Chapter 4 - "D"

"You still have a little fire inside you, I see…" Sinclair said jokingly, his sadistic eyes visible behind the mask. "Should we test how long it will last?"

The Dove's white cloak fluttered as he made his way toward me, each step forming a rhythmic, calculating beat. I didn't need to look up; I knew what he had planned.

Something worse.

Unexpectedly, fear was absent. The relentless throbbing of my heartbeat was gone. The usual tremors of my spine were gone. The pain had become a distant memory as raging thoughts calmed.

Was I truly here? The real question was: what had pain done to me?

I smelled the Dove's breath as he drew dangerously close.

Then the supernatural occurred…

Doves and Crows are highly regarded as myths. It was customary for the Church to assign a province to each of the two.

While the general populace saw them as the Church's imperialistic devices, the battlefield told a different story…they were gods.

The mask's hollow eyes glinted in the bright light, capturing my gaze and holding it with an unsettling intensity.

"While we Doves can't destroy, we can create." He leaned over me, and from the depths of the beak, a soft hissing sound began to emerge. "Which means we can continue this fun for a very…long time."

A thin, white vapor started to seep out, curling and writhing like living tendrils in the air. It moved with deliberate slowness, as if aware of its purpose, enveloping my injured body in a cool, ethereal embrace.

The vapor moved with eerie precision, infiltrating damaged organs and sinew, its touch frigid and strangely intimate.

Within the fog of disorientation, each injured part was cradled by the vapor, which wove through veins and tissues, binding ruptures with an almost sentient resolve.

The physical pain ebbed away, replaced by a numbing chill, as the mist caressed inflamed surfaces, soothing them into a deceptive calm.

"Wh-what," I stammered in confusion. I had seen other types of Mistomancers, but this was nothing short of insane. A body on the brink of death, practically dead, had just been revived in a matter of seconds.

"Hehe—I know, right? We wouldn't want the fun to end." This man was psychotic. He didn't belong on this Earth, yet here he was from the Church.

The smell of death entered the scene, adding another layer of chaos to the fray. It was the Crow.

Without a word, he placed a hand on Sinclair's shoulder. The Dove shifted his attention behind him, his irritation almost palpable.

"Ok, ok, ok," he continued, "we're behind schedule, I get it."

The gruesomely large man, adorned in a black tuxedo with an overlapping cloak, stepped forward. His presence demanded attention, but so did his stench.

It wasn't his sight that captivated me, but what he held: a silver blindfold made of metal. Without instruction or warning, he placed it over my head.

The blindfold pressed against my eyes, cold and unyielding. Its metallic surface was smooth as it molded to my face.

Each breath echoed against the metal, amplifying my isolation, plunging me into a world of impenetrable darkness.

Then it struck. Like thunder.

——————

This madness exceeds the level of the supernatural. Unexplainable. Is this what the discreet and covert Church of Masse was truly capable of?

An assault of endless thoughts punctured my cranium. My mouth gaped, trying to explain the impossible.

By some means, I had been transported. No, keen senses revealed that it wasn't my body. Something internal...the soul.

My eyes scanned frantically, searching for a plausible explanation. Inwardly, I hoped this was a dream. But the reality was undeniable—I was in a void.

A deep one.

It was white, pure, and infinite, stretching out into the distance as far as I could see. The void seemed to go on forever, with no end in sight. It was a place of absolute stillness, with no sound, no light, and no movement.

"Is this to your liking?" a feminine and distinguished voice broke through the silence. "I heard emptiness tends to be calming."

My hands formed fists of rage—life kept happening, and I was powerless to stop it.

"It's okay…" I said under my breath. No matter what happened, emotions could never be left unchecked. War taught such things; emotions will kill you faster than your enemies.

Another moment of silence ensued. Not a word was spoken, not a question uttered. It was calming, a moment to recollect the mind that had once departed.

But such a blessing would fade in time—they all did.

"What is your name?" I questioned aloud.

"Hmmm…no one has ever queried me on such a subject," she spoke with a sense of dignity, her tone similar to that of nobles.

Almost like Sinclair…but calmer.

"You may call me D," she responded after a still moment of deliberation. "And yours?"

Words began to form but were left unreleased. I didn't want to answer. If she was anything like the others beforehand, giving a name permitted hell.

"That's not important," I replied starkly. "What are you?"

"Straightforward, I see. In terms of your world, I may be referred to as a deity.

"A diety?" I questioned further, "Then you must know why-".

She interjected, "Why I brought you here? Well...because I'm bored…"

That was it. The final straw. Years of pent-up anger came to the surface, causing my tone to flare. Caution was thrown off the table—it didn't matter anymore, nothing did.

"You BASTARD!," frustration clouded rationality.

"I understand your misplaced animosity," she said calmly. Madness and fear had replaced a stable mind.

"So out of consideration, how about we make a deal…"

Her tone slithered; whatever she had in mind was dangerous. But sanity was long gone, and if this so-called 'deity' could grant power, I had open ears.

However, emotions had to be hidden for now—any wrong moves could spell my death. "A deal for—?"

"Power," she interrupted once more.

"Power?"

The deity's voice exploded with enthusiasm. "Yes…" Her sense of dignity was replaced with cunningness. "But it comes at a cost. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A voice for a choice."

An otherworldly grip molded around my neck. I attempted to remove it with my hands, but it wasn't there—like a ghost.

"A choice…for what?" My question introduced curiosity into the atmosphere.

D's tone became sharp as a dagger. "A choice to rule."