The world is not a good place. Certainly, everyone has suffered in it at one point.
John d'Arc wasn't the exception.
He lost his sister.
His friends.
His allies.
Almost everything.
Everything but his faith.
In the last moments of his life, while facing Mordred, he headbutted the British soldier until they both passed out.
Even now, what happened to John's corpse is unknown.
Unknown, but to story.
But, there was one man willing to bring him back, after two hundred years.
Gilles de Rais.
The knight with black hair was one of the few to know the Lord of Orléans personally.
When not fighting, John usually visited Orléans to talk about the word of God. He mostly talked about faith, forgiveness, and equality, the last one being the most controversial one among many men.
Once, he said–
"In Hebrews 11:1, says "Now faith is the confidence of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."
"Then, in Matthew 17:20, says "Because you have so little faith. I assure you that if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." The word of God also says that without faith it is impossible to please God" John said calmly, with a smile that transmitted serenity and peace to those who heard him "and thus, that is why I come here with a reflection; keep your faith living as a flame, fuel it with the word of God and its messages, no matter what comes next, keep believing in God, even with the faith as small as a mustard, God will bless you for your faithfulness."
Many people used to believe he was a shepherd, he simply replied "I'm afraid I'm not one, but a knight fighting not only on France's name, but God's."
His unwavering faith and confidence appealed on some, enough to bring them to fight at his side against the British.
Gilles always searched for John, seeking guidance.
John willingly helped, they were friends, after all.
After Joan's death, and John's disappearance, the years passed, and Gilles slowly lost his mind.
He searched for the Fountain of Eternal Youth, a fountain of myths, as many people portrayed them.
Many called Gilles crazy, obsessive, and a heretic.
Because he said he was going to revive Joan d'Arc.
Nobody believed him.
But here he was. On his chamber, sacrificing children, men, women and anything he could for a ritual to grant him forbidden knowledge.
Sorcery. Some of the things that John used to despise.
The air in the chamber is thick, heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the suffocating scent of stagnant dust. Sunlight doesn't reach this place; the room is lit only by the harsh, unforgiving contrast of deep shadows and stark white glare, making every surface look like an ink-slashed nightmare.
In the center of the workshop, the true horror of the room hangs on display. Stripped human torsos, hollowed out and limbless, dangle from the ceiling like grotesque marionettes left to rot. They sway imperceptibly on taut ropes, their pale skin mapped with deep, dark lacerations where life was violently carved away. Against a thick wooden support pillar, two more male forms are pinned like macabre hunting trophies, their heads severed, their chests bared to the cold, damp air.
To the right, a low round table serves as a presentation stage for the final, gruesome tally. A row of severed heads rests on the wooden surface, their glassy, sightless eyes staring out into the void, dark tracks of blood dried beneath their lids like tears.
Gilles rests on a stone ledge in the lower left, a muscular figure enveloped in a grim, heavy silence. There blood on his, obscuring his bulging black eyes and leaving him looking more like a living monster wearing a man's skin than Gilles de Rais. He wears a dark, simple vest, his powerful arms resting on his knees. Across his lap, he holds a massive, rectangular cleaver, its heavy blade glinting dully in the dim light.
At his feet, a massive, notched executioner's axe leans casually against a stained wooden chopping stump, a permanent fixture on the blood-slicked stone floor.
The man murmured things, mostly to himself in a pathetic attempt to ground himself.
"This is for Lord John...."
"This is for The Maiden..."
"I have to bring them back..."
Thanks to the sacrifices, he was granted a grand knowledge.
The Holy Grail.
A gift of God, whose owner will be able to ask for a wish.
On righteous hands, a artifact made for do miracles.
On the wrong hands, the perdition of mankind.
Gilles thought of using it to revive John, the Lord of Orléans, the "Phantom Lancer", as the legends call him.
Gilles decided to go in a church, where the Grail was held as a relic.
He distracted the guards with the sound of a crying baby.
Once he got in, he took the Grail, and he decided to escape and go back into his chamber.
Then, he decided to place it on a table.
The sacrifice gave him the knowledge to gain it, but enough to know how to use it.
Then, he decided to leave it all to luck.
Gilles took a knife, and he made a cut on his hand, the blood leaking from the wound.
Then, he decided to recite a chant.
"O grand gift of God... Grant me a wish... I ask you... Bring back the Maiden of Orléans, Joan of Arc, and grant her a life to take revenge!"
...
...
...
There was a cold silence, because apparently, he didn't managed to summon her.
Then, he tries again.
"O grand gift of God... Grant me a wish... I ask you to bring me the Lord of Orléans, John d'Arc, the Knight that gave everything on your name and bring me the tyrant to destroy the people that–"
Then, the Holy Grail pulsed violently, a dark explosion of energy made the entire chamber tremble.
Between him and the table were the Grail stands floating, a figure appeared.
A young man with short lenght white hair, golden sharp eyes, skin that's unnaturally paler than it should be by human means.
The knight wore a dark armor. The dark armor feels cold, like ashes after a fire. It does not reflect the light; it swallows it.
Every metal plate is heavy with pure anger. The jagged headpiece pulses with wild, broken thoughts, smelling faintly of smoke. His tattered black cape drags behind him like the remains of a burned world.
He grips the heavy flagpole tight. The armor radiates one clear feeling: he is not here to protect himself, he is here to destroy everything in his path.
The knight summoned by that wished is no one, but the one and only–
John of Arc, the Lord of Orléans.