The flames devoured all in their path in the old city of Lilac. Once beautiful homes and businesses now groaned and broke under their own weight, their strength stolen by the raging fire. It was too much, too intense to be fought against, too hot to even try and walk towards! People picked up what they could, either possessions or their own families, and ran for their lives as far away as possible… at least, most of them did.
There was a single cloaked figure standing in the middle of it all, just staring at the flames with a mix of fascination and horror in his look. He felt powerful, and yet so helpless; his laboratory had broken down and now burned in front of his very eyes; all he had fought for, all he had studied and learned now lost, destroyed by his own hand in a fit of panic.
He trembled with anger, with frustration. He could feel how close he had been to a breakthrough, to finally find a Rune of his very own, and then… the fear, the pressure, the news of a Genesis regiment growing closer and closer to him; it was simply overwhelming.
Several steps came from behind the cloaked man, his fate finally catching up. The Demiurge didn’t dare to look behind himself, hands still trembling with frustration, for even at the edge of a precipice the man refused to give up. He needed to think of something, anything! Perhaps the flash spell on his ring…
“Do you repent?”
A voice spoke to him, young, feminine, and yet full of such authority that the Demiurge could feel his heart tremble and rush for an answer. But no, he couldn’t answer to that question, for it was a very well-known Rite of the Inquisition: they always gave you a chance to repent before execution, so your soul could “return to the cycle” after death.
To speak now would basically be authorizing them to kill him.
“Your world burns, Demiurge. Your selfish and misguided steps have once again brought pain to everyone around you… I’ll ask you again. Do you repent?”
“You call me selfish and misguided…?” The man couldn’t hold his tongue. “When I make a mistake my flames consume a city, but when you Inquisitors obsess over falsehoods, you doom an entire world.”
There was silence again, only interrupted by falling debris and the roar of flame.
“So you choose not to apologize even after it all, Demiurge…?”
With a deep breath, the man slowly turned around and faced the crowd behind him. Black uniforms on black horses, at least five of them staring at him with lances ready to strike: the armed hand of the Church, the Genesis Corps… But there was someone else with them, leading them. A young woman probably reaching her twenties, protected from the fire by a shining silver armor contrasting so beautifully with her dark skin and her pitch black hair, falling free on her shoulders.
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He recognized this woman, she had made herself famous among Demiurges and other “enemies of the church” for her zeal and tenacity: the woman who had hunted so many of his companions, the Living Saint of the Church.
Esperanza of Argon.
The tall, gallant dame sat firmly on her horse, holding an ornate silver pike in her hands while waiting for the mage’s answer with a placid, almost gentle look in her eyes. She wasn’t judging him, not yet.
But the fact that she was here, in person, meant that the Church was finally getting fed up with the Demiurge’s activities.
“No. I will not apologize and I will not repent for my quest.” The man finally answered, frowning and raising a hand to show the ring on his finger. This would hurt a lot, but it would ensure an escape. “I will never apologize, and will never stop trying to find the truth that your people so zealously deny!”
The Saint sighed, slowly shaking her head and narrowing her gaze upon the heretic. Those eyes, the Demiurge couldn’t stand the pity in them.
“What is your name, Demiurge.”
“Timotheos.”
“Well, Timotheos the Demiurge… I will pray for your soul tonight, may you finally find peace in the next life.”
With a mocking grin the Demiurge closed his eyes, a hand squeezing the ring on the other. He could feel the hidden spike pierce his blood, the spark of pain being all he needed to activate the rune within.
“No need to waste breath in me, Dog of the Church. Beg for yourself instead!”
Blinding light would suddenly burst from the man’s hand, as the finger with his ring burnt to a crisp under the sudden heat. The pain was overwhelming, but the Demiurge couldn’t faint now even as his digit shriveled in the devouring embrace of magic. He only had a few minutes to escape, leaving behind the shining ring and running as fast as his legs could take him.
But something followed him.
A beautiful, ornate spear flew through the air and the blinding light, passing straight through the man’s left arm and then landing right on his way. Timotheos’ eyes widened, especially when something else followed it: he saw the body of the Living Saint fly straight through the air, getting a hold of her weapon and flourishing it quickly as she landed in front of the Demiurge. Before he could even realize he would feel the bite of its steel, cutting straight through his throat and forcing his body to a violent stop, kneeling and trying to cover the open, bleeding wound.
His eyes could see it clear as the day, shining brightly both on the lance and on the woman’s right gauntlet: a Rune had been cast on the steel of both, its strength fading as the girl walked over to her prey.
“So it is true…” He coughed, barely able to speak as his eyes glared up at Esperanza. “You Saints… are no better than us at all…”
“The gift of my Mother guides my spear, Demiurge. It was given to me… you stole it from the Grace of the Saints instead.” Her eyes now burned with disgust as she pushed the man to the floor with the tip of her pole. “There is no comparison between us.”
“No.. hah, hahahah, you are just like us.” As the light slowly abandoned his eyes, the dying man smiled. “A fraud… clinging to the pieces of broken Gods—”
She didn’t let him finish the sentence. Her lance could find the man’s heart before he could. With a slow, deep sigh, Esperanza would kneel in front of the body and offer it one last prayer, begging for the man’s safe return to the Grace of the Saints. As she did, the rest of her squadron would finally catch up, after having calmed their horses.
“Your excellency, are you okay…?” One of the men enquired while pulling the Saint’s own ride.
“Yes, yes. This pathetic man didn’t have anything in him to hurt me.” The girl lied, pushing her wounded pride aside as she climbed back up on her mount. “Let’s search for survivors and start working on extinguishing the fires. I don’t want idle hands, there may be innocents still trapped in the flames!”
The inquisitors looked at each other for a moment. That was certainly not their job, but the Saint had issued an order!
“Your excellency, if I may… we must go to Caen with all haste, do you truly believe it is wise to stop by every town that requires aid?”
“It is our negligence that brought about this calamity.” Esperanza spoke without pause or hesitation. “Caen can and will wait for us. This is the will of the Saints..”
Of course, the men had their doubts, but they had never disobeyed the Dame and wouldn’t start doing so now. So begrudgingly they nodded, and immediately dispersed through the city to start the search.