Andrew floated motionless, watching in dismay as the gaunt figure of a child came into view from the shadows of the cathedral where no lights shone.
And into the light came Mira, or what Andrew thought was the little girl he had instantly loved and cared for the moment he saw her in her miserable state, standing so helplessly in the gloomy corridor of the hotel. But he soon realized something was wrong with what he saw.
Mira dragged her little feet as if they bore great weight. Slowly, she walked, treading the silent hall of the cathedral until she stood by Morgur's side–submissively, like a… thrall would?
He won't dare! But he knew he dared. Andrew wanted to fight the inevitable truth. What was so hard to not deduce.
Of course he would. Stop trying to delude yourself. We know the truth. Mira is no more. As alive as anyone in this fuckass city!
If what Andrew needed was the truth being spelled out for him, then the accursed voices in his mind were generous with their help.
"Is this who you ask of, O Visionary?" The hollow monstrosity in the form of man asked with an ignorant tone.
"She now fulfills a greater purpose. Something wasting has been recycled, given true meaning. Now, she will serve. So, again, is this who you ask of, O Visionary?" Obscene utterances spoken like the most plain words.
"Why?" Andrew's tone changed. From trepidation to a sinister calmness that shared so much with the gloom of the cathedral.
You'd expect his tumultuous state to reflect in his words, to be warped and shown in the form of wrath, after all, wrath was the best form to express his current state. But you'd guess wrong, for Andrew was never meant to be understood using the mundane logic that drove the action of man.
"Why would you do this to an innocent child that did nothing deserving of such depravity? Why?" Andrew was still held paralyzed mid-air but that did nothing to dwindle the gravity in his bizarre calmness.
There was silence. It didn't seem like Morgur had any intent of replying to Andrew's question nor did it seem like Andrew had anything more to say.
"Innocent child? Does all my actions make me out to be someone that has the same moral complex as most people? Do I look selfish to you?" Morgur's silhouette in the shadows of the cathedral grew in presence… or was it in size? "Andrew, I'm an impartial individual. I do not care for your innocence nor profanity. I do not care for juvenility nor your senility. That's what you seem not to know but understandable since… you aren't the Visionary. Not currently."
"And I see nothing of what I'm doing. As a matter of fact, my actions are done out of good intent. Let me ask you, Andrew, what meaning do you see in a life where all you do is merely exist? What meaning is there? You strive with draining effort… for what? To stay alive? To indulge in worldly pleasures? To uphold some honor? To delude yourself with vanity? Is that the meaning that life bears?" The calm voice of the silhouette of Morgur began breaking as some sort of degeneration began entangling with his speech.
"We've woven what we thought to be intricate stories that bore truth to give meaning to our existence. And I shall tell you that those weavings are fragile. Easily broken. But that's not the fault I see, it's those that continue to weave these lies."
"You won't understand, Andrew, nor will I strain myself to explain this to you any further. For you are not the Visionary, merely 'his' vessel. To you, I'm a horrible individual, an abomination that has taken the lives of the innocent people of Fragr." 'It' stated apathetically. "Yes, I'm not oblivious to my actions. But I'm merely stating it as you see it. For me, what I've done is something… grand. Do not see my actions as anything appalling. This is merely the prelude to bringing everyone to their consummate form, Andrew. A better beginning, I call it."
Once again, the pungent scent of decaying corpses drifted through the tenebrous cathedral, driving itself into the nostrils of Andrew.
And as Andrew watched–helplessly, the overly pungent odor slowly vitiating his being–as Morgur slowly made to grab the soulless form of Mira, lifting her by the neck with his pale hand that finally left the shadows. With one step, Morgur stepped into the dim light, finally letting his features be visible to Andrew.
He was Andrew. In form and everything… Andrew.
A tall, pale man with a head of grey hair that reached his nape, combed so neatly that every strand seemed to have its own life. His features were slightly feminine but still, it radiated a handsomeness–not overly but the kind that was common… except that Andrew's features weren't common.
His pale skin that greatly complimented his grey hair. A full, shapely lips. An effeminate face but with defining jaws that seemed to be its last attempt to pronounce Andrew as a male. Andrew was a tall individual, standing over two metres in height. Coupled with his slightly lean build, he was… gorgeous?
Andrew, paralyzed by the invisible force, stared, not in shock but with a gaze entirely different. It was one of indifference; a lack of surprise by the sight he was witnessing.
Was it a lack of genuine shock or was Andrew shocked beyond what the normal human mind would respond to?
"This child… Why do you value her so much? You've only been in my city for less than a day and you seem so attached to such a blank slate. What is it about her that rouses your empathy, Andrew?"
Morgur, wearing the skin of Andrew, brought Mira before Andrew, forcing him to stare into the lifeless eyes of the child that looked alive but was anything but that. They dripped with tears.
"What if she was this?" Mira's flesh began to ripple. Her bones cracked and lengthened, her flesh stretched and tore and then mended. Quickly, Mira was no longer whatever Morgur held in his hand. A fiendish abomination has taken its place.
"Is she no longer Mira? Because she has lost her true form? Is it the appearance that dictates the nature of the individual? Are you that shallow, Andrew?" Morgur chuckled in Andrew's voice.
Andrew muttered something under his breath, something that Morgur didn't audibly catch.
"Oh, what is it, Andrew?" Morgur left the grotesque monstrosity that had once been the frail body of a little girl hanging mid-air as he drew close to Andrew, his ear close to Andrew's mouth.
"I'll… kill… you." Andrew fought against the paralyzing force that Morgur had extended to his face to prevent him from uttering a single word.
Andrew didn't care. He felt the flesh of his lips tearing as he spoke, his teeth grinding against each other as if they'd break at any moment. His innards burnt with a rage so true black blood spilled from his mouth out of nowhere.
"Really? Maybe you would but unfortunately… you can't." Morgur chuckled in Andrew's voice, a bizarre sound it was for Andrew. "Fret not, Mira isn't gone. If you desire to meet that blank slate, then…"
Morgur shifted away from Andrew as his left hand gently caressed the grotesque monstrosity hanging mid-air.
"This is Mira too. Speak to him, child."
With haunting clarity, the grotesque creature opened its mangled jaw and began.
"Andrew, please… help me. I don't want this. Please… I just want mommy and daddy. I'm feeling cold, Andrew. I can't see the world anymore. I want to see you, Andrew. Mummy and daddy left me. I hate… them. Will you be my daddy, Andrew?… Please? I'm cold, daddy. I'm hungry. Can I sleep in your arms, daddy? Please?... I won't be a bad girl anymore. So, please… you won't leave me again, right, daddy? Right, Andrew?" The innocent voice of the little girl who had gone through too much rang through the expanse of the cathedral like the haunting muttering of a phantom.
"There. Isn't that your Mira?" Morgur asked with a twisted smile on his face.
Andrew watched with burning rage and frigid sadness as the grotesque monstrosity, whose eyes had opened slightly, struggled helplessly from mid-air in an attempt to reach out to Morgur who was wearing his skin.
"Daddy… daddy… daddy… I want my daddy…"
Andrew fell into an ocean of sadness when he saw how much Mira struggled to reach out to him. She had come to see him as a father figure so quickly. Anyone who had gone through her misery would have instantly anchored themselves to the most caring person they could find.
Mira was a child. A frail, little girl no older than eight. She was just a child, a child that had no business going through so much anguish and torment.
All she wanted was to be cared for and loved… like any child. And Andrew had given her that. Even if it was for only a few hours. Those few hours was more than enough for this child to get attached to him, for he had fulfilled a yearning in her.
And now, he watched helplessly as the abomination wearing his skin tormented her–tormented him. He couldn't do anything as he watched Mira, now in a grotesque form that did nothing to lessen Andrew's love for her, called out for him–for Morgur, who impersonated him.
"You see? She's only a blank slate. Her yearning are far too mundane. Her wants, too shallow and easily fulfilled. This is a self-imposed purpose; a needless one. What I desire to give her, Andrew, is something no one else can offer. What I DESIRE to give every single person is something far beyond your understanding." Morgur skin began twisting as he took on a new form. He was now a dark haired slightly tall man. A well-kept mustache and a goatee being his most defining features. His dark eyes were sharp and calculating.
"The Visionary would understand, Andrew… for he is the herald of this purpose. He is the herald of change. Demarcus is merely a fool dancing to the whims of the Visionary. When the Visionary descends, true change shall come. I'm but a prelude to this beautiful change..." The calm and collected voice of the dark haired man rang stern.
"And she…" Morgur uttered, grabbing the grotesque form of Mira by the neck.
As Morgur made contact with the monstrosity, its flesh immediately rippled as its form underwent a gory but instantaneous change. Again, it was the frail body of Mira instead of that grotesque monstrosity.
"... The initiator."
Time paused. Mira's eyes, dripping with tears as her expression was twisted in anguish, sadness and an evident wanting in her eyes that stared so miserably at Andrew.
Andrew watched, not because he was necessarily helpless, not because he could have saved her… he watched because he didn't even know what was going to happen next. And when it did happen, he merely felt…
And then, Mira's frail body, the child he had gotten attached to because of how much he could empathize with her, the child that had come to view him as her guardian… exploded in a gory shower of blood, flesh and organs. Andrew was drenched in gore.
Empty.
And in emptiness came something… mad. Something wrong. Something profane. Something just simply wrong.
"Why?" It was a single word but it carried a force beyond anything.
There was no orange glint, there was no brilliance. Only an ominous gloom.
Zenith stared silently at Morgur.