Anguished Unmaking

“Our eternal maiden, in her infinite tenderness, granted us the power to love and be loved by others.” The priest begins his sermon passionately, with arms open wide. He invites them all to listen. “This ability is shared with not only mortals but with her fellow deities as well. Serenrae, the healing light, is our incandescent radiance in the dark. Iomedae, our lady of valor, honors us with her presence not only on the battlefield but also in our daily lives. The wealthy father, filling our coin purses since the dawn of civilization. Even our lord in iron, Gorum himself. They, all of our beloved deities, are not only capable of love. They embrace it. They embrace you, their children, with all of their heart. Their love is unconditional and limitless.” The priest takes a momentary pause, letting his calculated words sink in.

“Rejoice, my children. The gods bestow with me their word. For, what am I if not their word? They bestow in you the ability to not just hear, but to listen. For, what are you if not their eyes and ears?” He flashes the congregation an inviting smile. “Yes, the gods have a hand in all! They love and care for all who fall under their vast domain. Their love is unrelenting in its ultimate goal. To bring trust and comfort to all who worship!” The faithful cannot contain their joyous applause, feeding off the passion of the speech. “They can feel your unbridled joy! They can feel every soul brimming with irrepressible faith. The amount of which is fathomable to only them. Most things in life are known by only the Gods, folks, the best you can do is have faith. Believe in them, and all will become clear to you. Your purpose will become known. If you happen to fall into a time of struggle, don’t despair. Trust that your pain has a place and that all of our deities' intentions are naught but to give you strength. A necessary fall before building you back up.” The congregation feels the sincerity in their priests’ voice.

“Trust that they will prevail fueled by your unrelenting faith!” He begins again with renewed vigor. “For, although mighty, forces are working against their love, folks. Forces that aim to spread the seed of sorrow and misery across the land. This darkness is wicked and cunning. Don’t give in to its illustrious temptations. It is false and vile and brings nothing but pain and regret.” He uses one final pause to drive his point home. The audience is teetering on the edge of their seats, the room electric with anticipation. “Believe and trust and all will be just!” He breaks the silence. His volume is rivaled by the shouts of worship erupting from the crowd. He feeds off their energy and raises his voice, “Cowering with its tail between its legs, evil will be smitten and squashed beneath the boots of justice! Pray! Pray and you will acquire trust, trust and you will believe, believe and you will find unending happiness!” With that, the priest signals the choir to begin their hymns, and he eventually takes his leave.

A shadow watches his brisk departure from her vantage point, a bird of prey eyeing her target closely. Alara swoops down to the top floor soundlessly and leisurely. She strolls down the immaculately decorated hallway. Between each massive pillar hangs a banner of each of the gods. Each symbol burned into her memory since birth, such is the fate of a nobleman’s daughter. Her education taught her the same thing that the windbag of a preacher down there just finished lecturing. Reality, however, has taught her something altogether different. Now each symbol is burned into not just her memory but her heart as well. Each brand is a reminder of the gods' betrayal.

As the demon ran his wretched fingers across her bare body she prayed and pleaded to every one of her benevolent gods, to any and all who would listen. Yet, not a single one of them heeded her cries for help. Her cries for help pierced through the stagnant night like an arrow, despondent and anguished sounds no man or woman would ever hope to hear. Overtrodden with despair, Alara made a decision that night to cease her wails. A decision based on the fact that the gods had seemingly gone deaf to her pleas. She knew they had abandoned her. The reprehensible violation had caused an abrupt cessation of all things good within her. What was once a sun in which she bathed in holy light is now eclipsed by an indomitable and immoral wrong. Darkness enveloped her and its promise will never allow Alara to see her radiant sun again.

This absence of light instilled in her a valuable lesson. Never rely solely on faith to solve your problems. If your path is obstructed, you must find a way around, don't just sit there and wait for the gods to remove the obstacle for you. That despicable phrase echoes through Alara's mind. “Pray and you will find trust.” Prayer is complacent. Solve your problems with your two hands by your own means. “Trust and you will believe.” Trust is deceitful. You can only trust yourself to help you in your time of need. “Believe and you will find happiness.” Alara scoffs at the priest’s words. Belief is false. Everyone and everything has a tendency to turn its back on you during times of peril. Especially the gods.

Alara saunters towards the priest’s office with a slow burn seething beneath her skin. Her hatred of gods is rivaled only by her abhorrence for their mortal dogs, barking their commands at the numerous fools who eagerly lap up their words like ignorant children. They feed off the faith of others like leeches. They use their follower's beliefs to fuel their selfish desires. Mortal men proclaim their words to be the word of the gods and then spread their beliefs across the world like a plague. Although, this particular characteristic benefits her master's plans. It is, in fact, what brings her to this place of worship. She slips into the office unannounced, her eyes glowing in the gloom of the poorly lit room, two heartless pools of violet. Oh, I do enjoy this part, she thinks to herself.

The clergyman becomes aware of her presence with a start. “Oh my!” He exclaims breathlessly. “I hardly noticed you there child! How can I be of assistance?” An egregious smile spreads across her face. A look Alara has become accustomed to presenting to her toys before she has her way with them.

“It’s funny you should ask, preacher. What you are going to do for me is priceless.” The priest is visibly shaken and is powerless to quell the fear building up deep within himself. Her cold, emotionless eyes penetrate down to his very soul. They bend his faith and challenge his every belief. If the gods allow such evil to exist, how can he manage trust in their divine judgment?

“Hahahaha!” Her voice is monstrous, almost inhuman. He feels like he's staring evil directly in the face. “If this is the extent of your resolve, I am sorely disappointed in you, preacher! The answer is you can’t. The Gods are unable to protect you.” His ears begin to ring and he can feel the grasp she has on his mind.

A better way to phrase it is that they will not protect you. Simply put, you aren’t important enough. Intense pain shoots through his temples, the precariousness of his situation suddenly dawns on him. She can read his thoughts! His fear grows, threatening to drown him in its sheer girth. Nevertheless, he can still see a brilliant light in his mind’s eye. It shows him the corruption seeping out of her soul, a soul that is in pain. No doubt a sign from his gods. He refuses to let it win! The hopelessness he feels welling up inside of him is not absolute. He knows his faith can beat it.

The priest slams his fist on his desk and stands up. “You’re wrong!” He says in defiance. Even though his legs are shaking beneath his religious garments he can feel his goddess strengthening him. “Your hatred towards the gods is misplaced. You can still be saved, my child. I assure you, there is still room for you in the light. Our gods desire nothing more than to put an end to your suffering. They can mend your broken soul and nurture it back to...”

“Hahahahahaha...you have placed me in utter bewilderment, preacher, ” Alara interjects with a voice as frigid as ice. She crosses the room in an instant. In the blink of an eye, she is hovering over the man with her hands wrapped around his precious necklace of the Holy Maiden. She rips the holy symbol from around his neck and playfully maneuvers it in between her fingers. “This is certainly a first, but I regret to inform you that you are merely beating...a dead...horse.” Accentuating every word by crumpling the hard metal into a misshapen lump that falls to the floor with a heavy thud. “And I am in no mood for games. Now, if you are quite done...” As she is about to bite into the holy man's neck, an odd tingling sensation runs up her legs and interrupts her train of thought. It settles unnaturally in her chest as a comfortable hum fills her with warmth.

The priest flinches in response to her violent advance. It is only now that he notices her fangs. When his assailant fails to follow, he realizes that his prayer is having an effect. He channels all of his magic into the girl and prays for his goddess to bless her.

“There, you see?” The priest says, enveloped in a holy light. “Does that not feel better?” The priest’s voice is soothing and, Alara must admit, this is better than she has felt in ages. It is a brief solace, however. A fear the likes of which she has never felt subdues the golden light and twists it into a black miasma that pulses to a silent beat. The holy magic begins fighting to break the seals that the demon placed on her mind and the opposing forces have an intense struggle within her.

Alara can feel the divine magic coursing through her as she says, “I told myself the same thing, priest. While the demon ruthlessly tugged on my mind and his perverse tendrils invaded every part of me. They mercilessly tore through every facet of my being, sundering everything that made me, me. Through it all, I held onto one thing with everything I had, my faith. I held onto the hope that the gods would save me till the very end.’’ She runs a shaking hand through her hair in an exasperated gesture, her face a collage of repressed emotions. “Heh, and in the end, none of them answered. They left me to die. Tell me, priest, how do I retain my faith after that, let alone my sanity?” Alara attempts to take a step towards him but finds, to her astonishment, that her legs won’t budge. A small part of her still has hope, she has somehow recovered it through this priest’s devotion. Unfortunately, the demon’s ancient magic is powerful and it appears to be overwhelming even the magic of a god. It seems that, yet again, her hope is misguided. Dread crushes her resolve as tears well up in her violet eyes. She silently pleads to the priest, begging him to end her suffering through an anguished and desperate gaze.

“Be strong, my child! I promise your faith was not misplaced! I cannot know the machinations of the gods but I will not forsake you!” He can only imagine what the opposing magical forces are doing to the girl’s body. With sweat pouring down his brow, the priest prays to his maiden to give her strength. The priest is channeling more magic than he has ever dared and it’s taking its toll. The muscles in his outstretched hands begin to tear apart from the pressure. Still, he perpetuates his goddesses' will through the incantation.

Alara’s vision fails her and she lifts her trembling hands to her face. “I don’t know which thoughts belong to me anymore,” she says. “I...I can’t distinguish the difference…” Her customary cold and unfeeling composure deteriorate, leaving nothing but her raw emotion. An aspect of herself she had to lock away long ago, she has learned that it’s too painful to feel. The emotions creep up and emerge from their home, deep within the recesses of her mind. They reveal themselves, yearning for the light that seems to be breaking through the endless overcast of dread. “Please...make it stop...make it stop,” she sobs.

The priest’s arms feel as though they might tear from his body at any moment. Just as he begins to contemplate how much longer he can maintain his spell the girl lets out an unholy scream and sends out a surge of psionic energy that breaks his concentration. The powerful spell ends abruptly and the blowback nearly breaks his arms. The kinetic energy sends him flying across the room into a bookcase that lines the wall of his office. Wood splinters and a torrent of books tumble around his body. Alara’s scream pierces the cathedral like a bolt of lightning as she collapses, perfectly motionless on the hard stone floor.

The priest can only manage to look on in horror as the turmoil inside her is released through her psionic abilities. Alara’s body levitates off the floor unceremoniously, limp and clumsy from unconsciousness. Power violently lurches from her hands as her magic begins nibbling at her skin and lashing out at the walls around her. The entire building starts to shake fiercely, unable to withstand her uncontrolled force. Through the debris, the priest spots a looming figure walking straight into the eye of the psionic storm.

Abigor watches the destruction with obvious amusement. He is altogether enthralled by Alara's wild spectacle. The demon moves closer releasing a fraction of his mana to counteract her chaotic display. He tears through the veil between planes with relative ease and gently lifts Alara into his arms as his body flickers in and out of focus. Despite the power he has gained and the rapid growth in his number of followers, the veil still rejects him. He can only bridge the gap for moments at a time, but he can’t help but laugh at the utter irony of it all. She wanted to retain some semblance of control and, despite that, she was directly responsible for the loss of all authority over her abilities. He quickly reforges the seals he placed on her mind. She won’t do him any good if her mind isn’t intact. The fading intensifies as the mortal plane violently rejects his presence. Abigor places Alara in the center of the room, her motionless body a cold reminder of the darkness she harbors inside.

This human promises to be quite a devastating little asset. The demon lord muses to himself as his form fades from the material plane.

The priest is frozen in his seat. The mere presence of the demon lord is enough to paralyze his movements. As the demonic corruption spreads across her pale skin, he witnesses the last remnants of the sweet girl with violet eyes die. She withers like a flower in the fall, succumbing to the cold morning frost.

“I...I thought the light of the divine could cleanse you, but you are too far gone. I’m so sorry, my child,” the priest says solemnly. “The garden of faith has been stained red...This maiden has been lost to the darkness, and the world will know her rage.” The priest closes his eyes and offers up an apology to the gods, knowing full well that he has killed the last of her humanity. He snuffed it out through a broken promise.