The reptile entered the cathedral, to be welcomed by an ocean of darkness. Compared to the outside world where the cathedral had a defined size, inside it defiled that expectation. It was vast, cold, and alone. The first of the many challenges that awaited the reptile. Hundreds of metres away, at the centre stood a baptismal font with a small white flame that burned at its heart. It looked like a candle at a distance, but to a reptile who could see perfectly in the dark. It was the only thing that was visible in a world of nothingness.
Jackson took a breath before he dipped his right foot into the black liquid. He winced; he had forgotten how cold it was. The reptile knew two fundamental laws of the black ocean: Never use any other source of light for it would blind you from the right path, and don’t fall into the water.
The door slammed shut the moment he dipped his second foot into the water, drenching half of his body. He was now inside the cathedral, no way out, even if he used the Chimes. Yet what kept burning brightly was the flame, for something so small, it was a beacon of hope. Jackson knew it was the only destination that mattered.
He took his first steps and began his long journey to the font. The water felt heavy with every stride while having the consistency of silt. But with every step, the water felt colder than before. Jackson knew that the temperature was the least of his problems.
A hand reached out from the water and rubbed his palm, the reptile ignored it as he kept moving. More hands emerged from the ocean to feel the intruder. They were alone, isolated for so long. They had forgotten what the touch of a hand was, the feeling of fabric between their fingers. The hands were the souls consumed by the cathedral, their souls liquified and refined into a husk that powered the creature for eternity and beyond. They yearned for more; they retained their memories after they suffered at the grasp of an unholy beast.
But some souls remembered, they recognised the scales of the reptile. Some scars are new, some overlaying the old ones. Yet the scales are the same. Attached to the man who wronged them.
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Some hands latched onto Jackson, trying to pull them into the water. The reptile wrestled against them. One hand soon grew to hundreds. They don’t want him to continue, to go to the font. Not after what he did.
Each hand whispered, some spoke languages long dead and forgotten. The reptile knew them all; he knew what they whispered.
‘Butcher! Hypocrite! Murderer!’
Jackson managed to rip some hands from his body without breaking eye contact with the font. Its white flame was so close. Yet the whispers carried centuries of venom in their voices and they will make sure they are heard.
‘Abuser! Enslaver! Kinslayer!’
The hands managed to ground the reptile to a halt, his clothing began to tear from his body. Each hand pushed and pulled on him in unison, trying to claim him. He was only at arm’s reach of the font.
‘Liar! Sinner! Faith Breaker!’
With a great push, Jackson broke their hold on him. He marched to the font and collapsed in front of the flame. He wrapped his arms around it as the hands of the tortured souls did everything they could to drag him into the waters. But he held on! Even when he felt his skin being scratched, his scales forcefully peeled off.
Jackson rested the hand with his ring near his chest as the white flame dwindled. Drowning the world in pure darkness and unforgivable cold.
He struggled to breathe once the world had gone dark; the cold made his body locked in place as every muscle in his body ached in agony. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths to block out the whispers. They had something to say to the reptile, each word carried a curdle of truth and vitriol. If they cannot drown him in the pool of sorrows, they will surely remind him of what he was and continued to be.