Dai'shic doubled over from the blow Jesse delivered, but the demon recovered quickly, too quickly for Jesse to react, and then... Dai'shic rose to his full height, one fist raised high and poised to strike the hunched over Gretta, even as the other closed down on Jesse's head while the third simply discarded the body. An opening! His midsection's exposed! I moved quickly and in an instant, Dai'shic found himself not only missing the forth arm Jembres took from him earlier, but now his entrails fall freely to his feet. He smiled; it was a fitting end. I wished I could have shared in his amusement, but I found no joy even as I tore his heart out. Where was my zest for life? Where did it go? Where... "Sacriel" I turned, it was Gretta of course, who else? She was no longer prone and the child was held in her embrace. The child, the so-called 'Chosen One', she cried even as Gretta began comforting her. "Sacriel... thank you" I scoffed, and then... my eyes softened. I quickly turned and removed the mask I wear. The mask that keeps her loving me. The mask that makes her believe that deep down, I'm not the monster I have others believe I am. The one that makes her believe I have compassion and that I'm not just an endless well of depravity inside. The one that keeps her from loving him. My love. Not hers. Jembres would never be hers, not as long as she was mine. I would smile if I had it in me... I don't. I have neither the cruelty nor the twisted sense of humor to find any mirth in this charade. Just as well I suppose. Where did it go wrong? Where was my lust? My lust for battle. My lust for flesh. My lust to serve God's Will? I think... I think it was bled out of me when I spilled God's Blood. There was no thrill when I cut Him, even as there was no pain as He Casts me from my home. Destiny... I would curse Destiny if she existed. There is no Destiny. There is only chance and God's Whim. That is the truth. The truth within the web that binds the lie. The lie that the death of a young woman, one who as a child, cried in the arms of the woman who loved me, will have meaning. Perhaps it *will* have meaning. Then again, perhaps not. When the time comes for young Annalise to die, the Choice will be made. The others don't realize, but there will be a Choice involved. Will the True Chosen One take from the Chosen One's death the path of light and virtue? Or will he become... me?
I did not Fall. What occurred was a deception on both others and myself. Though I knew it not at the time, it was so that I would have some protection while I was not in heaven. A Fallen is not hunted by as passionately as one who still retains God's favor, while the hosts of heaven do not seek to punish the Fallen without additional provocation, having Fallen is a severe enough punishment. So it is that God walks with me still.
In one hand I hold life
I am, or was, depending on how you look at things, a Dominion. We are carriers of God's Will and God usually has but two wills. Those with whom God is pleased with will be blessed. Hence in one hand I hold the power to heal all ailments. Let pestilence end and famine wane, let war be forgotten and death be rendered impotent, for within my grasp lies life. The power to heal is a gift, one which I found using much more now than I did whilst I could roam the heavens freely. To be a Warder means knowing your life is forfeit, but life is precious and while some desire to die, others desire to live. It was with this gift that I first used to seduce Gretta. When first we met, she and the Chosen One had been caught in a stampede of miscellaneous animals I instigated, and been mortally wounded. I came to their 'rescue' and with the word "Heal", their wounds disappeared. Gretta takes my ability to heal as meaning that I am in fact filled with virtue. How easily she forgets what else I can do.
In the other I hold death
I carry out God's Will, and what a will it is. *This* is what I had lived for. Now... my life is like God's Wrath. It is empty. In the end, God's Wrath will lead emptiness. Entropy. Void. In one hand, I bring life. In my other, I hold the counter equation. Life and death. Youth and age. Let cities fall and heathen reap their rewards. I remember my proudest moment, when I delievered God's Wrath for the first time. I raised my hand upon the child of two heathens. I do not remember their names, but I remember the child's. Lana. With hair and eyes, soft and brown as the fur of a newborn fawn. Skin dark but smooth as milk, she looked at me with innocence as with a clear and musical voice, I uttered "Rot". I remember this clearly because throughout it all, she never lost the innocence in her eyes. She grew old before the eyes of the heathens and my own. We saw her body aged and decay and turn to dust in an instant. The heathens had been punished, and I gained a memory I will never forget.
- Ranged Attack Only
- Area Affect
- Armor Piercing
- Target Seeker
Nothing escapes God's Wrath. May all things burn and be crushed upon itself. Let the material gain the heathens value so much be no more than a memory as they too rot and become no more! When I still found pleasure in what I had to do, there was a certain satisfaction in the shattering of that which was most valued to the punished. Be it the life of their children or be it their gold and other belongings the heathens valued, I took away those that gave their lives meaning. Through the utter annialation of these artifacts, I have wiped cultures off the face of history. For what though? Why be so cruel as to deny them their place in history? Why did I do it? I did it... for God's Love.
Descent of a Holy Being
Ah memories. Dear bittersweet memories. Memories of light and glory, of laying waste to those below me. Memories of descending from the heavens, of appearing without foreshadow. In my glory days, I would descend upon God's ungrateful children and teach them respect. At times I would appear with no fanfare, simply stepping out of the shadows. At other times, with a flash of holy light as I bring my blade down on the petrified visage of my victims while other times still, I would descend from the heavens slowly, wing song and light surrounding me, but always, it was to carry out God's Will. Always, all that lay around me would fall as I open the hand that held death. Those who were fortunate however, may gain a boon. Just as I could appear and disappear, bringing death to those around me when I do, I can also bring life. Unfertile soil would suddenly be covered in life, the sick would be healed and even the cities that fell would rise once again. Such are the memories that I have.
Why did I strike out at God? What happened that day? I was approached by Destiny, just as the others did, but not like the others, I knew Destiny was a farce. I was told by the lie known as Destiny something I alerady knew, that I would die for the Chosen One. Enraged at the mockery of being confronted by a non-being, I went to God. I will serve God with all my heart, but I will not serve something that doesn't even exist. Why did God speak to me in such indirect terms? Why send Destiny instead of simply telling me to carry out His Will? In retrospect, I could see why, it was part of the deception. When I spoke to God, He told me to obey Destiny, knowing full well my feelings and in my anger, I unsheathed my blade and struck out. It was an act I could never have done without prompting from Him. In my anger, I drew blood. His Blood. Again, it was all a lie. I could never have done it without His Consent. My 'Fall' is a lie. A facade which I knew later on I must keep in order to complete my mission. A mission from God, not Destiny. Such is my... destiny.
I have always wondered, why it was that I had to do it. Why was it that I had to do something so heartless. The moment I drew His Blood, I knew why. I lacked the anger to strike out at God myself, so I needed one who utterly loathed me to push me over the edge. Narial, beloved of Vestian. Years ago, I was sent forth to carry out His Will. My mission was to bring damnation to two who had not only not displease God, but two who actually pleased Him. They fought the good fight, but in the end, my will overcame theirs. Narial, dear sweet Narial. Delicate, demure and empty of hate. Her soul was filled only with love, love she shared with Vestian, but by my hands, that love will never be again. With a blade made of cold hard iron, bane of all Fey, I entrap her soul within it and bound my will to it... no, to her. In an instant, I took away her love and made her my slave. We would spend the rest of our existence together and for the time we spent together, I brought her to battle after battle. She who by nature, could not willingly even kill an insect was not only forced to draw life, but see what it was that she drew. She would see their blood ooze out as she broke their skin, she would see every nuance as she cut through bone and organ. Throughout it all, I could feel her soul dying. What was once love and innocence became hate and dementia, and all directed at me. I could not have completed the arc to strike at God, but Narial could. She wanted to see me Fall. Her loathing only grew when she realized I didn't and that I used her to get close to Gretta through the love she shared still with Vestian. She despises me with a passion, and would see me suffer for what I do, yet, she is bonded to me and can do nothing to harm me, only serve me. Even when she leaves my hand, she cannot strike at me, only do battle on my behalf. She is mine, and I wish I could hate myself for it.