Deacon Malachi Shard
Stepping out of the steel factory, Gerry exhausted now, walked towards the copper gates. Upon reaching the gates, he saw corpses sprawled around the street and a few men clad in iron masks removing the corpses and evidence of their presence from the scene.
He was a bit confused for a few seconds, then the dots began connecting. "So that's why I kept on feeling like they weren't dying. They also had some backup." He muttered to himself.
Gerry wondered if Harlow had given him wrong information about the number of mystics in the factory, but now that didn't seem to be the case. They didn't think there would be others outside the factory.
'Something still doesn't add up.' Gerry thought.
Gerry's trench coat was like a bee hive, nestled with holes from the bullets that hit him. His derby cap was nowhere to be seen. The skin underneath his clothes was red, leaving evidence of contact with the bullets. His right eye was still void without a pupil in it.
"If we hadn't called for backup then I would have been killed." The steward that drove Gerry and Harlow to the factory came forward and said to Gerry.
Right behind Gerry, came Harlow, even more, exhausted than Gerry. The scars on his face had turned black and seemed to be oozing some kind of mucus. His entire skin complexion had turned to a light shade of green.
"Woah, blimey, you look like you just came out of a pigsty." Gerry jerked when he turned to look at Harlow. He was surprised to see how he had mutated since the last time they saw him.
Gerry was certain that all of the mutation was due to using an artifact. He was even more surprised that Harlow was walking.
The petrification skill was still active, meaning that the artifact was still taking something from Harlow.
"Did you manage to find out what church they hailed from?" Harlow asked, ignoring Gerry's comment. "They can't all be from the Ominiscious church. If this many of them had converged in Araya then we had known and the lives they sacrificed to cover up their tracks wouldn't have been sufficient." Harlow added.
"That is correct, Mr. Harlow, while the mystics that you both found and killed in the factory might have hailed from the church of Ominiscious, these lots out here are from the Resistance." The steward informed.
This information caused Harlow to frown, further increasing the output of mucus that was coming out of his scars. "The Resistance? Are you certain?" Harlow questioned.
"Yes,"
"Were you able to find out where their hideout is?" Gerry asked.
"Fortunately, after torturing a few of them, I got lucky. I was able to get an address from a bloke before he kicked the bucket, West Brook. I immediately informed the church and had them send a platoon from the pantheon." The steward said. "They should have found the place already, maybe even dealt with everyone there by now." He added.
Gerry sighed upon hearing this, it was good news to him. He was already exhausted from tonight's battle and he didn't want to have to push himself to go and the Resistance in his current state. It was an unspoken rule that every mystic of a church adhered to, to kill the members of the Resistance on sight.
Harlow too was also secretly relieved to hear that the pantheon was already on the case. His body wouldn't be able to take on more damage and even worse, another battle with a Blessed one.
He was getting weaker by the second as he still had his mass hypnotic spell active.
"We lost some numbers today, I propose that you inform the bishop that recruitment of new members would be imminent. We will have to prepare for a mass ritual." The steward stated.
"Unfortunately," Gerry sighed, "But death embraces all. His lordship is impartial, even to us, his favored children. We must return to his loving embrace and be reawakened as an embodiment of his will." Gerry mentioned fanatically.
"I found two good seedlings in the factory, they have a high affinity for the arcane. It wouldn't be hard to turn them into gifted mystics…" Harlow informed, surprising Gerry and the steward. He described Matthew and Theodore to Gerry and the steward.
"I didn't take you as someone that would be willing to participate in recruitment for the church," Gerry uttered.
"It is not willingly. I came across them when I was interrogating the steel millers, they are both somewhat unique. Kidnap them if you will… and get the cleaners to act fast, my vitality and mana are almost exhausted, I still have to manipulate the memories of the steel millers before releasing them." Harlow walked past Gerry and the steward, dragging his body to the carriage.
Gerry volunteered to go look for Matthew and Theodore inside the factory while the steward urged the cleaners to act faster.
The cleaners were pilling the corpses on a cart, using some chemicals to destroy the traces of blood left on the pavements and road…
A while later, Gerry exited the factory and headed towards the carriage that Harlow was resting in.
"I couldn't find anyone matching the description that you gave." Gerry voiced out immediately as he opened the door of the carriage.
Harlow, whose eyes were shut closed, grunted before giving a response. "Look again…"
"I already did, several times."
Harlow opened his menacing eyes, glaring at Gerry for disturbing his peace. Gerry remained where he was, staring into Harlow's eyes. "Fine, I'll bring them myself." Harlow broke the silence and left the carriage.
He too searched the factory for Matthew and Theodore, in the end, he was shocked that he couldn't find them anywhere.
"How?" He said to himself, pondering on when Matthew and Theodore escaped and how they did it.
"Despicable!" Massey bellowed as he stormed out of the factory. "I have searched everyone in the factory and I could only find two of the blueprints! Who in the devil's behind stole the remaining!!" Massey cried out, furious that he couldn't find the rest of the blueprints.
"Two men are missing," Gerry said to Massey.
"What do you mean missing?" Massey replied, confused and unwilling to listen to Gerry.
"I mean that two of the people that were interrogated weren't found petrified, asleep, or dead. They're missing." Gerry explained a bit.
"Mystics?" Massey asked.
"No, wet ears," Harlow answered firmly.
"How sure are you?" Gerry probed.
"I used the artifact, if they were mystics I would have known. If they had an artifact with them to nullify the effects of my artifact, I still would have known. They're just wet ears with potential."
"If they're not mystics then they wouldn't have been able to steal those blueprints. The blueprints are enchanted." Massey explained.
Harlow took a deep breath, frustrated that he had more work to do and wouldn't be getting a break anytime soon. "We'll have to search for them later then." He uttered before heading back to the carriage to rest some more…
The Cathedral Reforged in Chaos.
Smoke swirled through the fractured ribs of the cathedral. Moonlight painted the nave in grotesque shades of silver and shadow.
The grand clock behind the desecrated altar, silent since the day Malachi Shard seized the church, stood frozen at the witching hour, its rusted hands forever clutching at eternity.
In this unholy mausoleum, where hymns and songs of glory once echoed off the hallowed stones, Malachi surveyed his flock.
His face, a roadmap of scars etched by fire and blade, wore the cruel smirk of a wolf.
In the hollow belly of the desecrated cathedral, shadows danced like marionettes pulled by malevolent strings.
Here, amidst the whispers of forgotten prayers and the stench of burnt incense, a congregation of the damned gathered around their prophet, Deacon Malachi Shard.
His face wore the grim smirk of a predator surveying his prey. Crimson glinted in his monocle, catching the slivers of moonlight piercing the stained-glass windows fragmented with unholy power.
The clank of his clockwork arm punctuated his words, each tick a grim countdown to the chaos to come.
"Look upon this monument turned rusted piety! Once, it choked on the stench of hypocrisy, yet now it breathes the sweet air of anarchy. We, who dared to peel back the gilded gears of society and find the writhing chaos within, we stand as the harbingers of a new age!" He started.
The congregation, a motley crew of outcasts and zealots, responded with a guttural murmur, a symphony of desperation and twisted hope. Each face, a canvas etched with hardship and the thrill of rebellion, hung on Malachi's every word.
"Brothers and sisters of Chaos," His voice echoed, a rasp against the bone-dry air.
"Look upon this monument of false piety! Once, it pulsed with the charade of devotion, yet now it stands as a testament to our righteous truth.
We! Who dared to delve beneath the gilded gears of society?! Who peeled back the skin of morality to find the writhing, glorious chaos within, standing as the harbingers of a new age!"
He stepped forward, his silhouette stretching towards a monstrous puppet against the skeletal remains of the altar.
A low, guttural murmur rose from the congregation, a symphony of fanatics and outcasts, each facing a canvas of desperation and twisted hope.
Malachi spread his arms, encompassing the shattered nave with a theatrical flourish.
"They called us heretics, ostracized us for embracing the forbidden knowledge that lives beneath the cogs of civilization. But we, my disciples, we saw the truth! We saw the potential that lies in defying the others and harnessing divine power!"
He stepped closer, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.
"Soon, we break the chains they forged with lies! Soon, we paint the streets with the blood of their hypocrisy! soon, we show them the true meaning of power, forged not in enamored halls, but in the fires of chaos!"
He held up a hand, and from the shadows emerged a hulking figure, its silhouette a nightmare of twisted metal and flickering lights glowing with magic. A monstrous figure lumbered into the moonlight.
The Harbinger… a testament to Malachi's twisted genius. The crowd gasped, a ripple of awe and terror.
"Behold, the Harbinger!" Malachi boomed. "A testament to the forbidden union of flesh and the enigma of the arcane, a harbinger of chaos! A harbinger of the new world we shall forge!"
The Harbinger lumbered forward, its flesh groaning, its eyes twin furnaces.
The air crackled with anticipation, the silence thick with the weight of impending violence.
"Go forth, my instruments of righteous fury!" Malachi roared, his voice shaking the dust from the rafters.
"Unleash chaos upon their gilded cages! Let the blood of their false prophets stain the streets! Let the cogs of their world grind to a halt under the weight of our rebellion!"
The congregation erupted in a cacophony of guttural roars and blood-curdling screams. They surged forward, a tide of shadows and steam, fueled by fanaticism and the promise of a world reshaped in the fires of their own making.
Malachi watched them go, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "Let the chaos reign," he whispered to the echoing silence. "And let the world drown in the blood of its undoing."
But beyond the initial fervor, beneath the surface of fanaticism, Malachi's gaze held a deeper secret. A glimpse of something colder, a thirst for something beyond mere chaos. His ambition wasn't just to topple the existing order, but to remake the world in his twisted image.
A world where flesh and magical artifacts would dance not in communion, but under his absolute control.
As the shadows swallowed the congregation, Malachi turned his gaze back to the altar. His fingers brushed against the cold metal, tracing the arcane symbols etched into its surface. In the dying moonlight, they pulsed with a faint, malevolent light.
These symbols whispered to him by voices from the abyss, held the key to his true goal. Not just to break the chains, but to become the master of the gears themselves.
He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the ruined nave. The sound of a prophet, a madman, a god in the making.
The sound of a man poised to unleash a storm of chaos upon the world, a storm powered not just by fanaticism, but by the forbidden knowledge that writhed beneath the gallows of the church.