Aftermath
My body is hanging with a rope around my neck, with many more wounds than when I finished fighting. My black hair is red from the blood in my skull, and pieces of flesh are missing from my torso and arm.
One eye is missing, the socket completely empty, and my hands have been cut off.
My armor is gone, replaced by a pair of pants that show my wounds.
What? Why?
WHY THE FUCK AM I HANGED LIKE A TRAITOR?
I try to use mana to calm my mind, but I can't, and I feel my conscience clouding with rage.
I'm going to kill her.
Suddenly my anger fades and my mind becomes clear.
"Calm down, child, analyze and look for an explanation. Everything can be explained.
I immediately began to look for answers.
I surveyed the scene and noticed that my body was not hanging alone; next to me was Azrath, none of his former majestic presence. In worse condition than the last time I had seen him, with a long open slit in his chest showing the absence of his heart.
I also noticed that both he and I had a sword and laurel burnt on our foreheads. The distinctive mark of the "sinner cleansed by the Church.
Why do I have this mark?
This mark is given only to the most vicious criminals, those who have been defeated by the Church, and their death symbolizes peace for mankind.
Our bodies are surrounded by the high command of the Empire and the Church. At Azrath's side is the current Emperor, a man in his 70s with an upright posture and an air of dignity about him. He is dressed in blood-red royal robes, with the mark of the Empire on his chest. A black eagle closing its wings on the drawing of a palace. It symbolizes the protection of royalty over the realm.
The Emperor stands next to the King's Guard, a group of six who surround him in star formation, all dressed in gold to warn those brave enough to approach the ruler of his presence.
It is a tactic of intimidation, showing the power of the palace, that the man needs no one to protect him; if he tried, he could kill his six guards alone.
On Azrath's side is the Pope, head of the Church.
A frail-looking man of about 40, he is the youngest Pope in the Empire. He is said to be able to use divine magic because he is an apostle of several gods at once.
I have never seen him fight, he has always been buried in bureaucracy, trying not to be absorbed by the Empire.
Curiously, he is not surrounded by his guards, but by a group of cardinals. They were probably the ones who helped him become pope at such a young age.
Wearing a white cloak over his body, I cannot make out his figure properly, but as I said, he is fragile. As if he were a sick man.
There are consequences to using the power of different gods. Divine mana damages the soul, the only thing that allows humans to use mana. When the soul is poisoned, the body decays. If he only uses his divine power, he will die by his 50th birthday.
At some point, the emperor raised his hand, quelling the bustle of the masses and creating a sepulchral silence.
"Loyal subjects, I am pleased to see you here. We had a week of celebration after the news of the Elf King's defeat arrived last month, happiness and tranquility overwhelming our hearts. It has allowed us to walk our lands without fear, without the uncertainty that one day they will invade and destroy what we love.
"But unfortunately, not everything is a celebration today, because today we will burn the body of the one who was once our hero and our hope, but today is nothing but a traitor."
After hearing these words, my mind confirmed the suspicion I had not allowed myself to have. I am a traitor to the Empire and to humanity.
The Emperor continued his speech, but I could not listen. Forcing my mind to calm, I continued to watch.
"While his treachery burns our hearts and makes our minds scream in disbelief, today we will have peace knowing that the demon's unholy soul will disappear with his corpse. May the priestess come to give the last sacraments."
"Yes, Your Majesty.
I turned my head to follow a woman's voice, a familiar voice.
It was Mikela, walking calmly towards my body.