"Huuurrrrrrgggghhhhhh!" El yawed, rising up from his bed. He straightened his posture, resting his head against the headboard and stretched his hands out.
He had still slept in his long white robe and his pale red scarf, but his golden chained cross was placed on the cupboard beside his bed.
"Papa?" the little creature murmured, lifting itself up and sitting straight. He observed El rise up from the bed and stare at his reflection, fixing his hair.
Hel turned his head from the mirror towards his little creature and smiled.
"Little one, did I wake you up now?" he asked with warm smile.
"No."
The room was much brighter now, the bottomless pit of void and hell was still beneath his feet, the distortions of reality still echoed faintly around him.
The hands of the shadows still clung to his feet, stretching outward from the walls and from the ground. The threads of fate, destiny, and luck had not disappeared. They lingered; thin, imperceptible lines fixed at silent points around the room, woven together like the framework of an unseen web.
The small, white, and fractured crown still tilted to the right side of his head.
The shadows were bearable now.
The bottomless pit of hell and void felt like solid ground beneath his feet.
The grasping hands of the dead no longer clawed; they lingered like comrades, like children who would never abandon him.
The invisible threads of fate, destiny, and luck drifted around him like air, natural, and unquestioned.
The faint distortions of reality that once unsettled him now echoed like distant music.
And the small, white, fractured crown upon his head no longer felt foreign.
It felt like inheritance.
In short, everything became so normal to him, it became like daily life. Nothing seemed strange or out of the usual.
Perhaps it was his holiness distorting his vision. Or perhaps the marks were finally exacting their price, bending his perception and rewriting the world before his eyes.
"Step 1 of bringing the ritualists to their doom; silently but inevitably: Make up a good quote."
"If you tell a man an obvious lie, he will dismiss you," El said softly, gazing into his own reflection as though observing a specimen beneath glass. "He will think you foolish. Perhaps mad."
"Tell him the same lie again, and he will frown. He will marshal facts, logic, reason. He will lecture you, eager to prove his superiority."
"continuously relent, and he will no longer see you as a fool. He will see you as stubborn. Annoying. Persistent."
He leaned closer to the mirror.
"But whisper that same lie to him every morning as he wakes, and every night as he lays down to sleep. Let it brush his ears when he eats, when he rests, when his guard is lowered. Do not argue. Do not shout. Simply repeat."
"On the thirtieth day, he will no longer argue with conviction. On the fortieth, he will hesitate. By the sixtieth, he will begin to test his own memories."
A pause.
"Then comes the crack."
El's reflection seemed almost to smile back.
"He will ask others to reaffirm the truth he once held so firmly. But if they too speak the same lie, calmly, confidently, without malice, then the foundation beneath his feet will begin to rot."
"After a year, he will not think he was deceived. No… that would require admitting weakness. Instead, he will believe he had misunderstood the truth all along."
A soft exhale.
"And in that moment, the lie will no longer need to exist."
"For he will defend it himself."
Looking around the room, El sighed inwardly and thought to himself.
Everything had become so normal now that if this were still last week, or the month before, he had awakened and witnessed such things...
He looked down into the bottomless pit of void and hell beneath him, at the illusory shadows and devils stretching out their hands and feet to seize and cling to him, then continued,
...I would have thought I was dead.
"Papa?" the little creature asked, tilting his head.
"Yes, Ben El, what is it?" El asked with a warm smile, turning his face to look at Ben El who had gotten down from the bed, sat down on the bottomless pit of void and hell and was playing with the shadows.
"What are you yapping about?"
"Hahaha," El laughed softly. "Don't worry, you'll understand when you're older."
El left the mirror and walked towards the cupboard beside his bed, picking up the golden chained cross and fixing it around his neck.
"Do you want to come with me?" El asked with in a soft tone, lowering himself as he gazed down upon Ben El.
The little creature tilted its head up at El and said brightly, lifting its tentacles. "Yes!"
El smiled and extended his pinkie as he rose. Ben mirrored him, wrapping a tentacle around it, and stood up beside him.
They then walked towards the door and opened it, leaving the room in silence.
"Why are you guys hanging around my door?" El asked with a frowning expression, though he smiled faintly upon seeing their faces.
"Awwwwwwww!" Leon exclaimed in joy upon seeing the little creature cling to El. "He's so cute!"
"I know, right?" El asked, though he didn't expect an answer.
"What's his name?" Leon asked.
"Ben El."
Leon then lowered himself and extended his finger saying, "Be a good lad and don't cause any trouble for dada okay?"
The little creature then stepped out slightly from behind El's legs and stretched one of his tentacles towards Leon.
Leon held it softly and repeated his statement, "Okay?"
"Okay!" the little creature chirped, sounding almost like a child.
Leon raised an eyebrow at El, and so did everyone else. Shadows writhed along his hands and feet, binding him in ways that shouldn't exist. Reality itself trembled and warped around him, tiny fractures spiderwebbing through the air like fragile glass about to shatter. And worst of all, they sensed it deep in their bones: their fates were suspended in his grasp, their lives hovering on the edge of his fingertips.
"Come on," Fe yuan said, gesturing downstairs, "We have to go. We don't have time to waste; Elias is waiting for us downstairs and the Assembly is now."
"Right," El murmured.
"Ben El, why don't you stay in the shadows," El whispered to him.
The little creature nodded and dissolved into the shadows. Black smoke diffused into the air as the tiny white form vanished into the bottomless pit of void and hell.
They walked toward the staircase and began their descent. The pit beneath him became his stair, his ground, shifting with him as he moved.
Soon they reached the bottom and entered the assembly hall, blending into the crowd.
The assembly hall was made of white metal, Greek temple columns adorned the corners, and the walls had intricate designs and symbols. The lights at the ceiling were bright, illuminating the vast hall; there wasn't a single spot of darkness.
At the far front of the assembly hall stood a stage, almost like a high altar.
The hall was filled with countless individuals in red and black robes, each wearing a white cross around their necks. They moved and spoke among themselves.
Murmurs, whispers, arguments, and chatter layered upon one another, forming an almost unbearable wall of sound.
Yet to El, it was music. It even echoed faintly like the distortions of reality that lingered around him.
"It's so noisy in here," Shingen sighed in annoyance.
"Yes, I agree, Someone needs to shut them up!" Seraph chimed in, though his words only sounded like mumbles.
Elias joined up with them soon after, greeting each and every one of them with a soft tone and a warm smile.
"Good morning!"
"Good morning!"
"Good morning!"
"Good morning!"
"Good morning!"
"Good morning!"
"Good morning!"
"And how are you?" they all asked in unison
"I'm fine thank you!" Elias replied, addressing all of them with a single word.
Suddenly, an old man appeared on the high altar and raised his hand, silencing all the ritualists in the assembly hall.
His hair, beard, and moustache had all turned the same steel-grey, lending him a quiet, weathered authority. He had had green eyes, slim nose, pink lips but rough skin as it was covered in wrinkles. He wore a long red robe that flowed to the floor and had black intricate symbols designed on the back of his red robe.
Around his neck was fitted a small white, chained cross that dangled slightly from the movement of his hand.
Then he spoke, his words rolling over the crowd like thunder.
"Welcome, dearest ritualists! Have we not gathered here today in good health and sound mind?" His deep, warm voice carried across the hall, paired with a prepared, welcoming smile.
"Surely the mercies of the beings are truly infinite!" he exclaimed, lifting both hands high.
The crowd erupted in response, raising their right hands and shouting in unison, "Yes! Yes! Yes! The mercies of the beings are indeed everlasting!"
The chanting and cheering did not cease. They echoed relentlessly throughout the assembly hall. The sheer clamour stirred little Ben El from the bottomless pit of void and hell, making him rise slightly to peek out, startled by the unbearable noise.
After a few seconds, Headmaster Nuez waved it once more before folding it behind his back, and the crowd fell silent again.
"I'm sure you have heard… because rumours travel just as fast as breath leaves the flesh," he said.
"Twenty-eight days from now, a war will be waged against us by the White Castle. This revelation was given to us by…"
"The Righteous ritualist."
He paused.
"The Beings that rule this world and Universe have blessed us with their Apostle, the son of the Most High One!"
"El! The Righteous Ritualist! Awakener of Seven Marks! Apostle of the Gods! And Only Son of the Most High One!" the man thundered, his words reverberating through the assembly hall and sinking deep into the ears of every ritualist present.
"El?" Someone murmured.
"Who's El?" another asked, bewildered.
"Is it that man in blonde hair and blue eyes?"
"No, It was the man of earlier, the one with black hair!" Another chimed in. He was clearly sure he was right.
"I don't think so, I feel it's the man in black and white," another said, waving his hand as if dismissing the conversation.
Murmurs and whispers crept back into the hall, growing like shadows that refused to be contained.
Headmaster Nuez then gestured his hand to a man amongst the thousands of thousands of ritualists.
The man had red hair that flowed down his back like a calm river. Strands of crimson fell smoothly along the sides of his face. Looking at his hair, one might feel as though they were standing upon a pile of corpses, surrounded by a pool of blood, the aftermath of war.
His pupils were black, as deep as the bottomless pits of Hell and the Void. To look into them was to feel already condemned by sin and death.
He had a slim nose, pink lips, and a smooth, handsome face that carried a cold and indifferent expression.
He was dressed in a long white robe that stretched to the granite floor, clearly too large for him, yet fitting him perfectly. A black scarf adorned his neck, partially covering a golden chained cross.
That man was El.
At once, every head turned toward the man hidden amongst them.
Elias. Leon. Fei Yuan. Shingen. Seraph. Arroz. And the other ritualists.
Their gazes converged on the place he had been described.
They found nothing.
The space he had occupied stood empty.
Only a pale column of light remained, pouring down like a silent accusation, illuminating absence itself.
El immediately appeared on the stage in silence.
He walked towards Headmaster Nuez and gave a faint smile. Then, he addressed the crowd.
"Kneel."
Immediately, an overwhelming wight of pressure radiated from him. The weight of the world was pressed against the heads of every ritualist in the assembly hall.
Every muscle ceased to obey. It was as if Silence itself had taken form, standing in the room and suffocating the air.
The breathing of every living things ceased, their hearts lost their rhythm as the weight of existence itself pressed against their minds.
They all fell on both knees. Vulnerable. And Powerless.
Their eyes widened in shock. Their mouth opened slightly,
And their life was paused.
Even the headmaster was forced to kneel, he too dropped to his knees under the sheer weight of the world that pressed against his mind.
The assembly hall was completely silent, the heartbeats ceased. The breathing stopped. Life itself paused in obedience.
The only people that the pressure did not touch were Leon, Fei yuan, Arroz, Seraph, Shingen, … and Elias.
El then began to address the crowd.
"Engrave this into your minds, into your memory, Into your soul," he began in a low and deep voice, it echoed across the room like thunder, scattering the minds of the ritualists.
He continued. "I am El, son of the Most High One, Apostle of the Gods. Righteous ritualist, awakener of seven marks. And the one who would save you all."
He let out a soft exhale.
"You imbeciles have turned your backs on your faith and devotion! In the revelation, you became like heaps of dust, scattered upon dry land. Your blood was used a celebration! Yet you still lazy around," he then lowered his tone. Using his mark of the thousand threads to see the fate, the destiny and the events of life in everyone in the hall "And I'm sure many of you are spies of the White castle, the slow bringers of our doom."
"I will train you all! Bring you back on the right path!"
Which is the path of doom!
"Combat ritualists, raise your right hand," El commanded. His voice thundered through the assembly hall; even the echo settled over them like quiet gravity.
A quarter of the kneeling ritualists responded at once, their hands rising in flawless synchronization, as though a single will controlled them all.
"Good," El muttered, taking a note of every ritualist who raised their hand.
He then activated his mark of creation.
A glowing sigil appeared on the back of El's right hand.
At the centre of the back of El's hand lied a perfect circle, unbroken and luminous. It was not gold, not white but a colour that seemed to contain every colour at once, shifting softly like dawn behind closed eyes.
Inside the circle was a single vertical line, extending from the top edge to the bottom. It did not touch the boundary, but nearly.
Crossing the vertical line at its midpoint was a horizontal line, thinner, almost trembling. Together, they formed a cross, but not one of faith or religion but one of axis. Up and down. Before and after. Seen and unseen.
Around the circle were three smaller rings, orbiting slowly, never colliding. Each ring carried faint inscriptions, symbols older than languages and thought. They looked unfinished, as though it was still editing itself.
Between the three smaller rings, tiny fractures of light flickered outward like cracks in glass.
At the base of the sigil, beneath the main circle, rests a crescent turned upward, cradling the whole sigil.
As El activated his mark of creation, calling forth the sigil of creation, it began to hum, a resonant vibration, smoother and calming, more stable than the faint echoes from the distortions of reality.
The air became heavier, thicker. Dust began to rise instead of falling. Sound distorted slightly, as if the world was buffering.
And El felt it.
The sensation that reality is truly editable.
He waved his right hand slightly.
Immediately, the combat ritualists screamed, their voices were hoarse, sounding like restrained, deep, screaming, screeching, cries of dread.
The others stepped back from fear of what was happening. They were already shocked about the power of El, but this… this was on another level.
In their minds, countless beings of white energy were being born.
It was not Monsters. Beasts. Doom bringers. Or just Corruptions,
It was Righteous corruptions!
Their minds were filled with righteous corruption just standing motionlessly, idle, as if awaiting command.
After a few moments, the hoarse voices stopped as El waved his right hand slightly. Silence continued its reign.
He released the pressure on their heads, easing their minds and calming their souls.
The ritualists gasped for air, clenching their robes tightly, letting soft or hard sighs of relief. Their bodies still trembled from the trauma they had experienced, but it was better now.
They pushed themselves upright, knees trembling and muscles twitching as though their own bodies resisted the motion.
Leon, watching this, felt pity for the ritualists.
"I never knew my master was so ruthless," he murmured in pity, letting out a sigh of sympathy.
At that stage, El smiled faintly.
"Good," he said, observing every ritualist that stood in the assembly hall with cold indifference, "Step 1 of bringing them to their doom silently but inevitably is complete."
With that, his figure dissolved into nothingness.