Chapter 3: Seraphim
Location: Cathedral of Light and Hope, Sol Menor.
The time had come for the night prayer to the god.
Father Arkham roamed the cathedral's grounds, inspecting its surroundings. Guards were posted at the perimeter.
Suddenly, a shadowy figure emerged in the corner of the cathedral. Dressed in black armor, it scanned the area briefly before disappearing into the darkness.
Hymns of prayer echoed across the chapel. A monument of Lord Eden stood, clad in human attire, with his hand outstretched towards the heavens.
The priests and priestesses chanted as the dark figure moved stealthily past the cathedral's towering pillars.
As the final hymn was spoken:
Let none defile our liturgy,
Let none unbind His prophecy.
One flame, one law, one holy plea—
No mercy born of blasphemy.
A dark figure emerged before Father Arkham. Today, he was not in the chapel praying; he was in the confession booth, waiting for a confessor. And a confessor came.
"Hello, Father."
Though separated by the grille, Father Arkham could sense he was encountering something beyond this world.
"Who are you?" Arkham asked, his voice steady and fearless.
What should I tell him? I am cursed by the First-born. Nicholas, gathering his thoughts, replied,
"Father, I have sinned. I came to confess."
Father Arkham spoke again, his words devoid of emotion.
"Speak, Devil."
Nicholas was shocked, but more than that, he was deeply saddened. His heart ached as the father called him a devil. He had served the church faithfully for so long, vanquishing monsters and heretics, only to now be reduced to such a label. All the good he thought he had done suddenly felt meaningless.
I can't let emotions take over right now. I need to focus on fixing this.
He spoke in a disheartened tone. "Father, I am Nicholas Lucen, Inquisitor-Captain of Fraternitas Spes Sanctae. I embarked on a mission, and during it, I was infected with a curse. Please, help me rid myself of it."
Father Arkham remained silent for a long time before finally breaking it, tapping softly at the grille.
"Sir Lucen, I never thought it would be you. I am sorry, but it's over. There is no way back after you decided to abandon Lord Eden's grace. As a friend, I suggest you surrender yourself to the Cathedral. We will take care of it from there."
Nicholas slowly backed away from the booth. He now had to escape this cathedral. It was not a good idea after all.
The room flickered, the space warped, and from the distortion, towering inquisitors began emerging. Among them was one adorned with a halo atop his head, marking his ascension to angelhood.
Curse it, I have given everything to them, yet there is no help. Damn it. Nicholas gritted his teeth and looked around the cathedral. There were changes his presence had caused. It wasn't that Priest Arkham had alerted them, bringing them down upon him. He had been discovered the moment he entered the city of Sol Menor. He was being monitored, and now they had decided to capture him.
The knights, clad in armor, descend upon him from the light.
Location: Sewer of Sol Menor.
Somewhere far away, a plague doctor wandered through the sewers, clad in a black overhanging coat and a fedora adorned with what seemed to be a raven's feather.
"What must I do for him? Oh, there's a body floating... such vile creatures they are." Rats gnawed on the floating corpse, indifferent to their surroundings.
The plague doctor searched the sewers with purpose, and at last, he found what he was looking for.
"Really? I had to search all the way here. Well, at least I have it now," he muttered before chanting,
"Resurrect, the Lord commands for servitude. Resurrect, Inquisitor Barchen."
The floating body began to stir, its motion barely perceptible as the rats continued gnawing without concern. Suddenly, a hand shot out, grabbing a rat and crushing it into pulp. The remaining rats scattered in fear.
It slowly rose up, the sewer wasn't very deep, and the body managed to wade through the sewage up to its neck. It stopped in front of the plague-masked man.
"UGGHH, you're even uglier now. The sewer did a number on you."
Clearing his throat, the masked man spoke.
"Barchen, you are officially a member of the Brotherhood of Truth. From now on, you will be called BOT-1."
The zombie nodded.
"Good. For your first task, you must find the entrance to the Cathedral. I trust you still remember the way, BOT-1."
The masked man rubbed his hands together—not out of cold, for there was none, but simply out of habit.
The zombie turned and began walking, the masked man following close behind.
Location: Cathedral of Light and Hope, Sol Menor.
The angelic inquisitors descended upon Nicholas, and fear gripped him.
"Damn it..."
"Hey, I'm still sane! I came here for help..."
Their weapons were already drawn, halberds adorned with swirling golden light.
The centaur-like inquisitor, a glowing halo resting above his head, spoke with unwavering firmness.
"Nicholas, surrender now or face the wrath of High Seraph Elion of the Oathborn Seraphim, Inquisitor of Light and Hope. Even as a branded one, you will receive no further warning."
A low, guttural sound rumbled from the shadows.
From the dim corner, a figure stepped forward, cloaked in tattered black ceremonial robes that radiated an aura of sacred decay and forbidden power. The heavy, almost funeral-like garment was adorned with ritualistic leather straps and iron rings, likely symbols of ancient oaths or binding rites. A foreboding plague doctor mask—smooth, beaked, and metallic—concealed the face, its fiery orange eyes cutting through the cathedral's gloom like smoldering embers of judgment.
Blasphemous relics and dark sigils drape across his chest and belt, including a warped cruciform dagger—part icon, part weapon. Black feather-like adornments crown his shoulders, echoing the wings of a fallen angel or corrupted seraph. His gloved hands clutch a weathered blade, as ominous crows wheel above him, painting the image of a death-preacher or an inquisitor gone rogue.
He is no ordinary healer or warrior. He is a heretic cloaked in sanctity, a plagueborn priest of despair.