The dungeon's rotten stench, like tentacles crawling from a tomb, coiled around every inch of the cold stone walls. Bad grease crackled on the torches, casting sharp shadows that stirred despair and filth into a thick, heavy broth. This was the deepest, most forbidden chamber of the Holy Light Monastery, imprisoning its most shameful secret.
I, Glak.
I curled upon the icy stone bed, rough linen scraping against my dull green skin. My pointed ears caught the distant, heavenly chanting. That soul-cleansing melody now pierced my messy thoughts like poisoned needles. I am a monster, the embodiment of filth, a heretic the Holy Light must purge in everyone's eyes.
Except hers.
Only Saint Celia knows the truth of the blood flowing within this ugly shell. I am her flesh and blood, living proof of the worst secret beneath her holy shell the bastard child conceived when her sacred egg was defiled by goblin seed.
The heavy iron door groaned like a dying creature as it creaked open. A figure emerged, like holy light tearing through the darkness, yet carrying a suffocating, forbidden pull, walking against the faint light of the hallway.
Our Lady Celia.
She had come.
The years had left few marks upon her, instead settling into a stunningly mature charm that blended holiness with raw want. She appeared barely thirty, in the prime of a beautiful young woman's most full-bodied years. The authority settled in her deep, beautiful emerald eyes gave her an overwhelming, queen-like presence. She wore a pure, clean white sacred robe, yet that holy fabric now served as a perfect canvas to outline her devilishly tempting figure. The robe's cut looked plain, yet cinched tightly at the waist, perfectly showing off her slender wasp-like waist. Below that waist lay stunningly full, rounded buttocks, firm and high like ripe peaches. As Saint Celia walked, the hem of her robe traced a tempting curve beneath her steps, enough to make one's blood boil. At the chest, a glimpse of snow-white, perfect flesh was offered. The deep line, shining faintly beneath the lantern's soft glow, rose and fell with her steady breath, giving off a silent, deadly pull.
Her golden hair, like melted gold, was gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck seeming serious yet undeniably lazy. A few wild strands fell down her jade-like forehead and along her slender, swan-like neck, adding an air of easy pull. In her hand, she held a lantern giving off a soft, holy glow. The light surrounding her made her appear like a goddess descended upon this filthy place. Yet, this holy light upon me only made me feel like a worm in a sewer, all the more disgusting and wretched.
The unique scent coming from her, a mix of cool, holy incense and the mature smell of womanhood was like the strongest drug. It instantly filled the cramped dungeon, violently stirring the boiling animal lust within my goblin blood.
"Glak, my child."
Her voice was gentle enough to melt thousand-year-old ice, carrying a strange, soul-soothing magic that coiled around my heart like a poisonous snake. She approached the stone bed, standing over my curled form. Her gaze felt real, filled with pity, a close look and a burning hope that made my very soul shake.
"Mother…"
My voice rasped from a throat dry as sandpaper. The very saying of that name was the greatest sin against the Holy Light.
She did not respond. Her gaze, like a cold tool, scraped inch by inch across my green skin, tight with cold and stress. It swept over the knotted, bulging muscles on my arms, full of explosive power and the goblin's dark green veins, clearly visible beneath the skin. Not a trace of disgust showed in her eyes. Instead… they burned with a secret, almost hungry appreciation? That gaze was not that of a mother upon her son, but rather a collector looking over a rare, deadly weapon; a food-lover wanting a forbidden treat.
"You've grown, Glak," she murmured, her voice carrying a hard-to-notice huskiness that felt like feathers scratching at the heart's edge.
She extended that hand, once made holy for blessing crowds, its fingertips carved from the finest jade. With a slowness nearing sin, she gently traced the pulsing veins sticking out from my arm. That icy, smooth touch shot through my body like lightning! The goblin's wild instincts roared madly within my blood, pushing me to tear apart, to possess, to defile this holy form before me! But reason screamed: She is Celia! She is Mother!
"Look at you." Her voice grew lower, closer, the warm breath of holy incense brushing my earlobe. "This power… this wildness… how… utterly fascinating." Her fingertips stayed upon my heaving chest, feeling the heart that pounded wildly for her.
"Two bloodlines flow within you, my child. One from me, the holy light. The other…" She paused, the swirling flames deep within her green pupils flaring intensely like wild excitement or perhaps… a sick desire? "…the other comes from darkness, from… the most basic, most powerful conquest."
At that moment, muffled sobs and dragging sounds reached us from beyond the iron door. Celia snapped upright, the demonic pull vanishing from her face as quickly as a ghost, replaced by the caring face of a saint.
"Bring her in." Her voice was cold and commanding, allowing no argument.
Two guards, their eyes empty and numb, dragged in a girl who looked like a scared deer, roughly throwing her onto the cold, filthy floor. She was about fifteen or sixteen, at the age when a flower is just beginning to bloom.
"Lila," Celia called softly.
I remember her. She was once the most favored disciple of Celia. Even now, her face streaked with tears, her golden hair disheveled, her coarse linen dress stained with grime, it could not obscure the aura of nearly tangible, pure holy light that flowed around her. Lila had been the monastery's most brilliant rising star in recent years, a young priestess of extraordinary talent, privately hailed by many high-ranking clergy as a strong contender for the future Virgin Mary! Possessing a bloodline of sacred light so pure it was said to occur but once in a century, the tender egg within her womb held divine vitality. Prophecies foretold she would bear humanity's mightiest warrior or mage, one who might even awaken legendary power! She was the future hope of the Holy Light, a lofty, untouchable flower of the highlands!
Yet now, this high-mountain flower lay trampled within a filthy dungeon. Her exquisite, youthful face was streaked with tears of terror. Eyes like the purest sapphires widened in dread, reflecting my own savage features. Her slender frame glowed faintly with the pure radiance of her Holy Light bloodline, a feeble defense against the dungeon's filth. Yet this light seemed fragile beneath Celia's gaze and the dungeon's darkness.
*Note: One chapter will be released every hour until 15 are out by tomorrow.