Chapter 5 - A Voice For A Choice

"Hmmm…" my voice carried skepticism.

"A demonstration would suffice, I suppose," her speech exuded a respectable tone. However, appearances often lie.

There was a difference in the air, a noticeable one. Within an instant, my lips became dry, my throat parched, and a burning sensation seeped into my eyes due to a lack of moisture.

I braced myself for the unnatural. If something was going to happen, preparation was key.

And then, the unnatural did happen…

From just a few feet in front of me, a swirling white mist materialized, unfurling from the air like a silken veil.

It danced in slow, mesmerizing spirals, the tendrils weaving an intricate ballet of vapor. Each breath seemed to animate it further, thickening the ethereal fog with a ghostly elegance.

My eyes recognized the translucent mist—it was the same. A precise replica of the Dove's, yet the smell was different. This particular mist carried something…malevolent.

The cloud expanded, enveloping everything in a hushed, dreamlike silence. Its cool dampness kissed the air, leaving a delicate trail of dew in its wake.

"Hello," D said as she arose from the mist. I expected to encounter a goddess of sorts, perfect in beauty with an aura of benevolence.

Instead, she was ugly. I caught myself from the brink of laughter—who wouldn't? The alleged 'deity' appeared as the epitome of absolute disgust.

The temptation to laugh was strong, yet the fact that she could kill me without batting an eye was more unsettling.

From the swirling mist emerged the grotesque deity, her visage a cruel mockery of beauty. Her twisted features contorted into a malicious grin, eyes burning with a malevolent, otherworldly fire.

The air around her crackled with dark energy, a palpable sense of dread seeping into my bones.

It was as if she wasn't human, but rather a monster—one that should never have existed.

"I'm beautiful, aren't I?" Her twisted expression made it hard to distinguish whether it was sarcasm or not. However, I knew an unanswered question would not bode well.

"Y-yes," I replied, a blatant lie.

"To live means to suffer," an ironic memory of Father brought a slight grin to my face.

"Thinking about your father?" Footsteps resounded through the vicinity as she approached lightly. The distance between us shortened from a few feet to mere inches.

She lifted a grotesque hand and traced my cheek, the sensation alone causing my stomach to churn.

Out of instinct, I stepped back in retreat. How did she know?

What else did she know?

"How did you know that?" My speech became stark as my eyes filled with disgust.

She did not respond verbally. The ungodly deity tilted her head as if she had misunderstood.

"You are not aware?" D's smile grew to an abnormal size. I could feel it internally. Her smile contained something…sinister.

"Of what?" I demanded, stepping forward to rescind my retreat.

"Hehe," D's laugh was even more ghastly than her appearance. "You will find out in due time…that we are more connected than you think."

D's tone signaled that revealing her intentions was not in the plan, and pressuring her further would only dwindle my chances of survival.

While the conversation was much appreciated, my attention was demanded elsewhere—on power.

"You mentioned…power," I said cautiously.

"Yes," she began to walk in an unpredictable pattern. "You see, there are six archetypes."

"And…" I prompted. As such information was common in this era of never-ending wars.

Affinity examinations were commonplace; in fact, the Church required testing for anyone or thing that drew breath. But affinity was far different than ability.

From the Sparrows and Finches of the battlefields to the Ravens and Cardinals of the noble houses—each archetype was respected. Revered. If an individual had an affinity, their entire bloodline was practically secured.

However, Crows and Doves were different. They weren't just respected, they were worshiped. But if the Church discovered you had the slightest bit of affinity their 'chosen' archetype, freedom would become nothing more than a distant dream.

The Church of Masse wasn't a small religion, and its superiority spanned centuries. To disregard the Church meant to disregard life…I had learned, firsthand.

The gruesome creature continued, "Well, consider yourself lucky because you have an affinity towards three archetypes…"

Her slithering voice had a unique quality of temptation, but my time was steadily diminishing. Time I didn't have.

"You're speaking in riddles…get to the point," I said, impatience filling the surrounding air.

"Think of your potential as a furnace," her speech quickened. "Something must be burnt to activate it—hence, you pay the price of your voice."

The otherworldly grasp around the neck returned, but it would not stop me. My eyes filled with an indistinguishable flame, my hands clenched with fury, and my blood quickened.

"I'll do it," I said, the possibility of vengeance invigorating me. Revenge was in sight. Clear sight.

"That's more like it," the deity's voice adopted a bubbly personality. "When you return, don't be surprised…Xavier."

Her comment trailed off as she dissipated in a cloud. A tremor went down my spine—for I had just made a deal with the devil.

Each sense returned with a vengeance. The light blinded me, the frigid metal restraints bit into my skin, and the stench of death invaded my nose. Yet the blandness of the room remained.

Turning my head, I noticed a few slight yet distinguishable changes in the room.

The silent Crow had retreated behind, while the Dove was close enough that his hot breath could be felt.

"Hahahaha," Sinclair laughed, his sadistic eyes piercing through the hollow mask. "How was it, meeting your Nest?"

"My ne—," Something was wrong. My mouth formulated the words, but they did not escape. They were sealed, locked by an impenetrable door.

That damn whore had taken my voice.

"Hmmm…it was successful," Sinclair held his chin with a discerning expression. "And it seems you have the same drawback as Benedict."

My attention scoured the room before landing on the Crow. Was that why he didn't speak? Did he meet another deity or—

Sinclair interjected, "Wow…and you are affluent in three archetypes." He tilted his head closer, and an unsettling tingling sensation ran down my body as he peered intensely, "It's better than I predicted".

The Crow broke his silence and stepped forward, an oppressive current engulfing the atmosphere—almost making it hard to breathe.

In response, Sinclair averted his attention towards the Crow. Once again, he exchanged a few words using his hands. By simply watching his fingers, I knew what type of man this was.

Quick, assertive, and direct.

"It seems we are behind schedule," Sinclair's attention returned, now with a stern sentiment. "In six years...you'll be thanking us."