Darkness.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The world was still - quiet in a way that shouldn't have existed. No sound. No sensation. No pain in my neck, though I knew it was still there. I was still being choked, and the Bishop in from of me proved that. But he was frozen, and the world around me had… shifted.
Like something had tugged my soul from my body and left it here to rot.
Everything was painted in monochrome - shades of pitch black and gunmetal gray, the only color piercing through it all being a soft red-pink glow that bloomed before me like a spiderweb.
She didn't walk. Didn't descend. Just appeared, like she had always been there and I was merely slow to notice.
Charlotte.
Wreathed in that familiar aura, hair flowing like blood in water. Her glowing eyes shimmered against the blackness, casting long shadows across the floorless void. Even the edges of her dress fluttered as if the world remembered what wind once was.
"You're late," she said, lounging midair as if gravity were beneath her.
"Not exactly by choice," I croaked. Or at least, I thought I did. My voice sounded distant. Like I was speaking through water.
She cocked her head, eyes narrowing. "The Bishop is forcing it out of you."
My brow furrowed. "It?"
She didn't answer.
My vision flickered - static danced along the edges of my sight. Her eyes watched me carefully, lips pursed with thought.
"You don't know, do you?" she finally said, twirling a strand of red-pink hair around her finger. "He's trying to drag something from you that isn't meant to be touched. Something that sleeps beneath all your thoughts. Something you've buried."
I took a breath. Or mimicked one.
"I don't know what that means." I eyes her with suspicion, as if she was speaking nonsense.
"Of course you don't. That's what makes you safe. For now at least. You've chosen to forget, maybe it was for the better."
Another flicker. I could feel the pressure on my neck, faint but real, like I was two places at once. "Charlotte, what is it? What the hell is he pulling out of me?"
She floated closer, and for the first time in a while, she didn't smile. Her voice dropped.
"It's not human."
I blinked, a bit weirded out. The last thing I wanted was some paranormal spirit possessing me.
"You're not entirely human. Not anymore. Not since you stepped into the Veil that night four years ago. You didn't leave empty-handed, Damian. No one ever does."
Silence. I choked up a bit from the mention of that night four years ago. I had tried my best to forget about it, and I thought I had succeeded of burying such an awful thing.
"But I-"
"Your fate is unpredictable, like a system of webs," she continued. "I can't even see anything right now, its as if something is blocking me. And in all honesty, I don't want to see, it'd be too painful."
I was quiet.
Charlotte turned away, folding her legs midair as she floated upside down, as if laying on an invisible ceiling. "Humans are always reaching. Always grasping. You can hand them divinity, and they'll still try to bite God's hand to take the rest."
Her gaze landed back on me. She seemed much more cold now, as if she was speaking from experience. Her gaze stabbed through me, and it felt like more of a warning than a lesson.
"That's why they break."
I wanted to ask more. I wanted to scream what the hell am I then - but before I could, the world began to dissolve.
Charlotte gave me a lazy wave, but she still didn't take her eyes off of me.
"Good luck. You'll need it."
And then - nothing.
---
My eyes opened.
Air surged back into my lungs like I'd just drowned, and I started gasping like a beached fish.
I was on the ground.
Face pressed against cracked stone, arm twisted beneath me at a weird angle. My head throbbed like it'd been split in two.
Shit, this hurts...
I pushed myself up.
The world spun - tilted - settled.
The Garden of Yarrow was in ruins. Black fire created scorch marks streaking across the marble paths. The trees were half-burnt or snapped in half. Smoke lingered in the air, faint and heavy with iron.
Arthur lay in a heap not far off, unmoving but... breathing. Barely. He was still unconscious, inwardly I was thankful.
My gaze turned forward.
The Bishop was standing. Still alive. But something was off.
What the...?
His left arm was gone - torn off at the shoulder, jagged bone and sinew exposed beneath what remained of his robe. Blood dripped lazily to the ground, mixing with the ash and soot.
And yet...
He was smiling.
Smiling like a madman.
Like he'd won.
He started laughing hysterically, as if he found all this all so funny. He laughed so hard, he had to clutch his stomach with his remaining hand, and it took him a while before he calmed.
What greeted me was a more warm smile, and he wiped the tears off his face as he spoke.
"You've done well, well indeed" he said, his voice light and bizarrely cheerful for someone missing a limb. "You've proven more than I hoped. This whole excursion has gone so much better than I had expected. I'm glad."
I didn't respond.
My hand slid toward my pistol.
"Now now," he said, holding up his remaining hand, "no need for that. I've already lost, haven't I?"
Bullshit.
Albeit, I was impressed by how he remained composed with all the blood that surrounded him.
He turned his back to me.
I stood up - barely - my pistol was now aimed at him.
"Follow me."
I hesitated, eyes flicking to Arthur. He was still breathing. Bleeding, but alive.
"Now, if you please," the Bishop said, already walking toward the ruined greenhouse at the edge of the garden.
Cursing under my breath, I followed, gun still raised. I wasn't going to take any chances.
The greenhouse was mostly intact - glass cracked in spiderweb patterns, vines growing up its sides, the inside overtaken by wild greenery. Strange herbs. Thorny plants. Flowers I didn't recognize. A dense overgrowth of petals and secrets.
The Bishop walked casually through the foliage, as if none of this bothered him.
I kept my distance.
"You want answers, yes?" he said. "Let's start with the Angel Eyes. As I'm sure a child like you must be curious."
My grip on the gun tightened.
"They were never meant for the Empire," he continued, brushing past a blooming black rose. I couldn't tell from behind him, but it sounded like his expression darkened. "They were meant to bind us. Chain us to a dying God's final wish. But someone took them, tamed them. That's where your Noble families come in."
My breath caught.
"So they're-"
"Traitors, yes," he smiled again. "The Angel Eyes weren't a curse. They were a seal. And now that they're breaking - one by one - your kind are panicking. Your losing control."
I remembered the war room. The letters. The Eastern Empire. The nobles. The ceremony.
"Are they really working together?" I asked. "The nobles you guys poisoned. The Eastern Empire."
His smile widened, almost too wide.
"Of course. How else do you think this ends, child? This has always been about war. Your precious Empire is rotting from the inside. We originally poisoned them with a temporary sedative, to clear them from suspicion, but now..."
His smile only grew wider.
"...They're probably already dead."
I swallowed hard. My mind raced, and I felt anxiety start to consume me. I needed to adapt to this new information and formulate some kind of a plan. The problem was, I was close to exhaustion, and this was all happening too quickly.
"And the room hidden in the drainage tunnels… that was real?"
"Very. And you were meant to find it, and only you"
So they planned that too…
"How did you…?" I gestured to his missing arm, to the battlefield.
He only grinned wider.
"The Prophet was right," he said with glee. "You're special. More than I imagined. She saw it, long before I did. And now... now, you're beginning to understand. You will in due time, you and and the child of prophecy."
His pace slowed. He led me to the far end of the greenhouse, where vines had been pulled back from a large stone altar.
A man's body lay crucified against it.
My blood ran cold.
The Heirarch.
Spikes through his wrists. Blood dried down his robes. His eyes were missing - sockets hollowed like candles burned out.
I staggered back.
"Why." My voice cracked. "Why did you kill him?"
The Bishop looked up at the Heirarch's corpse with something close to disgust, yet a strained grin appeared, as if he was trying to admit something.
"Because he killed me."
I stared at him, uncomprehending.
He smiled gently now. Softly.
The edges of his body began to fray - like smoke rising off burning wood. His form cracked, little pieces breaking away with the wind.
"What…?"
"My time's done," he said. "But yours is just beginning."
I stepped forward, uncertain.
The Bishop raised his hand in farewell.
"Tell the Prophet..." he smiled. "Maxwell sends his regards."
And with that, he crumbled.
No scream. No flash. Just... ash.
Swept away by a wind I couldn't feel.
Silence.
I stood there.
Staring at the corpse of a man who had once ruled over an entire faith inside this city. Crucified like some twisted parody of salvation.
My gun hung loosely in my hand.
Fuck, what am I supposed to do now?
I turned, stumbling back out of the greenhouse.
Arthur was still alive.
Barely sitting up, one hand pressed against the bleeding hole in his shoulder.
His gaze met mine.
"…what… happened?"
I didn't answer right away.
I looked back at the burning garden, still lit alight by black flame. The destroyed temple. The fading echo of something I couldn't name.
Then I looked him in the eyes.
"Things are going to get worse."
He nodded faintly. Like he already knew.
I staggered forward, dropping beside him.
My limbs felt like lead. My eyelids heavy.
Too much.
Too fast.
Too soon.
Footsteps. Dozens. Heavy boots thudding against stone.
Shouting.
And then-
"Damian!"
A familiar voice.
Mary.
Please, just let me sleep...
I'm just so... tired...
The last thing I saw was her face, eyes wide in panic, running toward me.
Then…
Darkness.