Fear of the Darkness

Joe led the way toward the church's old tunnel entrance, with Raffin following silently behind him. The night was thick with shadows, and their footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestone path. Occasionally, the distant bustling of an unseen animal punctuated the stillness.

Joe's face was etched with concern and hopelessness, the weight of tonight's events at the tavern heavy on his mind. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of his worn robes, fingers flexing as if trying to grasp an invisible burden. He sighed deeply, the sound harsh in the quiet night, his breath visible in the crisp winter air as he thought to himself.

'This anxiety gnaws at me like a relentless plague, feeding on the uncertainty that clouds my thoughts. The unknown twists in my mind, turning simple apprehensions into monstrous fears. It's as if the darkness outside mirrors the turmoil within, each step forward shadowed by the uncertainty of what lies ahead.'

'But anxiety, inherently, is a response to perceived threats, a mechanism meant to keep us safe. Yet tonight, it feels like it has spiraled beyond its purpose, painting every shadow with dread and every silence with suspicion. The news from the tavern has only fueled this internal storm, blurring the lines between reality and fear.'

As they approached the entrance, Joe's steps faltered briefly. He looked up, meeting Raffin's steady gaze. Raffin's expression was one of unwavering seriousness, his eyes reflecting the flickering lamplight. With a silent nod, Joe acknowledged the unspoken tension before stepping into the tunnel.

The entrance to the tunnel loomed before them, a dark maw beneath the church grounds. They paused, the threshold a gateway to the unknown. The air grew cooler as they descended, the sound of dripping water echoing softly through the curved, twisting passages. The walls were rough-hewn stone, damp to the touch, with faint cracks in the ceiling allowing thin lines of moonlight to pierce through, revealing intricate details otherwise hidden in darkness.

"People fear the darkness," Joe began, his tone contemplative. "It's more than just the absence of light. It's a realm where myths breathe and real dangers lurk. Our ancestors feared nocturnal predators, creatures that thrived when our senses failed us. In the shadows, the mind plays tricks, conjuring horrors that never truly exist."

He paused, eyes scanning the dim tunnels. "But it's not just fear of what we can't see. It's the fear of what we don't understand. The darkness amplifies our imagination, making the unknown seem more sinister. Legends speak of creatures born from shadows, feeding on our fears, turning our anxieties into palpable threats."

Joe continued, his voice gaining a hint of conviction. "Yet, many of these fears are grounded in reality. There are beings that thrive in the dark, places where our control wanes. The myths warn us of the dangers that come when we venture too far into the unknown, reminding us that some shadows are best left undisturbed."

They reached the end of the tunnel, where a sturdy wooden door stood silently. A faint glow emanated from within, hinting at the secrets held beyond. Joe turned to Raffin, who was gazing intently at a small hole in the ceiling. His posture was tense, every muscle in his body alert as if he sensed something unseen.

"Ready?" Joe whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Ready!" Raffin nodded, his expression resolute.

Joe reached into his pocket and fished out an old brass key. His fingers trembled slightly as he inserted it into the lock, the metal cold against his skin. With a gentle nudge, the door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in the feeble, flickering glow of a solitary torch. Dim light cast long shadows that danced across the rough-hewn stone walls. In the corner stood an improved bed, now more than just a neglected pile of straw and coarse sheep wool, but still harboring the most horrifying sight.

At the heart of the room stood a solitary chair, in the center of which a man was tied. His skin was a ghastly combination of purple and blue, fresh wounds marring his battered flesh. A small, distinctly colored stone nestled in his matted hair glowed with a reddish-purple hue, casting an eerie light across his lifeless face.

Joe approached the bed, his steps steady despite the grotesque sight. Underneath it, he retrieved a small can and carefully poured its contents over the torch, causing the flame to grow brighter and more robust. The orange light bathed his face, shadows dancing across his features and shifting his expression from piteous to stern.

Gasps echoed through the room as Raffin whispered, "Is this what I think?"

Joe nodded solemnly, stepping closer to the bound man and murmuring a prayer under his breath. He reached out, grabbing the man's head and rotating it slightly to the left. "Look," he said softly.

They saw a worm-like creature slither beneath the pallid skin, creating unnatural bulges and ripples. The skin stretched and contorted as the creature zigzagged upwards, leaving a trail of sickly, greenish ichor. "This poor soul. An awakened warrior lost himself."

Raffin traced his finger carefully over the neck, causing the worm-like entity to hide, replaced by a dark stain. "Not normal! Poison? A curse?"

"Not that I know of any curse like this," Joe replied gently, adjusting the head. "Maybe. They've been active in these regions lately. I received a notice from the church about rituals in some desolate woods."

"Where did you find it?" Raffin asked, concern etched in his features.

"Down by the river, in some bushes," Joe responded, settling back into the bed. "I was wandering aimlessly, seeking clarity amidst an uncertain future, when I stumbled upon the lifeless form by the riverbank three days ago. The peculiar part is that this individual isn't one of our own."

"Is this common?"

Joe looked towards a small crack in the corner of the room, his expression distant. "No, it isn't. In my three years here in Bamor, I've never seen such a thing. The former priest, God rest his soul, never mentioned anything like this."

"This brings something to mind," Raffin said, circling the lifeless body with a thoughtful frown.

Joe observed Raffin's face, noticing how the light and shifting shadows made him look somber, debating whether to speak or remain silent.

"You've told me about rituals," Raffin began, his voice tinged with fear. "During my travels around the region, I encountered things that made me reconsider resting my boots in the city."

Joe closed his eyes briefly, listening intently. "What is it?"

Raffin hesitated, then spoke, his voice wavering. "The roads are no longer safe. Creatures roam freely, and I always have the feeling of something watching me in the woods. It's like being hunted by unseen eyes, knowing that darkness holds more than just shadows. There's a presence, an intelligence behind the fear."

He paused, the room filled with the soft sounds of the flickering flame, the faint scampering of mice, and the whisper of wind through the cracks. "Every step feels monitored, every path laden with unseen threats. It's not just the physical dangers; it's the psychological torment. Something is stirring, something that preys on our fears and turns them into reality."

Raffin stopped for a moment, his breath catching slightly as he listened to the ambient sounds of the chamber. The torch crackled softly, casting dancing shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. The faint rustling of mice in the corner and the distant howl of the wind through the cracks added to the oppressive atmosphere.

"You know, sir. We Awakened have seen things and faced them, here or there. Even so, I felt it. Worse than anything I felt before, even on my awakening," Raffin said, his body tensing. "At first, I thought it was a cursed creature or a mid-ranked beast, but I'm not sure… Something isn't right in these times."

Joe eyed Raffin thoughtfully. He knew Deliverers were tough people, accustomed to facing the dangers of the wild and the creatures that lurked within. They often didn't know if their missions would see them return or if they would be lost to the perils they faced.

"And I saw it, on the road," Raffin continued, his voice dropping to a fearful whisper. "He was cloaked in darkness, hood hiding his face, and the silver necklace of a cross gleaming in the moonlight. I've never seen one outside the church, not in any activity…"

"An exorcist?!" Joe exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. "In these parts?"

Raffin nodded, his expression grave. "He asked me about a woman armed with a whip and warned me to avoid the hidden paths and be careful of the Plagued ones in the valleys."

The mention of the Plagued beings sent a chill down Joe's spine. These were creatures that carried plagues, feared by villages even more than the Cursed. Unlike curses that targeted individuals, the Plagued ravaged crops, livestock, and contaminated water sources.

"It seems this Eruption will be different," Joe mumbled to himself, pondering the implications.

"I think so too," Raffin replied. "I never challenged one, but I've heard my cousin talk about it. They affect not just the immediate area but have far-reaching consequences across the region."

Raffin began to speak, recounting what he'd heard in various villages and cities. "The folks know little about what's truly happening. Most aren't Awakened and can't comprehend the full scope. Before an Eruption, people talk about more creatures appearing, increased plagues, and widespread curses. Afterward, there's devastation — fields ruined, livestock dead, and entire communities falling into despair. The consequences are dire, yet there's so much fear and misinformation. People are desperate for answers but lack the means to understand or stop it."

He continued, his voice strained with fear. "In some villages, the water sources have become tainted, and crops fail overnight. The old legends spoke of such times, but no one believed they would come to pass. Now, everyone is frightened — fearful of stepping outside, of the dark corners where the Plagued creatures might be hiding. It's as if the land itself is rebelling against us, and there's nothing we can do to quell its wrath."

Raffin's eyes darted around the room. "The elders speak of ancient rituals, but they're too afraid to perform them, fearing worse consequences. People are turning on each other, blaming curses, and seeking scapegoats for their misfortunes. It's chaos, pure and unrelenting."

Joe closed his eyes, clasping his hands together in prayer, his body swaying slightly as he sought solace. "Saint's Rose, grant us your grace in these troubled times," he whispered, his voice trembling with earnest supplication. "Guide us through the darkness and protect those who stand against the shadows."

He opened his eyes and turned to Raffin, a solemn request in his gaze. "I have a favor to ask, Raffin."

Joe reached into his robe and pulled out a small pouch, his fingers brushing against the worn fabric as memories flooded his mind. "This pouch contains the letter and some gold for them," he said, snapping back to the present with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"Them?" Raffin looked puzzled.

"Asdras and Brian," Joe explained, smiling softly. "These two poor kids. One lost himself, and the other lost his anchor. They were good kids, great fighters, and I'm hopeful they will be strong challengers against the new Eruptions. I hope you give it to them and take them with you to Baurous by tomorrow. This letter is for the bishop and the gold for the spending."

Raffin took the pouch, pondering the request quietly. "Why is that? If you don't mind."

Joe stood up from the bed, the wooden frame creaking softly under his weight. "Call it the will of God, or maybe my instinct," he continued. "For Asdras to be cursed and without memories, my gut tells me he will do greater things. As for Brian, I happen to know his father and mother from a long time ago."

Before Raffin could reply, faint footsteps echoed from above. Joe shook his head, sighing softly. "These little rascals…"