Perfect Calm

Foolishness.

This was utter foolishness!

"So the Evil God of this world has blinded your eyes as well… a shame." As the whispers of Bishop Carl descended on Luca, the latter shifted slightly.

He could feel the older man's glare on him, but rather than back down, he took a bold step forward—swallowing his saliva in the process—and nearly went chest to chest with the overwhelming adversary.

"You're the one who is blind…" Luca retorted slowly, his tone trembling as he spoke. "There is a reason that these people devote their lives to our Lord—whether it's the Witch, or just regular peasants."

"Really? What's the reason?" The Bishop responded dryly, nearly rolling his eyes as he listened to the zealot spew out heresy.

"Because he is real… Lord Mors is real."

"... Is that so?"

At this point, he had heard enough. Rather than waste his time with a heathen that wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know—where the remaining members of the Heresy Cult were located, and the location of the Witch's journal—killing him very swiftly was the only thing he could resort to.

"Looks like this is the end of the line for you too—"

"Listen to me!" Luca's raised voice startled the Bishop for a moment, causing the man's brow to furrow in slight unease and annoyance. "Lord Mors will not forget what you have done here! He will decimate your Cult and slaughter your members. He will render death unto everyone and everything you hold dear."

As Luca said all of those words, a fanatical smile formed on his face, but tears also flowed from his eyes. He was digging his own grave—enraging someone who had been calm all this time with his words.

Why? Why was he going so far? Did he actually believe in the doctrine of the Heresy Cult?

No… he didn't.

But, he believed in the Lord of the Dead.

—Lord Mors.

'Ahh… I sound so much like a zealot right now.' More tears streamed down his cheeks as he came to the realization.

'Who would have thought…'

~WHAM!~

In a blur of motion, the Bishop's walking stick sliced through the air and slammed against Luca's face, sending him crashing to the ground. 

"Gahhh!"

Before he could fully process the pain, a powerful kick descended from above, sending his thin body sliding along the blackened soil. He rolled uncontrollably until his back crashed upon the Headquarters walls.

His eyes bulged as he made impact, and his mouth was forced open due to the sudden urge to cough out blood.

"Puack!" The crimson liquid spurted out of his lips as pain circulated his body.

His sight had become blurry, but even then he could see the Bishop tightly gripping his walking stick and pointing it towards him. The object was glowing with a lot of power—even more power than what was expended on Lili's execution.

'Should I… consider this an honor… or something?' He smiled to himself. 

He closed his eyes, causing the pain he felt to amplify. Still, he made sure to acclimate as quickly as he could—focusing on more constructive thoughts.

'If I die… Lord Mors will bring me back, right?' Luca prayed silently. 'Lord Mors, please… revive me like you did for the others.'

He didn't want to die… he wanted to live.

No matter what!

"Farewell, you disgusting heathen."

~WHUUUM!~

A powerful hum radiated in the air as a powerful blast—at least thrice as strong as what was used on Lili—surged through space and rushed in the direction of the wounded, defenseless man. In merely a second—maybe less—the blast would heat.

Luca would die.

But—

~BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!~

Right before the blast reached the young man, it made contact with something else, causing the brilliant surge to radiate around the deserted landscape for a few seconds due to reflection and refraction.

Afterwards, the remnant of the energy dissipated, leaving behind a trail of smoke.

… And something else.

~FSHUUU~

A silent hiss radiated from the pale palm that successfully intercepted the blast, even as it slowly descended along with the rest of the owner's arm. Long black hair danced alongside the billowing smoke, and a dark cloak flapped in response to the rising chill of the night. 

"You did well, Luca…" 

As the intruder spoke, his deep voice electrified the air and an extra layer of chill filled the surrounding air. 

"I heard everything." He turned back, smiling at the flabbergasted young man who watched the sight with glittering eyes of relief. "I'm glad… you did not renounce the Cult."

"Lord Mors…" Luca could only whisper, now forgetting the pain that assailed him.

He was just so glad to see the arrival of his Lord.

"I can also hear the cries of you fallen Souls… all of you… your loyalties are well-received."

The Deacon was silent as he heard all of the nonsense that the pale man in the black cloak uttered. He was still shell-shocked by how easily the man deflected the blast, but that didn't mean he was suddenly fearful.

Instead, he became intrigued.

"Judging from your ability to deflect that—something even the Witch couldn't do—and the name that dog behind you uttered… you must be the famed Lord Mors." 

Bishop Carl's words dripped with sarcasm and mockery, but the facade of the pale man did not change as he listened and watched very keenly.

"I am." He simply replied.

"And now that you're here, should I expect that you will avenge the ones who have fallen for your sake? Reward them for their loyalty by killing me… something like that." The Bishop still had his sarcastic tone, his mockery only becoming more overt as he spoke.

But, even through it all… the Lord remained calm.

"Reward? How is your death of any benefit to those who have fallen?" The question hung in the air as the pale man—Lord Mors—stepped forward.

Once again, he showed no emotion on his face. 

Even his entire gait flowed seamlessly—the epitome of perfect composure.

"You…"

Bishop Carl could feel tension mounting on him.

The man's calmness was unnerving.

'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. For thou are with me…' Affirming the words in the holy scriptures, the Bishop found himself regaining some of his confidence.

He had a momentary lapse, but that didn't deter him from the faith he had clung to ever since he was a little boy. 

'Lord Mors… what nonsense!' He told himself. 'He probably has a Blessing… no, most likely some kind of Curse… and that's what makes him so powerful.'

But, that didn't matter to Bishop Carl.

'It doesn't matter that you have a Curse, because I too have—'

"Be patient, all of you…" Those words interrupted his thoughts, forcing him to listen to the pale man who uttered them.

The so-called Lord Mors had now stopped, halfway through the space needed to reach Bishop Carl. He looked absent-minded, casting his gaze around, noticing the pile of corpses in particular. Even then, his expression never turned grim.

It was just calm.

"... I will bring all of you back soon."