"I pity them... I pity the Godless, for in this very day I see it. In their world it was refered to as 'Christmas', a time of giving and of merriment between their people. In their religion they celebrate the birth of their Messiah, their God-King in some ways. Their very king who gave his life so they may be saved from their sins. Yet here they are now, outside our walls. Fighting and bringing misery upon themselves.

What right did we have to tear them away from their families? What right did we ever bear to demand that they be trained like warriors?"

- Princess Annalise Basalos | Delving unto the Godless

"E-Ey k-kid, there's no need for this!"

"Y-Yeah! We didn't mean to try and rob ya!"

He could hear their voices, their language translated into English as it passed into his ears. Fear and hesitation gripped the speaker, as if moments ago he wasn't trying to kill him. Faced with such a sudden change of heart, Benedict spat to the side in disgust. These men were bandits, and it was merely just three days after he had parted with Carleon and Jio to search for specific things, and most of all to experience the world truly.

As he had expected it was not as kind or forgiving as the Mentors of theirs within Isalabi had showed the Lonesome Frost to be. Rather it was deadly when the true nature of it was revealed, especially when one traversed roads alone. But that did not matter to him as he lowered his bloodied blade, his eyes staring at them with a boiling rage within him.

'I want to rest... I'm tired, I just want to rest just for a few more moments... Is that too hard to ask for?'

Before they attacked he was planning to set up camp, or rather just sit down for a few moments before night truly hit. Yet they so callously attacked him, believing their superiority in numbers could make them overpower him. It would have worked if they were skilled with their blades, yet they weren't and his platemail rendered their blades useless. As such he had defeated them easily, though he didn't quite kill them as hesitation gripped him. For what right did he have to kill them? What reasoning could he have to kill them, when they looked as if they were former farmers, driven to this work through poverty?

'They are bandits... They are scum...'

Though almost as easily as his rage could take hold of him, he found his answer. He had no right to judge them for what they did, he had no right to scorn them for what they chose to do with their life. Yet he had the right to kill them, that he thought to be true as a mirthless laugh escaped his lips. This terried the bandits before him, who numbered three and were backed up against the trees to the side as they bled.

One of them looked to be younger than the rest, perhaps a year older than him and he was pitifully laying on the ground next to him. His hands holding on to his cut belly, making sure his insides did not spill out. This bandit looked to Benedict with fear and regret, as if he was thinking that he shouldn't have done what he tried to do. But it didn't matter to Benedict, it didn't truly matter. For they were scum.

"I... Cannot forgive any of you." He began, drawing protests from the Bandits as he took a step forward to the youngest of them. "It's not my place to forgive any of you."

"S-Surely you can forgive us! I-If you spare us we'll live a righteous life! We'll go back to being farmers and raise crops! Oh noble lord please!" Quickly one of them spoke desperately, tears welling up in his eyes as he winced from the wounds Benedict had inflicted upon them.

"I do not have it in me." He quickly replied, kneeling directly behind the youngest as he used his left hand to pull the chains on his blade. Like the bells of the damned, they rattled feverishly as snow fell from the skies. In such an act the Bandits widened their eyes, the youngest himself tried to crawl away but it was fruitless.

"However, perhaps your Gods may forgive you." With such a line he suddenly pulled the chains tightly, making them rattle for a few more times before straightening out. Once it was done he without any hesitation in his part placed it over the youngest's neck, before mercilessly pulling it backwards, choking the bandit without a sliver of mercy within him.

"M-Mercy please! Spare him and take me!" The other bandit yelled, his own voice echoing out within the lonesome woods they were in. But in reply the chains were merely tightened around the youngest's neck, choking the male as he tried to claw at Benedict's armored hand. First it was fear that compelled him to try and claw Benedict's hands away, but then it was desperation as he began to choke, with his lungs desperately needing air to let him live.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Then as sudden as his actions before he broke the youngest's neck. Twisting it along with the chains as he showed sudden strength by pulling the chains to the side with force. As easily as that, the youngest died with a look of horror plastered on his now lifeless face.

"May God have mercy on me." He idly murmured, looking up to the bandits with a rictus of anticipation on his features.

-

Sighing softly as he finished pilfering whatever he could acquire from the dead bandits, Benedict gently knelt down on the side. His blade's tip pointing downwards and on the ground, with his hands gripping the pommel of his blade as he began to pray. In part he did this for it was habit, to help him ease his sorrow within him on the fact that he did not have his family with him, that he felt lost in this new world with him unsure of what he should do. Now however, it was because of another reason.

Such reason was all around him, the three bandits whose necks were snapped to the side by ruthless force. His very handiwork that he in his sudden rage and madness, thoroughly enjoyed. To the point that no fear or regret occurred within his mind, instead it was satisfaction that was within his mind. In some way he also felt great pride from it, and that was what made him pray.

'O merciful lord, king of kings I pray to thee for guidance and forgiveness. For your servant has sinned against his fellow man, and have committed murder and suffering unto three men...'

His prayer though was not the ones used by his people, for he could barely remember them. Instead he made up his own with a similar set up to the other prayers, at least the ones he remembered. For a better course of several minutes he prayed earnestly, asking for forgiveness, guidance and most of all blessings for his family. He knew very well that despite his own misgivings with them, he loved them as they did love him.

He was the eldest, and it was his role to guide his younger siblings. Yet now he could never fulfill that, he could never be there for him. And his parents, as well dearest friends upon Earth was to deal with him being gone, surely missing in their eyes and kidnapped by someone. This in part caused tears to well from his eyes, as idly he began to cry. A radical change to his emotions moments from before, as an overwhelming sorrow overtook him so suddenly that it could not be natural.

Quickly in realization he stood up and drew his sword , turning around and pointing it to where he faced, letting the chains rattle out in discordant noise that encompassed the once silent forest. In front of him numbering dozens, were the strange beings he saw in his dream and in reality. They were truly inhuman and human at the same time, with one of them moving forward, holding her hands forward as her wings flapped gently.

"Oh Godless." She began, a voice filled with mercy and understanding ringing out as he backed away slightly. "It is no shame to feel sorrow, it is no shame to be human as you are. Accept us and you shall have the power to go home sooner than the rest, accept us and you may no longer be so unsure, so conflicted that madness pulls you to the brink of damnation.

Your dreams are only but the beginning, for your destiny in this path you have chosen brings misery. Not only for you... But also for your friends. For your God cannot hear you, only we can. So accept us dear Godless... Become our champion and save this world from the lies that submerge it in ichor."

"No! Get the hell out of my mind!" He retorted quickly, hastily moving away to turn to the path ahead and suddenly sprinting. From behind the winged woman and the others slowly walked to follow him, whilst he ran with all his might. Even then she didn't stop speaking, and even then he could hear her voice as if she stood right next to him.

"Deathspeaker, oh Deathspeaker... You shall be damned to madness if you keep pushing us away, let us save you as you will our people... Let not yourself be spurred on by your anger and paranoia, find it within yourself to trust us. For in such an act you will be forever saved from what mockery fate has set for you."

"I will not be enslaved by any of you!"