Aric stood in awe, scarcely believing what he saw. He stood in a grand marble cathedral that stretched infinitely in all directions, surrounded by a vast tribunal of hundreds of masked gods, each seated upon towering thrones of fire, marble, carrion, and elements beyond mortal comprehension. Each deity radiated an ethereal glow, radiating power beyond mortal comprehension.
At the center of this grand display sat the Lord of the Tribunal, the Masked King. His visage shone with such intensity it seemed as if he wore the sun itself upon his face. Celestial power poured from him, filling the endless chamber with divine light.
Without hesitation, Aric dropped to one knee in a perfect knightley bow, hand clasped over his heart. "F-forgive me," he said reverently, his voice trembling with awe. "I am not worthy of your magnificence."
"Rise, Aric Duskborne," commanded the Masked King, his voice resonant and unfeeling, echoing throughout the celestial hall. Aric stood slowly, his eyes respectfully downcast.
"You have been a loyal servant and a fervent crusader," the Masked King continued. "In our honor, you have slain countless enemies and won much glory." His tone was stern and final.
"Crownkindler. Ruinborne. Scourge of Sovereigns..." The Masked King listed off Aric's many titles, waving a hand as though they were trivial. "All earned through acts of zealous devotion and boundless devastation."
Aric placed his fist over his heart once more, the gesture clanking against his breastplate. "Gods and Goddesses, everything I've done, every conquest, every victory... they were all in your name." He paused, voice sincere. "And if you called upon me to fight for you again, I'd wage ten thousand more battles in your name."
"Yes," the Masked King replied, colder now. "We know both you and Lucius would."
A chill crept up Aric's spine. He stiffened, confusion darkening his features as Lucius's final words echoed in his mind.
"If that is true, divine lord," he ventured carefully, "then... may I ask a question?"
The Masked King remained silent, but the air grew heavy, pressing down on Aric's shoulders. He fought to remain upright. Nevertheless, he continued, voice steady. "Why… why did I have to die in such a-" Aric paused, looking down at his stomach, where his body had healed, yet the bloody hole in his armor remained, a cruel reminder of his betrayal.
"Horrid way…" He concluded, the words echoing through the chamber.
Raising his eyes to meet the Masked King's, he asked quietly, "Have I sinned against you?"
The Masked King's gaze bore into him, silent and piercing from behind his featureless mask. For the first time, Aric felt the weight of the Tribunal's collective attention. Hundreds of immortal eyes, hidden behind masks of every shape and size, pressed upon him, oppressive and unyielding.
"No," the Masked King finally answered.
The divine pressure lifted, and Aric staggered, gasping for a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Nevertheless," the Masked King continued, unflinching, "with the holy wars concluded and the heretics slain, you have become... obsolete."
The word struck him like a hammer. Aric reeled. "Ob-obsolete?" he stammered. "I… served dutifully. Have I not earned what was promised?" His voice trembled. "A place in the heavens... a place by your side?"
"A place by our side?" the Masked King echoed, his tone laced with faint disdain. "Tell me, Crusader Aric," he continued, tilting his head as if addressing a petulant child, "What becomes of a warrior with no war left to wage?"
Aric furrowed his brow, disbelief warring with confusion. "I... I suppose they return home. To their families?" he offered, uncertain.
"Yes. But what of the warrior who has no home? No family? The one who gave everything to the fight?" the Masked King pressed, voice unyielding.
"I... I'm not sure," Aric admitted.
"Eventually," the King said, voice absolute, "they seek a new adversary. And in a world without mortal challengers..." The King Paused for a moment, his eyes suddenly flaring bright gold behind the mask, "Who greater an adversary than the gods themselves?"
"No!" Aric cried, stepping forward. "I would never betray you! I would never-"
The Masked King casually silenced him with a raised hand. Aric's voice vanished, smothered by divine will.
Turning to the gathered gods, the Masked King spoke: "Let the Ascendant Tribunal cast their votes. Shall Aric Duskborne be granted a place in the heavens? Or shall he be cast down, stripped of his blessings, and condemned to the Immortal Maw for eternity?"
Aric watched, heart sinking, as each masked god raised a single finger. Flames ignited at their tips, either a pitless black or heavenly white. A sacred tally materialized above them, glowing with divine judgment.
The final count: 630 to 470,against him.
"The Tribunal has spoken," the Masked King declared, lowering his hand and releasing Aric's voice.
"No, p-please! Don't do thi-" Aric cried, cut short as light erupted from his body. Holy energy tore from him in radiant streams. Wax seals exploded, divine platinum armor shattered, his body bursting into flame.
"AHHH!" he screamed, collapsing, writhing as the Masked King calmly extended his hand, siphoning the golden light pouring from Aric into his thin, long fingers.
"This power was borrowed, Aric Duskborne," the Masked King said with finality. "Now, it is reclaimed."
Aric hadn't felt the ground cracking beneath him until the last golden threads of divine power were gone. Pain and sorrow consumed him, blotting out thought. A sharp, crystalline crack echoed beneath his feet, like thin ice splitting in winter.
With a dismissive wave, the gods he'd sworn his life to, had cast him into darkness.
Aric plummeted, spinning uncontrollably, his screams vanishing into the black.
After what felt like an eternity, Aric landed, slamming into something cold and viscous, as he plunged into the foul waters of an endless, forgotten swamp.
Aric burst to the surface, his skin slick with swamp water that stank of rot and decay. His heart raced as he registered the filthy water and looming dead trees. This was a place where the wicked and heretical were doomed forever… their souls bound to the mud after being devoured by…
"No..." Aric whispered, breath catching in his throat.
In the distance, the swamp water bubbled wildly.