A Tale From Before

Reggie fixated upon the elderly man laying in front of him. Great-uncle Abel, his favorite relative for all his life so far, was not doing well. Perhaps his body and soul would soon fade away from this world and go somewhere else. Somewhere better, perhaps. However, he was soon interrupted.

"Reggie, my boy. I have one last story for you today." His voice, however erratic and raspy, still rang clear in Reggie's ears. "See, I have been here, in this land, for eighty-two years. And did you know how different it used to be? Oh, it was so strange from now. After all, we have been ruled by them for sixty-five of those years." He cleared his throat, but it was more like a weak cough.

"I remember fondly when I was a young lad, perhaps five years older than you. That day we came to church."

"A church? What's that?" Reggie asked.

"Ahh, about that. It was a house of worship for Cadmius Luxus, the Greatest Among the Stars. We would sing the praises of Cadmius and make sure we upheld his image. After that, we read pages from our copy of the Manuscriptus Aeternus y' Luxus. I remember on that day, we read a passage on daemons."

"Wow, uncle! Did Cadmius revel in their glory and free his soul from his shackles, embracing his humanity like we were taught?" Abel took a pause, and then continued his raspy speech. 

"No... there's a reason you do not see Cadmius now. He was a hero because he fought them and safeguarded humanity."

"So he was an oppressor who favored men instead of women, ugliness instead of beauty, revenge instead of great peace? Who dare worship that terrible, horrible man!" Reggie was outraged.

"Boy, boy. Listen to me; back in my day look at the women. They were beautiful and tasteful with shiny clothes. They were nice to you; they would listen. Your late aunt, she was bred of those times. "

"A...auntie? She was a horrible oppressor too?" He was conflicted; surely there's no way his wonderful aunt would be so terrible.

"And boys your age, Reggie. They played in the street. Obeyed their parents, slept properly, learned a lot, and fought against the terrors of this world."

"That sounds good, though. Your hero isn't good. How is this possible?" Again, Reggie was confused. Perhaps his uncle was ranting madly in his final moments, a sign that he had lost all clarity.

"Well, look around you. Out the window towards Shackle-breaker Square." He lifted a bony finger at the shimmering lights a small ways from the cabin. Reggie turned his gaze to Shackle-breaker Square as directed by his great-uncle. The night was alive with pulsating lights and the cacophony of unbridled revelry.

In the center of the square, a massive fountain spouted streams of what appeared to be Snarky Cat liquor instead of water. Clustered around it were dozens of people, their movements erratic and uncoordinated as they filled their cups and gulped down the intoxicating liquid. One man, particularly frail and gaunt, clutched a bottle of Snarky Cat to his chest as if it were a lifeline.

To the left, a group of women in shimmering, revealing dresses danced on an elevated platform. Their laughter, unnaturally high-pitched, carried across the square. Reggie noticed how their eyes seemed glassy and unfocused, even as they moved with practiced grace.

Just beyond them, an enormous banquet table groaned under the weight of exotic foods and spices. Two men of impossible proportions sat at either end, shoveling heaping platefuls into their mouths with alarming speed. Their jowls quivered with each bite, and the air around them was thick with the mingled aromas of countless dishes.

Scattered throughout the square were other scenes of excess: a group engaged in some kind of frenetic game involving glowing orbs; a line of people waiting their turn at a machine that seemed to dispense instant pleasures in the form of colorful pills; and in one corner, a cluster of individuals plugged into sleek devices, their faces slack with artificial bliss.

The entire tableau was bathed in a sickly sweet scent that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was a scene of humanity indulging in every conceivable desire, yet there was an undercurrent of desperation to it all.

Reggie absorbed this sight, his young mind processing it as the pinnacle of human achievement and happiness. "It is truly glorious watching humanity enjoy what they have worked so hard for," hoped that his uncle would snap to it. The great indulgences that made being a human so worth it; which made the burden so easy on their shoulders. 

"Look back now." Abel croaked.

There was not much. Only a sword, a profane relic of the past meant to disrupt humanity's progress. Then it was dust. But still, when he looked at this place, it felt... right. As if maybe life could be just that, simple and humble. Abel was more than content; he was happy to spend even his last day when one should have such sights to see and life to live in this room with his belongings.

An abrupt screech startled Abel and Reggie. A black vehicle had pulled into the lot and out stepped two red daemons, horned figures which could feel only power, which was used to safeguard humanity against threats.

"Reggie... One more thing. I have my things under the floorboards, they are yours. Take what you find and..." His uncle, once powerful and inspiring, lacked even the ability to finish a sentence. He was cold and still now, forever with the other ethereal damned.

His eyes awash with pain and grief, Reggie could no longer feel pleasure. His final lifeline against the darkness, his favorite person, was gone forever. Then came a knock. Finally, the Red Daemons had come for him. But today was not his day to die. With trembling hands he pried open the floorboards to find their bounty; a dusty leather tome and an alabaster pendant symbol unlike anything he had seen.

With a final, tearful glance at his great-uncle, Reggie slipped the book and pendant into his pocket and slipped out the back window. He had a lot to learn, a lot to fight for. He sprinted into the night, the chilling laughter of Shackle-breaker Square fading behind him.Back in the safety of the woods, he pulled out a piece of paper and, his hand shaking, started to write down everything his great-uncle had told him. The words flowed, fueled by a burning desire to remember, to resist, and to one day, rebuild. The Prophet of Great Desolation had been born.