"Let me tell you a story…" the man hummed, turning and beginning to walk towards his dark throne.
"I don't have time for such things. Tell me wh—"
"Oh... but you do want to hear this," a sinister side-glare halted Armis's retort. He caught the scent of something dreadful entering the air along with the man's words. The man moved past his throne, placing the first step on the stair leading to a high-held pot of lava, feeding on the souls of the damned.
"So... where should we start?" The man mumbled, his words accentuated by the echo of his footsteps on the sky-kissing stairway.
His voice rang in the still air, pulling the wind of revelation word by word. "Hmmmm, I have waited for this moment a long time, too long. I had prepared for it, but now I feel a little... weird, one could say." He took more steps, his movements captivating as the nothingness of his aura began to be replaced by something rising to take over whatever misfortune came between. His contemplation lingered before he suddenly exclaimed, "Ah!! I know, why not start with the very important presence here? Huh, Alan?"
The man turned, holding his soft, feigned smile. He looked at Alan before snapping in the air, prompting confusion and puzzlement from Armis. Suddenly, the food and table turned back into fumes, which seeped beneath Alan, lifting his limp body. Startled and groaning from the sudden movements, Alan was gently lowered into a comforting chair. Seeing the puzzling phenomenon, Armis turned in mounting frustration and confusion, speaking in a calculated tone.
"What does he have to do with anything?" His piercing glare was accompanied by a faint growl directed at the man, who remained in his amusement, replying eagerly to Armis.
"Oh, but he does. You see, everything—this journey of yours, this welcome you received, everything, even the very moment we stand in right now—would not be happening if it were not for Alan's presence."
"DON'T. WASTE. TIME!, Come to the point!" Armis's frustration erupted in a yell directed at the being, who reacted with a different emotion. The man's gaze turned into a sly glare fixed on the faintly heaving Alan, whose half-open eyes tried to match the intensity.
"You haven't told him yet, have you, Alan?"
Suddenly, Armis's confusion burst past his frustration as he gasped, looking at Alan before turning to the man. The man picked up on his confusion with the same smile, then held a profound expression as he continued in a tone suited for storytelling.
"You see, your 'friend' there is not from Pompeii..."
Hearing the revelation, Armis's expression remained a mix of confusion and anticipation. His lips moved to say something but halted as the man extended his revelation. He turned and began climbing the stairs, his steps echoing amidst his profound tone, mixed with a hint of amusement.
"I would extend on his origin, but that is not important right now. Because to move forward, I have a question for you, Alan." He stopped again, turning his head slightly to give the wheezing Alan a look of stern profundity before speaking again.
"Do you know about the history of Pompeii? The legend you encountered upon first arriving in this lush kingdom, the story you disregarded as myths? I am sure Armis, being a true Pompeiian, is well aware of them. That and also the warning about foreigners...?"
The dramatic intervals of the man's words began testing Armis's patience. Each echo of his cryptic words challenged Armis's limbs from not engaging in attack, but somewhere in his dark mind, he knew that his patience would bring something he himself awaited. Holding his impulses, with a calculated tone, Armis asked back,
"Yeah…so what of it?"
"'It of' that is those legends, the myths, the warnings, the stories are as true as they can be," the man replied, deliberately elongating his revelation to test their patience. He turned back and once again began to climb the stairs, taking a dramatic pause before continuing.
"And so is the story of what happens next." The man's tone shifted to a more stern pace, his words began to spew out more and more emotions rather than only slyness. He began to paint out a story that even widened Alan's weary eyes, as a grim realization slowly climbed into their minds.
"After the great collapse…of Pompeii, the supposed blessing of the 'Gods,' I found myself, not in my castle. When I opened my eyes, what greeted me was not my castle, not my Pompeii—it was not my home…I saw a new world…a strange world..."
As the man climbed the stairs, the fumes around him thickened, seeping out of the sky-high pot and coalescing mystically. They passed through the figure, captivating the stern eyes of Armis and the weary gaze of Alan, showing what he spoke, what he imagined, and what he remembered. The scenery of his memories held their gazes as his words continued in the air.
"My memories were hazy. All I knew was something had happened. I was in the temple, beseeching the Gods. Then I heard a cry and then...nothing. Nothing but fear, confusion, and strangeness. I was despaired, so I did what I could—I prayed. I beseeched them, I begged, I groveled to hear their voice, to hear them explain the nature and reason of my peril. Strange days went by, and fearful nights haunted me as I explored that new terrain. Not a day went by when I didn't call upon my supposed saviors, and as this newfound always, no reply came through. Just the empty air that soon began carrying my sorrow, my grief, the longing for salvation. Then one day...I saw it."
As the man continued, his voice exuded a sorrow that neither Armis nor Alan could fully resonate with, but they felt a familiarity in the scene that came next in the smoky tapestry. It was something they had seen, something that had given them opposite feelings from what the man described. It was,
"A gate...a familiar gate. First, it filled me with disbelief. I didn't know the time in this strange world—it couldn't have been days; it could have been weeks, maybe months, or a year. Until I finally reached this towering salvation, I stepped inside, and I began to get joyful. Tears of relief began to trace over my visage. I knew what it was; I knew where it was. It was my castle; it was my home...but fate had played with me."
Seeing from his point of view, they saw a scenery inside the gate that seemed dreadfully familiar to them. The destruction, the eerie silence, the horrific view—they both had seen it before, albeit without the ruination. They knew what that place was and finally understood what it actually was.
"It gave me a long-sought hope, and just like the Gods on whose fingers it danced upon, it tore away that hope in an instant. My home no longer held the prosperity and beauty it was once adorned with. It lacked the grandeur, the chattering cacophony, it lacked...life. It was destroyed, torn apart, thrashed, burned. It had borne the fury, fury of the Gods. Seeing that scene, a haze cleared from my mind. I remembered the news, I remembered the words, I remembered the death of my love, followed by the wrath, the wrath of the divine. A thunder the size of the worlds had struck upon my home and tore me away from it."
As the man continued, Armis watched and listened, the past unfolding before his eyes—-a divine past. Alan, however, reacted more visibly. He not only saw but felt it, lived through it. Every scene in the hazy square pulled him in, making him suffer through what the man had suffered. Tears filled Alan's eyes, his voice slowly returning, wheeze by wheeze, as the man's words echoed through the air. The smoky tapestry ascended with him, revealing more of the harrowing past.
"Once again, I drowned in despair and pain, deeper and heavier than before. This new memory left more questions than answers. Why had the Gods done this to me? Where was my family? Why was my home here? Where were my people, my kingdom? Where was my Pompeii? But just as before, no reply came to my cries. I began to explore my home again, but this time I had a destination. I needed to get to the temple. Beaten by fate, my belief still remained. As I still believed that faith, my devotion, held the answer to all. This journey to the divine gave me some of the answers...I found my family."
As the man's words continued, the scene within the memory became more horrific. His words, the memories of his dread, spoke of a pain no one should experience, it was,
"Death. Each and every one of them was dead, within their quarters, doing the things they adored. Just as the castle had suffered the fury, they met their end. Then WHY ME?!" His voice suddenly rumbled through the whole temple. He looked up, his arms spread wide, his visage filled with raw emotion. His pain resonated with the memory running through the smoky tapestry, which now moved to a chamber resembling the one they stood in, though it sorely lacked the hellish decor. Instead, it was filled with the divinity of the past. Resuming his ascent, the man continued.
"I begged, I beseeched, I prayed, I groveled again, but what returned was the piercing silence and mocking gazes of these beings..." Their eyes moved as the man pointed at the statues of Gods carved out of the walls, pointing out a detail they had missed until now. Unlike in the memories, the statues now bore chains and shackles on their bodies and limbs.
"Crying for long, sitting there alone, I realized something. I had not only lost my home, my people, my kingdom, my family...this place had also ripped me from my true self, the true crown of a king. I had lost my...pride! The tears fell again, but not of sorrow. It was of fury, an anger rising within me, wanting everything back. Starting with pride. So I cast them aside, shattered my own faith, and along with it, I shattered this epitome of falsehood. I tore apart the temple, giving it the destruction it gave to my home, a devastation born from pride."
What he said, what they saw—the fumes showed them the destruction of his faith, the rise of his rage, the return of his anger that brought ruin upon the temple they stood inside. Yet, the scene in the memories seemed different from their present reality; it still lacked its hellish essence. The secret behind this began to unravel as the man continued.
"But it didn't take long for the tears of sorrow to return, for the pathetic wheezes to seep from my mouth that still yearned for an explanation. To my dread and wonder, this time came a reply." His tone shifted, starting with a sinister amusement that word by word turned into anger as he spoke, the memories behind him coming to life within the smoky tapestry.
"It asked me, 'What do you want?'
"Without thinking much, my pride replied with just two words: 'Answers and... revenge!'"
The voice the man spoke of appeared as a shadow within his memories, and suddenly, Armis too felt a strange resonance with those words, words of the shadow. While Alan's growl echoed, lines of blood and anger filled his eyes as the man continued.
"And suddenly, the earth shattered, and from it came forth THIS!" The man exclaimed, pointing to the pot he climbed towards.
"And with it came a shadow that asked me once again, 'If I give you that, what will you return me with?'
"And again, my pride spoke, 'Everything!'
'Think about what you say, King. Words hold power beyond your comprehension.'
'Be of use to me, and I will grant whatever you ask. Lie to me and face the same wrath as these.' My pride replied again to his warning. Then followed a laughter that dispelled my sorrow, filled me with dread until it touched me with nothingness, filling my mind with emptiness. And suddenly, I knew everything. What the Gods couldn't give me, what the divine refused me, evil provided. The vile voice answered all my questions. It told me of the fate of my kingdom, what the Gods did to me, my home, my kingdom...! It told me of curses disguised as blessings, the transformation of my castle. It revealed the lies they had filled my subjects' minds with, the taints they had soiled them with, to me…"
As his memories unveiled his dark epiphany, awakened by the vile, dark presence within them, a familiar scene unfolded for his two listeners. One of the dark etchings on his body seeped out like black mist before transforming into a sword, fit for a king. He glanced at it, though his pace remained steady. His mouth fell silent, his eyes drizzled with longing at the sword in his hands, which he clasped with a grip that spoke of the anger rising within him. When the sword disappeared into black mist again, traveling back into his body, the man began speaking once more, his anger evident.
"It showed me everything—how they destroyed my utopia, turning it into a kingdom of savages. How their impatience and ego soiled my people, drowning them in emotions that had never existed within them, in greed born from the falsehoods they preached. The lies that destroyed my home, turning my subjects and the land they lived in into a kingdom of LOOTERS! All because of what?" His voice returned to normal, and with it came a sudden realization, an exclamation that had been burning inside Armis, finally climbing up his throat to burst out. The man continued in a stern, calm tone.
"All because I asked for more of what they held in abundance? The blessings? The prosperity? The happiness for my subjects? They brought their wrath upon me for my devotion to my kingdom, to them? Finally, the shadow showed me what false gods they were—the imposters who were too afraid to come out. They used my name to spread lies, manipulated the faith of my subjects in me, and named me as the creator of the fabrication they built!"
"Wait…does that mean you are…" Armis's stern silence broke as he finally saw the true appearance, the true identity of the man. When the memories finally revealed the true image of the sufferer within them, it was none other than—
"God…you are the…"
"God!" The man took over Armis's hesitant discovery as he turned and smiled at him, his locks clearing to reveal his face, which eerily flashed alongside the now still tapestry of fumes. It was him, the one, the acclaimed creator of Pompeii, the faith of its people. It was—
"King Roiran. I am your one true God, the only God!"
"Y... Y... you..." Alan's voice rasped, broken and weak. The revelation struck like a thunderclap—the identity of the being before them, the deity revered by all of Pompeii, the very foundation of the kingdom. The God himself stood before them. The weight of his presence swept away Alan's sense of insignificance and mortal emotions. The aura he emanated commanded an unspoken reverence, a pressure that demanded they bow their heads. Armis resisted, his resolve hardening, remaining silent and unmoved by the revelation.
It was Alan who found a strange strength within him. He staggered from the chair Roiran had provided, his eyes, peeling and strained, reflecting his struggle through the pain. He attempted to take a step forward, only to stumble violently, crashing to the floor. Despite the agony, he persisted, reaching out like a devotee to his God. Yet, his face betrayed a different emotion, and the words that followed from King Roiran carried an even deeper weight.
"Ah... Alan, I understand your grief, your pain, this overwhelming helplessness. I felt the same when I learned the fate of my kingdom. That knowledge brought forth tears so painful they demanded vengeance. So, I asked for my desire,
'Give me my revenge...!'
But in my rising anger, I forgot that I was dealing with evil. The deal was struck, and it had to reveal its true colors.
'First, my payment...!' it replied."
Roiran turned, his steps deliberate, his tone resuming its profound sternness. He paused, testing Armis's patience. Each echo of his steps, each drawn-out word wore thin Armis's restraint. Yet, his desire to achieve his goal tightened his resolve, fixing his stern gaze on the King as he continued.
"Its words, the sinister tone, brought doubt over my mind. My heart craved, it wanted what it wanted even if it meant selling my soul. Against the caution of my mind, I replied,
'Tell me what you desire?'
A sinister laughter followed before its reply came.
'Everything.'
'Everything of what?' I asked.
'You...!' it replied."
"It wanted me, my everything. It demanded my domain, the vessel of my kin's writhing souls. It asked me to serve—not as a servant, but as a ruler. A ruler of the hell it envisioned. In return for my chance at vengeance, it proposed to transform my home into a purgatory. It claimed that what the Gods had made of my land, 'The Relic Castle,' you still call it that, I presume..."
King Roiran turned his head, scrutinizing Armis's stern, patient glare. No longer did the fumic tapestry float behind him. It was just him, moving closer to the pot with each step as he continued.
"It said it was no blessing—it was a trap. A trap to keep the wretched, greedy souls of Pompeii confined within the cursed land. The land that was once my utopia, now twisted into a kingdom of might and strife. My once pure subjects turned into tainted souls…souls that it desired. Before my dread and caution could question, it replied,
'The souls with divine touch hold power beyond the mortal plane.'
After the wrath and curse of the Gods, Pompeii had become the only ground with such mystic souls, and it wanted them, to harness them. But,
'What of my revenge?' I asked.
'You wish to defy the divine? You need might equal to it. Aid me in harnessing these souls, and remain patient…'
'Patient for what?' I asked.
'For a soul…a foreign one, untouched by the divine, driven by the purity of human essence. When such a soul arrives within your judgment, it will be the catalyst, the knowledge guiding you to your revenge…'
Those were its final words before my pride accepted its deal. And like its origin, it brought forth powers as vile and evil as could be. It enveloped my castle, the lifeless vessels of my kin, and me. We transformed into its heralds, heralds of evil…"
Finally, the unending stairway came to its end, but not the words of the King. He paused, inhaling deeply the fumes rising from the giant pot of molten lava. A smile of satisfaction crept across his face, filling the air with an eerie tension that tested Armis's patience. The King gazed into the bubbling lava, as if seeing his old silhouette in the scorching reflection, and continued,
"Since that day, everything changed. My castle became the Purgatory, my loved ones revived, but not as before. They became beasts, monsters, judges of the sins that most resonated with them. I waited here, ruling this hell, waiting for that one soul that would bring my salvation. And as any King would, I soon became disinterested..." King Roiran's tone shifted, the boredom of his memories seeping into his words.
"The souls came, some judged, some punished, none for salvation. I amused myself by watching the memories of the souls, learning about the disgrace my utopia had become. I saw everything—the new leaders, the staggering government, exuding fear and might to keep their subjects in check. The Pope, the most laughable person. Let me tell you, despite what they say, he is nothing but a man with a lineage, exercising shrewdness for control over the masses, holding nothing but hard heads over their bodies."
"That's some hatred," Armis's sternness finally broke, not with frustration, but with amusement. A smug smirk played on his lips as he continued, teasing Alan, "I can just imagine the look on Longiseus's face if he heard it. Imagine, Alan, his whole life, his whole faith was nothing but a sham. Hehe! Always knew it."
But Alan didn't respond to his mockery. His ears were numb to their words, his bloodshot eyes set ahead as he slowly dragged his broken body across the floor, groaning in pain, wondering why his suffering persisted. Yet something inside him drove his body through the agony, something neither Armis nor the King found worth noticing. King Roiran's voice rose in eagerness, echoing clear despite the height, his words captivating as before,
"Do you know something else…?"
"Something else what…?" Armis replied.
"The true nature of these marks that you and your people boast upon?" the King spat, his words laced with disgust, but they held no power over Armis, who replied with nonchalance and impatience,
"Yeah, you said they were a curse, I believe…"
"Yes, but do you know what they actually are? From where these mystical weapons emerge? Their true origin?"
The King's cryptic words only mounted Armis's annoyance. He replied mockingly, "Well, my holy graciousness, since you have told us so... so many things, I believe only you can enlighten us with their 'True Origin'...!"
A fraction of hurt from Armis's words lingered on King Roiran's face for a moment, before his smile returned. He began to demonstrate, suddenly plunging his hand into the lava of the pot and pulling out a dark, writhing soul. Clutching it with effort, he instantly transformed it into a longbow. He pulled its string taut as he continued,
"You see, they are your very souls, the essence that guides your body. They can be broken," King Roiran demonstrated, pulling the string of the bow so hard that it snapped, reverting back into the writhing soul clutched within his grip. "They can be destroyed but can be mended, even evolve, as long as the vessel is alive. But once the vessel is gone, they become unbound, searching for new vessels, attracted by other souls. This unique quality was one of the things that shadow spoke of—the speciality of the souls of Pompeii. They can merge with each other. I believe you people call it…"
"Purgarito…" Armis interjected, looking up at King Roiran, who shoved the soul back into the pot. A sly smile returned to the King's lips, his voice laced with an amusing sternness.
"Well, of course, you know. I mean, you are a walking example of the exploitation of this uniqueness. Then again, I am not one to talk, am I?"
He took another deliberate pause, walking around the pot. His silence and sly smile pinned needles in Armis's patience. Armis wanted to engage, to lunge at him, but the understanding of the greater good he starved for halted his impulses, making him listen as King Roiran resumed,
"You see, the deal with the evil gave me powers beyond comprehension—vile ones, of course. But unlike you, my pride didn't allow me the patience to wait for the perfect moment to arrive. Instead, it gave me a way to escalate my vengeance."
He stopped, looking up at the fumic clouds, scrutinizing through them to the starry sky as he continued,
"My influence, my powers, never extended out of my domain, my castle…but these souls did. So I used them to start a hearsay: 'Kill the foreigners, as they would bring calamity on Pompeii,' and 'One shall not kill another through their mark, as it leads to divine judgment.'"
Consistent with his mocking smile, he brought his gaze down, looking at the stern Armis and the crawling form of Alan, none of it affecting his desire for revelations as he continued uninterrupted,
"As you can imagine, the first one was to bring me what I desired. After it, I received many foreign souls, but none held the purity I desired. As for the other, the reason behind it was… interesting, to say the least. Over time, I learned that the souls of me and my kin were different. While their souls held nothing but darkness, mine was an amalgam of the divine and vile. What I had, the power I possessed, may be the strongest in the mortal realm, but it could never hold enough power to bring down the heavens—not with this vessel."
Suddenly, the subtle, imposing aura of King Roiran began to intensify. Malevolence and vile, wretched evil seeped from his towering form. His smile stretched into a grin, his eyes contorted, declaring his true intentions. He began with the final words of his revelation,
"But the souls of Pompeii, the tainted souls of those savages down there, they were limitless. So again, I waited, waited as long as I could until finally, you two stepped into my domain... hehehe... Ha HA!"
His sinister laughter filled the temple, piercing their ears. The air grew heavy, dread clutching at their bodies as King Roiran's true intentions became clear. The delayed answers to the initial question began to spill from his mouth, each word dripping with malevolence and malice.
"When you arrived, I was filled with joy. I knew it was time. I knew that soon I would have what I had sought for centuries. Everything played out just as it should have, just as it was prophesied, just as the vile predicted and the divine feared! And now, here you stand before me—a soul, untainted, brimming with emotions genuine to humankind, a soul pure and foreign…"
He looked at Alan with predatory eyes. For the first time in their encounter, Alan saw the absence of kingly mannerisms. King Roiran's visage now held the eyes of a beast, a demon, a king of evil. He turned his gaze to Armis, his words projecting desires that terrorized the temple, sending tremors of strength and divine wrath.
The floor beneath them shivered, the sky-high pot heaved back and forth, and the souls it consumed writhed and screamed. The cacophony of their purge echoed outside as well, accentuating each word of the king.
"And a vessel, perfect for a king, perfect to tear through this hell, shatter the mortal plane, and challenge the divine to finally bring down the heavens. Let's not wait any longer... Now come, embrace your destiny, sacrifice your body to the one true cause. You have been chosen to become the instrument of revenge, a revenge on the gods, the revenge of a GOD!"