Fan Fiction ❯ Penitent ❯ Chapter 01 ( Chapter 1 )

Setting the pace, chaos and beginnings.

 

 

Two people, who we can call heroes, embark on a long journey traveling towards a city that contains the mythical church called St. Merriam's Holy Sanctuary, to see the prophet known as St. Merriam. Years ago a call to any capable noble warrior came from that very church to save all of mankind. The call, an homage to the saviors of mankind, and a time old story of good verses evil surfaces, and rumors begin tell of a time when man was innocent of the modern atrocities. However, the two travelers aren't aware of this historical truth and journey for a purpose that the St. Merriam church presumably holds.

 

Their journey has taken years bringing much adventure and triumph, as well as failures that weigh heavy on their consciousness reminding them of the world's unrelenting anger. This anger appears to be directed at all of its inhabitants, who suffer trying to survive. A suffering that hardens those who survive into mindless creatures of function or symbolic pillars of purpose, as is our noble heroes. Each had a history and a partner before they met that has long sense passed, and they had found themselves searching for the same answers. So they agreed to aid each others plight taking them to the same destination as fate would have them. So what would a “fate of the world” story be without its hero's?

 

Unfortunately, the fight has already happened and the fate of the world has already been chosen. It's this truth and history the fighters seek, but they no not of its happenings. So, we follow them, at the beginning of the end of their quest, days away from the church. Jack is strong and experienced, but meeting St. Merriam still unnerves him. Jill too is strong and experienced but a bit more confident, so they talk when the thought arises and continue on their journey, traveling in a state of introversion and constant reflection.

 

“So whachah heard `bout da chica?” Jack asks with a voice as friendly as possible while he stares down a wolf as it growls aggressively towards him. He holds his sword confidently in front of him and stands firm and prepared to strike at the appropriate moment.

 

Jill holds her sword at the ready, waste high, with her left palm pressed firmly against the hilt prepared to thrust it into the first attacking beast. “Naniwa `Chika' koko desuka?”

 

“Chica, ahh, da woman. Merriam.” He answers as he swings his sword behind him and down upon the wolf with a speed unnatural for the large encumbering weapon. The strike releases pent up angst and frustration bringing the beast instant death.

 

This battle, one of many, is just another notch in their belt. In symbolic mindlessness they react to their attackers and dispatch their intents to the four corners of the world as quickly as they came. This small part of their journey comes to an end this day, Jill sits on a log preparing hides from the defeated beasts and Jack sits on the ground with a strong fire pit roaring between them. Above them, the stars litter the sky without a moon causing the trees around them to shroud themselves in a darker blackness than the sky.

 

“Saintu Mariyum. She is a wise woman, she will only see those who are ready to see her,” Jill replies in a slow broken manner while attentively tending to her project.

 

Jack slides his honing stone up the length of his sword and brings his hands down putting the stone in his lap stopping for a moment, “She see us, no?”

 

“no is Si?” she asks.

 

Jack is caught off guard by their lingual differences searching in his mind for her meaning while his gaze darts across the ground as if chasing a cockroach darting from object to object. “Uhh well, what I mean is...”

 

Jill gives a silent giggle while he thinks it over and packs her belongings getting ready for the nights slumber. Time passes and they both sleep peacefully, a rare occurrence for weary travelers, but the night is treacherous in its moonless facade to would be attackers as well.

 

Into the next day they travel, another day that blurs within many others, only offset by their silence and patience. Their silence is of course, unfaithful to their feelings. Each has journeyed so long that the destination is making them nervous as they draw closer with each passing moment. Their journey has brought them together, and its end presumably resembles the end to their relationship. Reserved as they are, they dread the end. Their life is good, and each has witnessed much worse, but now the future has brought something different, and this difference could end much more than just their friendship.

 

They walk upon a path that cuts a line between the forest's trees, the path is wide enough for horse drawn carriages to pass, but there are none on this day. They walk in a relaxed manner enjoying the mid day sun as it hovers over them, a rare occurrence considering the amount of anomalies that pass through the sky blotting out the sun, stars, and the moon. Jack has his sword sheathed and the scabbard lays across his shoulders as he rests his arms over them, “St. Merriam, we come to her?” He asks interrupting the silence.

 

“Hai.”

 

“She see you and me?”

 

“I'm ready to see her.” The response means a lot to Jack, who isn't ready to see St. Merriam, but will if he has to. He isn't the type of person to be alone, preferring good company, especially hers. Jack is a man of action, and responds to the moment. He doesn't plan ahead and would rather see things become what they will be and doesn't try to intervene. Jill isn't much different but can plan things out as they need to be making the future a little less bleak.

 

The day comes to an end, and eventually the night plays its serenade giving way to a new day. So they continue until this new day brings another moment as Jill is crouched on one knee with her sword thrust into the belly of a bandit. His arms slump over her back releasing his dagger that dropps to the ground. Jack pulls his sword out from the armored chest of another assailant that clutches at the air as he does. The assailants arm falls limp to the ground when the sword is pulled free, and Jill pushes her attackers body allowing it to fall to the ground, and wipes the blood from her face with her forearm.

 

“I think maybe no,” Jack solemnly states.

 

“You don't want to see her?” Jill asks as she wipes her blade clean with the bandit's dark colored shirt.

 

“No, no no. I do, but… those peoples,” he struggles trying to assure that his words are as clear to her as he can make them “who come back, never the same.”

 

Jill sheaths her sword and gestures towards him “She is wise, wiser than you. No?” she rhetorically states smiling. He smiles back with uneasiness as he knows her kind of truth, looking away to daydream by staring off into the sky, they continue on their trek.

 

Another day passes. They both find themselves walking along a winding path filled with desolate individuals whose state of depravity tests their patience. They are pawed at for bread, water, and pity by a crowd of decrepit individuals whose life seems dependent on the charity of others. Their cloths are tattered and dingy, unclean from poverty. Jack's own resistance is stronger as he stares above the horizon holding his belongings, his long sword and a bag of food, tightly in his hands. You can't feel bad that Jack lacks the resolve to give charity, but the state of the world is in such dire straits that if he gave he would be in need. It causes an endless cycle that they know of to well. They have learned that in order to survive you must make something of nothing. It is an impossible task, but they both know that nothing means death.

 

Jill looks down at their feet, with her hands clasped in front of her chest trying very hard not to look into anyone's eyes. He continues on as her attention is drawn to a small writhing body on the ground. She stops next to a child that could not be devoid of her attention as the young one clings onto its mother, whose swollen body signifies that death has taken her away and is soon coming for the child. The child, to weak and to young to step in front of anyone to beg, looks up. The putrid stench of defecation quickly fills Jill's nose and she brings her hands to her face to keep the stench from overpowering her senses.

 

Jill stands there with her eyes fixed on the child's sunken, food deprived face. Tears fall from her cheeks, but she makes no sound or draws breath while she ponders the most moral thing to do. She can't bear to do nothing, because allowing this inescapable suffering to continue is unbearable to her. She wants to avert her eyes, but the sight is so disgusting that she must do something. Gathering herself, she moves her hand into a pouch, pulling out a small rolled up piece of paper and lifts a corner to unravel it completely. She places the now rectangular piece of paper onto the child's forehead marked with her native writing.

 

“The last rights,” it reads if it were to be roughly translated. Steam rises from the borders of the paper and the stench is washed away by a sweet hint of very rare spring flowers. The young child raises its hands into the air looking towards her; the gaze is too distant to be focusing on Jill. “Momma,” the child cries with an angelic sweet voice and her eyes roll back into her head and her arms fall limp, followed by the torso as it stops breathing, laying in the comfort of the mothers body. The symbolic moment of mother and child joining each other in death as they found each other in life they rest eternally now joining each other in the after life without the constant suffering and strife of the modern atrocities. Jill turns and runs catching up with Jack, her tears fall in a steady stream leaving a glistening trail from the nights stars and sliver of a moon, as they fall onto the ground.

 

They walk into the center of the city, which rests atop a hill, stopping at the outskirts of a crowd that has gathered around the church that is their destination. The massive building dominates the landscape with high walls decorated with stain glass windows that glow with the lights from inside. In front, a large statue of a robed woman garnered with wings, holds an offering to the sky in its palms, with ribbons that stream from her hands to her feet. Assortments of white pigeons adorn the peaks of the statue competing for sure footing.

 

Jack looks around examining the size of the two story taverns and tailors that occupy the buildings nearby, noting the monolith dimensions of the church. From the hill top it dominates the skyline being the tallest building in the entire city, and being the largest building Jack has every confronted. They had walked up a slight incline of a hill to the church and throughout the streets and alleys stand hundreds of people streaming down, all waiting silently.

 

“Ikumasyo. We go,” Jill motions to Jack drawing his attention with a quick wave of her hand. He takes a deep breath and starts moving forward gently pushing the people out of their way closing the gap between the two. Each individual looks depraved and sickly, and they give him glances of fear as he gently touches their shoulders asking that they part. He is a stout individual and his massive size is unintentionally dominating. They make their way near the foot of the statue noticing that no one rests at its base, and a good pathway separates the crowds into two respective groups as it winds from the steps to the statue and circling back again. Those stones look fresh, clean, and new. Not like the dingy dusty stones that they are walking on now.

 

“Hah! Gato Chica!” Jack boasts pointing to the ears on top of the statue.

 

Jill looks up at the top where two distinct feline like ears peek out on top of the statues head, “Hai, Cat-Girl,” she replies.

 

“So, what now?” Jack asks.

 

Jill turns her attention to the entrance of the church and pulls at his arm. They start to move, but as soon as they do the massive doors creak signifying that they have begun to open, and the crowd's anxiousness becomes overbearing pushing themselves closer to the building crying out to the saint inside. Everyone clamors “Merriam,” and begs that she cure them, their child, bless this or that. The cries all become drowned by their own clamor which makes both of them uneasy while the voices compete for attention making them selves louder with every passing second.

 

From the church doors a glimmer of light darts out illuminating the onlookers faces by a line of light that grows as a single monk opens the massive wooden door. He stands in the door way, dwarfed by its size silhouetted by the light from within, and looks out into the crowd. He then leans inside and waves for his companions to come out as well and a parade of clerics rush out. The robes that drape over their feet make it appear as if they are floating out of the doors and down the steps, in a massive swarm, into the unattended walkway carrying a bulging cloth bag.

 

They swarm through the walkway efficiently lining it, facing towards the on lookers. They give the package to the person immediately front of them and like a bucket brigade they begin to hand out the parcels to all within reach, resupplying themselves from a line that reaches up the stairs and into the depths of the church producing bag after bag.

 

Suddenly, a scream comes from the crowd as a woman points into the doorway in a hysterical manner and utters of indiscernible words come from the crowd as the woman faints. Barely a moment passes by and more and more of the individuals start to notice a woman's figure in the church's doorways standing there timidly trying to obscure herself with the door. Hiding herself behind the doors she timidly looks out into the crowd.

 

This commotion redirects our hero's attention from the parcel brigade and Jill points out the figure to her partner, as the silhouettes white gown gleams with its own holy aura and a woman stands there looking back at Jill. The woman stands still in the doorway with a noticeably solemn face, and Jill looks atop her head to see the same cat ears poking out as they are on the statue. The figure moves back into the church and a trail of white feathers follow her as three monks scurry down the steps, each adorned with different robes than the rest of the line of monks.

 

They scurry down and stop in front of the heroes and promptly bow, “We have been expecting you, come you must be weary from your travel,” the man in the middle who is adorned with the most eccentric robes, states.

 

“Ahh bueno!” Jack replies and pushes Jill forward into the path that separates the crowds. With this, a wave of whispers and murmurs ripple through the crowd, as the audience starts examining the two of them while they are escorted away and ascend the steps into the church. Jack looks behind him and down the steps into the crowd that seem less fixated on the parcels as they are handed out, and more interested in them. Jill sees the last parcel passing from one monk to the next as they usher themselves into the doorway by the 3 clerics succeeded by the monks who file in as quickly as they had come out after delivering their packages.

 

The brigade of monks begin to file into the doorway making it necessary for our hero's to travel further into the church avoiding a collision from the hasty individuals. They stagger back, past the ornate entry way and into the church noticing an absence of the expected benches or pews. Jill follows the line of monks who spread out going back to their respected duties. Work stations litter the massive church floor only segmented by the supplies they use as monks scurry along the walkways delivering bowls and messages. Where an audience should sit where countless numbers of tables, boxes, cooking food, and more. Jill walks over to a nearby monk as he operates in a smaller, more personable cauldron, chanting ancient verses into it while it smokes and takes on a life of its own. He doesn't waver from his incantation while Jill peers closer and closer looking at the concoction inside, instead he waves her off with a single motion of his hand aggressively insinuating her inappropriate approach.

 

Jack grabs her by the shoulders and points out, beyond the busy monks, a robed woman ascending a staircase into the second level of the church behind the furthest wall into another room. They look at each other and hastily make their way through the busy monks to catch up with her. In their haste they are absent minded of the fluidity of the motion as they traverse the pathways as Jacks massive shoulders bump into various monks who balance their parcels in their hands. They reach the podium at the center of the far wall and look for the stairs that would take them to her, when the three monks who brought them inside grab at their arms, “Please valiant heroes, wait a moment. You must eat and rest first.” they plead with them.

 

“We come and see St. Merriam,” Jack interjects pointing at the area where he last saw her. He has a scowl on his face that shows his relative frustration and anxious at finally making it to the destination.

 

“I understand, but she needs rest and so should you,” the monk pleads to jack with his hands clasped in front of him.

 

“Perhaps we should, we have waited this long,” Jill reminds Jack who, expressing his frustrated mood, pulls his arm out of the monks grasp and lets out a disgruntled sigh. The monks exchange glances with each other and turn to show the two of them to a room where tables and benches have been setup, and various monks have gathered to eat and be sociable with each other. This large kitchen is busy with individuals packing more parcels for the next charitable handout, as well as eating themselves. It is a calm place compared with the main entrance, so Jack sits at a table slamming his sword down silencing the entire room with its clamor. He puts his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands slouching over the table. His massive frame hides Jill as she sits beside him.

 

Monks begin to file out of the kitchen at the far end of the room as they carry a buffet lines worth of trays, displaying an assortment of exotic fresh food that neither of them have had the privilege of sampling before, around the room. Both of them remain speechless as the trays are set across the table each displaying their food in an enticing manner. Monks continue until all the adjacent tables have also been filled running back and fourth intent on their task. Jack just smiles and grabs random bits off of passing trays as the monks exasperatedly try to fend him off while they set them down at their respected locations.

 

“Why so much?” Jill asks the closest convenient monk who averts his eyes and gestures towards the entrance where many other travelers and heroes, such as them arrive from quarters further inside. A massive number of them file into the kitchen, talking boisterously to each other and sit at predetermined spots only acknowledging each other in their own groups.

 

“Move this hunk of tin!” a woman clamors beside Jack.

 

Jack grabs his hilt and prepares to defend himself, standing up firmly from the bench as he examines the woman from head to toe. She is adorned with a uniform that he had only heard of. Green and absolutely unattractive, with heavy boots and pants lined with functional pockets. Her shirt has its sleeves rolled up just short of a shield like insignia on her right arm. “Olif garb warrior?” he confusingly asks.

 

“Olive drab, and yes. But you can call me Lieutenant Sharone.” She extends a heavy metallic right arm in a hand shaking gesture. “156th artillery division, just north of here.”

 

Jack stares at it still holding onto his own sword perplexed, never having seen such an armored arm as hers.

 

“Hajimemashite,” Jill replies stepping out from behind jack and bowing in her appropriate fashion, “Dozoyurishiku.” After which she delicately grips her hand to reciprocate the friendship.

 

“HAH!” Lieutenant Sharone bolsters shaking violently sending Jill off balance.

 

Jack gently grabs her shoulder keeping her from being thrust down to the floor from the force of the handshake. The clamor of talking and eating dominate the seen with the exception of Lieutenants Sharon's laughter and a call that comes from the other direction.

 

“JILL!” It repeats getting louder.

 

Jill turns to see an old friend waving his arm in the air several rows away “Tomus!” she states and works her way over.

 

“Jill?” Jack confusingly states. “I thought your name Jiru,”

 

“No, its Jiru,” She replies shortening the vowel at the end.

 

“Jill?” He clarifies following her.

 

“Hi.”

 

Jill stops in front of the strange man with her hands clasped in front and anxiously bows, her voice takes off with a force and speed of her native language as Thomas responds with equal verbal vigor. Jack stands there watching her become more at ease and acts oddly feminine the more she talks with him. They sit and eat, and all the while Jill tends to Thomas pouring his drink and assuring he is comfortable, leaving Jack displaced and uncomfortable eating slower than he normally would. He sits there aching to hear a Hispanic voice finding none and sulks in his own displacement.

 

“Thanks for taking care of my Jill,” Thomas tells Jack catching him with a mouth full of food.

 

Jack simply smiles and nods in an unfriendly manner.

 

“She has told me a bit about you, I appreciate it. Good quest mates are very hard to come by and you two make a good pair.”

 

Jack nods agreeably again, spending the rest of the meal glaring at the capitalizer of Jill's attention, trying to make out any bit of the conversation he can carrying a more than unamused look staring at the person in front of him who sits there and eats uneasily.

 

Later that evening after several groups of people have left the tables retiring for the night Thomas bows saying his goodbyes leaving the table, and Jill looks over to Jack smiling. Jack scowls at Thomas following him with his gaze as he walks away. He finally notices Jill after her smile had left, replaced with a scowling glare of her own.

 

“Whose he?” Jack demands avoiding eye contact.

 

“My friend,” she dryly replies.

 

After dinner they are escorted by monks into the sleeping quarters and shown a room with two separate beds, introduced to the wash basin and water pitcher and told goodnight. The monk closes the door behind them as Jack allows his massive frame to fall upon the bed closest to the door. He puts his hands under his head and stares at the ceiling.

 

“What time ago you meet him?” he asks.

 

“He is my master,” she replies unfolding items from their gear.

 

Jill prepares her bed and falls quickly asleep; Jack plays with a piece of food stuck between his teeth listening to the sounds the church makes at night falling asleep much later, still scowling.

 

* * * * *

 

The eternal night that is known throughout the city is unfamiliar to you, so in this moment of solitude we can leave the church and examine this strange state of things. We will learn from St. Merriam of a battle that happened over four hundred years ago. The battles result has caused what they now see as the new modern world. It came to be, in a form of rebirth, and referred to thusly. The spiritual scientists and historians have kept detailed journals of the occurrences before and after this event, giving a very detailed account. However, they read slowly and aren't proper narrative material so I will summarize it.

 

In its current state, “The Worlds” are referred to the innumerous amount of parallel dimensions that a band of three warriors, evil ones if you will, unbound. The bounds that separated the dimensions creating what we understand as parallel dimensions, was smashed apart and all of the worlds combined rewriting the laws of physics, as they melded into a single dimension. This created the standard paradox where any known and unknown, imaginable and unimaginable creature and variant of man has risen to wage war on itself.

 

We have to understand the way the dimensions existed naturally before the walls were torn down to understand how it happened. So, let's go further from the church and away from the plane that is the modern word. A star field will fill your vision but we must look deeper, more spiritually into the meaning of things. Imagine two trees whose roots are intertwined with each other, growing at opposite directions. Their roots represent the spiritual conduits that take the spirits of the dead to heaven, or hell, and intertwine in an endless maze holding each tree to the other. The appropriate lore from many cultures is represented in many facets, but one truth remains; there is life after death. Of course these trees branch out into their respected variants of heaven and hell, each represented as an entire.

 

When we focus closer on these spiritual roots we see that only where they intersect do we get an instance of a world that holds a dimension capable of supporting sentient life that adheres to the belief of a soul or afterlife. This brings us to a modern view of philosophical culture that is accepted among many different religions of the known worlds, which is that conscious thought makes one a living soul and that conscious thought is equal throughout the worlds. However, not everyone believes this. As the belief that the color of ones skin would once make one perceived immediately as inferior, different species of equal conscious thought, are presumed inferior to the other creating an endless fear driven cycle of hate.

 

When the warriors won their battle those many years ago, they destroyed the fabric that separated those worlds. Also understand that this fabric was a defensive barrier keeping heaven and hell from having direct contact with each other. Demons had to travel randomly through the worlds to find the final path to the heavens where they would do battle, constantly trying to gain ground. Unfortunately, they have conquered entire worlds making their presence very potent and ominous to all who have suffered their wrath. But this very design keeps either from being able to dominate the other as minions from either side would be lost within the roots of the trees.

 

Once the delicate fabric was broken things that neither heaven nor hell wanted to have happen cascaded on itself, ancient forgotten creatures broke free and ran in a chaotic dance about the new worlds. The worlds broke apart, and merged into one giant plane during which almost all of the water had fallen to hell , the only constant down, where it evaporated, and a steam bath rose leaving a salted entry-way killing the guardians of hell, which in turn released many other minions who now torment the merged planes of the new world.

 

Water comes only when it rains and people store it as readily as they can. This in turn has caused great suffering and intangible crops, stagnating filth that spreads disease. Unclean living conditions and an inability to perform the most basic of hygienic rituals, the world is thrown back into the dark ages of ignorance and suffering, littered with useless ancient knowledge that has been desperately held onto by a few cultures. The population multiplied by an incalculable number when this happened, but so did the land. Unfortunately without sustenance, millions died in the first years as food reserves from the more capable worlds depleted quickly from constant raids by desperate people. Some cities could defend themselves and still exist as fortresses or open metropolises today, such as this one where the church now rests.

 

This particular city was created from the destitute and is kept alive from the generosities of the church, whose only source of sustenance is from the mystical capabilities of St. Merriam who trained hundreds of like minded monks and nuns that work constantly, and without rest, to fulfill the needs of a massive city. In it, sits a population of 3 million people with a major portion of it being transient. These individuals have come to find hope and salvation but this taxes the capabilities of their saviors and many die waiting for the basic needs of life.

 

Death.

 

Death is an absolute in life. Everyone is born owing their life and the demon who calls himself Death is often seen walking the streets of any city, at any time, claiming the lives of those it wishes. Death is also one of the original demons that fought the battle bringing the worlds to where they are now, as he is now the guardian to the gates of hell. Of course he is powerful, but his subservient companion, Chaos, rules the lands with a god like ability to change the rules of existence, making it even harder to survive. Being demons they cannot function or face the church of St. Merriam or its blessed grounds. So they, or their minions, dare not enter knowing they face unmerciful defeat.

 

Plans need a great planner. The orchestrator of the new world calls himself Mayhem, and he spits at the heavens with his every breath having been cursed by God early in the days of man. Many people are aware of their existence and stories have surfaced of people who have looked them in the eyes and suffered the delirious effects of their demented thoughts. These people, who have lived after looking them in their deep soulless eyes, cannot cope with life and suffer from many different levels of hysteria, after which they are tended to in the bowels of the church. Mayhem still looks for a way to destroy the heavens, having already conquered 2 of god's domains; Hell and Earth.

 

St. Merriam is a kind, compassionate, loving person. She has loved before and lost many people who she cared for so deeply but it will not stop her. Now, the only survivor from the rebirth of the worlds, she works to save mankind and all its variants with every waking hour of her life. Back in the church, at this moment, she focuses to bring the storm clouds. She does this in her large bedroom at the far side of the church, sitting at the foot of her bed where pillows have been placed in easy reach all around her. Maidens that tend to her needs, stand at the ready having witness this before.

 

St. Merriam glows with her white, heavenly aura and her wings spread to her sides. She raises her arms and says a Latin phrase, “Let god bring the heavens to us and cleanse the earth with its rain.” She brings her hands together and all the light about her focuses onto that point between her palms illuminating the room with spots of light from her fingertips.

 

“Amen,” the maidens all say in unison and the light moves with a speed indiscernible by human eyes, and climbs into the sky. Clouds gather and lightning strikes, awakening a majority of the city. Storm clouds grow and writhe as clouds do, and blot out the heavenly bodies that are the symbol of this city. Lightning clashes into thunder echoing throughout the land, and the people lining the alleyways and streets raise their heads embracing the ominous clouds knowing it is a gift of Merriam. They raise their hands and suddenly gain enough energy to praise her, god, the city, themselves, and their decanters.

 

The rain begins and its heat stings those who are outside. Steam rises and the familiar, clensing cool rain quickly follows. The temperature of the storm drops into a comfortable range making the people smile and some even cry. Throughout the landscape everyone is looking up with only one exception. The dead cannot raise their hands, and they cannot appreciate the rain. But one is to wonder why no one is weary of the dead. But in this moment, everyone is washed of their weariness, and their cloths bleed off the dirt and filth they have gathered outside of the city.

 

Colorful brilliance comes out in their cloths again, and they look renewed. Children's faces become innocent and gleeful as they splash and play in the heavenly gift. The child that Jill felt pity upon, still holds her mother as they slowly dissolve in the storm, as their now impure bodies are washed away into the city's gutters and drains. No one suffers in this moment feeling blessed by St. Merriam's gift of rain that comes so infrequently in this world. The storm lasts as long as it is needed to, and washes the city clean of the debris created by defecation and death.

 

Merriam falls onto the pillows exhausted from the activity, and the maidens tend to her helping her rest comfortably. The clouds slowly part and the morning sun peaks over the horizon changing the color of the skyline to a blue and orange splattering of colors. The gathered water glimmers in the light, and people begin to live as they should, without worries and fear once more, if only for a while. The town comes to life and looks less like its depraved state from only moments ago. Doors open with laughter and the clamor of a market becomes the status quo, as goods are sold and patrons smile.

 

If St. Merriam could maintain this indefinitely, she would. Unfortunately, this will only last for the day and the taint of the world will soon catch up covering the city in its filth. Clouds of sulfur, dust, and torture, loom in the distance, and will arrive just as the rain had dumping their atrocities onto the people. This cycle keeps the world the way they want it to be, the way they desire it to be. Some even worship the occurrences of Chaos hoping to appease his angst finding solace in this act, but others know there is only one true salvation.

 

If St. Merriam would tell the entire story I wouldn't be telling it to you. She will bolster the spirits of the heroes to do fend off the atrocities of the world, but this isn't the entire story. I will tell it to you, and any one else who would hear it. I will allow you to hear St. Merriam's truth, as she would tell it, but I will also allow you to see the other side, to better understand the beast. But don't judge me for what I say, know the anti-hero for what he was and who he is. For I am Mayhem, and I am Cane.