction.

It’s a suicidal plan. Once the Kinghts arrive, the Infected will be done for. They can kill inoccents but their nauseous bodies won’t resist a real battle.

They knew it, but were willing to sacrifice their lives to maintain that illusion — the promise that with my help they would save their town.

“It’s cruel but fair. Zenith was the one who condemned first by killing Xeroth.” one of the souls whispered.

“Without their God, no one lends them the power of the Plague. They lost the element they handed their organs to in exchange for inhabiting them.” Another added.

“But without Xeroth, the Plague inside them vanished, shipwrecking them in a sea of slow putrefaction,” mentioned the oldest.

The Order of the Undefeated Sun made itself present at least, wielding the will of the Sacrum element like a weapon for the massacre.

That is their true power: to submit to the human wish to the limit, to give shape to their greed.

The Infected threw themselves against the walls of Aurethys’ militia, one after another, as if their lives were rocks to be hurled. Every wave opened gaps with blood and panic: they died so the next could reach a few further steps.

I saw men throwing themselves with white eyes: there wasn’t heroism, only the cold purpose of buying me time.

Just a little bit more, resist according to what was planned.

“Your deaths won’t be in vain; they are justified.”

“You fulfill the purpose your nation enjoined you with: to save it.”

“It’s for a greater good.”

The weight of my actions fell on my shoulders, since I had encouraged them to unleash that carnage.

Watching the battlefield filled me with a comforting satisfaction: I had granted a wish I had harbored years ago, a shame that it was finally released from its restraints.

Once the time indicated, I headed toward the Cathedral of Perpetual Order.

I slid between the debris and broken doors, taking advantage of the wreckage that had been created with the cold precision of a plan that did not intend to survive. It was repulsive, effective, but necessary for what was coming.

The city bled like a wounded beast, slowly and without indulgence. What a pleasure.

The Knights had abandoned their headquarters, leaving only copyists, sacristans, and acolytes who did not know my face.

Except Zenith—she must know why I was here. And even so, she hadn’t appeared yet. Did she not even consider abandoning her throne, not even when a war was being fought in her domains?

I pretended to be a servant, running through the mess and chaos the Knights had left in their departure: they had arrived so quickly at the battlefield that they had abandoned their headquarters in disarray.

The rooms seemed looted; the hallways were full of papers and classified investigations, instruments, artifacts, and other trinkets.

This place is a mess. I can’t conceal my joy.

In an instant, I entered the intricate hallways of the cathedral, until reaching the Crypt.

As my steps resonated, the white light illuminated the place. The abyss surrounding the hallway gave me a warm welcome. Ahead, the remains of the God of the Plague awaited restlessly for their resurrection.

The pain in my forehead had intensified; it plunged into my skull like a piercing needle. It’s the Wound that seeks restlessly for my redemption. Time is running out…

“I never thought you’d be able to return to my chambers. You are the first one who has come so far,” said the maiden, letting out her rusted laugh.

“The first one? Did someone try it before?” I asked.

The chains that tormented Xeroth swayed uneasily; they could no longer bear the weight of his corpse.

“We failed in our mission and were discarded. Zenith saw us as trash and exiled us.”

“During our exile, Silence guided us here, to this Crypt. He told us that Xeroth could guide us to the end of times.”

“Nonetheless, when searching for the Feather, we failed and ended up in Kaleron, trapped in the Bell, the only place where our Silence wouldn’t break the harmony of the nothingness.”

So they had followed my steps as well, only that glory did not decorate them for their feats.

I stood in front of the Lord of Flagellum; I extended my hands toward him, and the Feather touched his flesh.

I know your origin and your end. That is why I, a simple human, claim the threads that shape your fate. Allow me to change them one last time, Xeroth.

Then the Feather was illuminated. The light and darkness that composed it swayed in an infinite seesaw. I felt my body crumble, decomposing into the immensity of an abstract tidal wave.

This is not what I felt when I altered the story of the flame in Neryuth. What’s happening? This feeling, the way my skin reacts to what’s happening is… so pleasant… I feel a greater power running in my veins.

I closed my eyes and, in a blink, I was transported to another part of the Crypt.

No, to another part of the universe.

A colossal book extended in front of me, as thick as mountains. Embroidered on its cover, thousands of symbols and diffuse characters overlapped one over another, illegible.

Hundreds of hands gripped the volume with unparalleled force, fighting to keep it closed. They prevented anyone from reading the Pact that lay in its pages, the forbidden seal of the Gods’ truth, their…

“This is my story, human.” Said the Lord of Flagellum, with a voice that made the oneiric space rumble. “Do you think you have the strength to truncate the laws of the universe? Do you believe you have the audacity to defy the unalterable order? Do you think yourself capable of changing this world’s nature?”

I approached the book and touched its existence.

“Of course I do.” I answered firmly.

Then the hands gave in. The book opened with such force that it provoked a demolishing impact, altering reality itself. In that instant, it entered my being and changed my perception of the world.

My body reacts differently; I see colors I could have never imagined, I feel things that weren’t there before. I trascend alternate realities, futures that haven’t occurred yet, and pasts that happened, maybe, millennia before.

There, the pages ran frenetically, one after another, showing me their content. At first, they were illegible icons that exceeded human comprehension. But then, the power invaded my mind and I became capable of understanding them.

Are these the capabilities of a God?

The symbols—unorganized, complex, and chaotic—started to reorganize into a neat plot. They unraveled their characters, twisting into serpentine lines that no longer told a story but unfolded into images.

Then, the Feather reacted to them. The black, absolute darkness erased the contents of the book, and the glowing light, absolute, rewrote history.

So this is the ability to destroy over The Genesis and create over The Ruin…

The hands returned to grab the book again with unleashed fury, forcing it to close while the Feather still altered its existence.

Nonetheless, they couldn’t prevent the seal from breaking.

The book closed. In a blink, I returned to the Crypt. I stopped being a God; I came back to my mortal condition.

However, I had done much more than what a mere mortal could ever do.

Chains broke, and the void gave in to its immensity, marking the resurgence of Xeroth.