image [https://i.imgur.com/iK3maey.jpeg]
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A lack of fresh air. The smell of decay. A dark, lifeless room, no light, no... purity. In it, a woman's voice. It's faint, but audible. Feminine, but not too high-pitched. The words she utters make no real sense, coming not even from a fake language, but from her own madness. Her hands shake together, as if she's trying to pray to an unknown God. Her discolored irises tremble in their sockets, her eyes aiming at the sky through the ruined ceiling, which currently leaves not the black of the vault visible. Yet it's clear that the woman is observing this place so far away and yet so near.
- Prithee... I begeth thee…
At last, she's using understandable words, in a language that exists. But her hands are still shaking, and her bare knees remain on the floor. It's not that she lacks clothes, it's that her dress is not long enough to reach her knees. Sure, she's down, but it's still not enough. Sure, she could put the dress under her knees and stand up for a quarter of a second, but that's not relevant right now. She doesn't care about pain, she doesn't care about suffering, she doesn't care about sadness: she prays. She will continue to pray.
The Ten Lamentations. She prays them one after the other.
The stained-glass windows that prove the identity of the building in which it stands, though mostly totally destroyed, allow a few rays of the shining star to pass through to the interior of the room. In fact, until now, everything had been dark and lightless, but suddenly that changes. These are neither white rays from skoll, the moon of Arcave, nor the warm, luminous rays of elnath, but…
Red rays. Bloody. As if a God had just been killed in front of the stars.
The stars show similar colors. In the irises of the saddened woman, we can only see the same red, a sign of disaster, danger and death. The priestess is crying, but her tears seem to be made of blood. Her wide-open mouth, unable to close, leaves agonized sounds from it.
- Wraa... Vroawaa..!!!!
She can't believe her eyes. The red rays falling on the world... At last! At last! At last!!!
- You.
As she weeps the Lamentations, a more masculine voice sounds. The woman remains on the spot, her gaze not moving from its fixed point, as if this were not possible for her. With a strong step, a man approaches the priestess.
- You dare to pray to a Demonic Moon, I see.
The woman doesn't answer, but it's neither rudeness nor provocation: she simply doesn't hear him. Yet the man's voice is clear, and even without hearing him, the footsteps echoing through the ruined place are enough to alert anyone. Yet the woman doesn't care. A simple white dress shredded across her body, a few dried traces of blood and grime on it, the woman makes no secret of her lack of care. Her white hair is not natural, but caused by an external source, probably a great source of stress. It's cut in an irregular and careless way, probably with a piece of glass found on the floor. The man, unlike the woman who can only be considered "crazy", is more elegant. White and golden clothes on his body, long flaming orange hair, a face still young but not yet in its teens — it's even clear that he's an adult and maybe even a father already. However, the reason he's come to such a place repulses him and thus tenses his face in disgust, making him look less welcoming than his normal face. Some of his footsteps crack the few pieces of window, stained glass and even vases that must have belonged to this prayer building.
- Lamentations... Lamentations…
The woman now repeats her words, unable to see anything but the blood-red sky behind the cracked roof. The man clicks his tongue, not only annoyed by the woman's ignorance, but also by her... heretical behavior.
- Praying to our Gods like that, at a time like this... You really are the cancer eating away at the marrow of our world.
With these words filled with hatred and contempt, the man reaches down and grabs a handle that doesn't seem to exist in this world, but which suddenly appears miraculously in his palm. He raises that same hand to draw a sword from its invisible scabbard, showing its fiery beauty, its crimson color. The blade is impeccably white, but the flames that run through it prevent any eye from seeing the purity behind the fire. As for the woman, she continues to weep as she gazes up at the sky, her hands still clasped.
- Lamentations... My Lamentations.
- They don't belong to you, witch.
And with a linear edge, the man decapitates the woman without the slightest hesitation. Her head spins in the air, and just as she's about to land on the ground where a broken candlestick fell years ago, t h e sword blade cuts right through her. Starting with the hair, the head burns and is quickly consumed; then the man does the same to the body, and except for the smell of burning flesh and the few ashes that haven't vanished into the cool night air, no trace of this woman's existence exists on this world. The orange-haired man sighs, tucks the blade into its invisible scabbard on his right, and turns on his heels to leave the room of this sacred building. Unfortunately, it's been several years since it fell into a civil war — a silly battle over religious differences. The man in the white clothes still can't believe that people in this world dare to deny the existence of Lamentations. This, to him, is idiocy, naiveté and a despicable desire to appear different. He finally leaves the church and is welcomed outside by the gentle wind despite the skoll that lets its red rays fall on their world — on Arcave. However, he is also greeted by a woman with long gray hair.
- Are you done?" she asks.
- I indeed am.
- We still have work to do.
- I know.
- A Demonic Moon, eh?
- Let's not waste time.
The man passes by the woman and continues on his way, watched by the bored gaze of his colleague.
- We're going to have fun tonight…
She's right: they'll have fun.
Having fun killing heretics.
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- Just one more to go.
The person who has just spoken is addressing a man who sighs.
- Just one place, right?
- One team, one place. You know who to choose?
- ... No.
The man rises from his chair and looks out of the window.
- There's a Demon Moon. I think I'll go out for a bit and see if anyone needs help.
- Yinloc, find me the last person. The #098.
- ... Sure.
The man named "Yinloc" nods before stepping out of the room, squinting, leaving the person inside. The latter observes the red stars in the night, sitting comfortably in her chair. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and opens her mouth:
- Embrace your sins; Prove your humanity.
And with that, the person smiles.
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#092
Shame, regret, sadness. Brambles, bells, laughter.
Force yourself, you have to force yourself. He has to force himself. A grip of the heart, to be sure; at least the eyes are on him. The laughter is his, the laughter is for him. He's no longer at the back of the stage, but at the front; so why does he feel this way? He thinks he's stupid. He's a fool. Stupid.
Brambles tighten, hands grasp, eyes look at each other, laughter interchanges. The building in front of gives him relief, but also makes him feel sad. When he gets there... HIS BEST FRIEND is there to greet him. To greet him.
Create him.
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#090
Justice, help, world. Fluffy and usually white, loves in his eyes; saviors. He loves them; his race, he hates them.
Fire, flames, ashes. Villages, towns, cities. Is peace really possible? Does it exist in this world? Yes. It must be.
Dead, lifeless, soulless. How to live in such conditions? How to... smile? Is it possible to laugh in such a situation? To believe? Is believing naive?
Searching, again and again. A way, a means. hopes one day to know the truth. A trick, a solution, an absolute truth. Great plains in front of him, but traversable. An attainable horizon.
He must not stop moving forward and fighting. Again and again and again.
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#097
Separation. Looking at the other without being able to see the whole of him, crosses everywhere that are attached to each other, stuck together to form the difference of freedom. Hands don't join, but glances can.
The city's colors are magnificent and varied; futuristic, even. A heavenly view for a hellish life. Manipulated, manipulated, manipulated.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Kill; criminal. Murder; idiot. Provoked; your fault. knows perfectly well, but this is history. It will never change. It never will.
There is no way of repairing the irreparable, but at least wants to take care of the one thing that's always possible to salvage…
The thing that only she can grab with her hand.
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#093
White. A magnificent, new, astonishing landscape. A painting of pure colors. Her eyes can do nothing but light up. Or rather, THEIR eyes. Hearts beat wildly, happy or nostalgic.
Grey. Life isn't that simple; you have to understand that as soon as possible, even still in your warm, cozy, comfortable egg. People aren't what they seem; humanity is far from being full of gold, underneath the shells are poison.
Red. That's how you have to accept it. There's no point in feeling guilty. There's no point in crying unnecessarily. There is one rule that must be followed in this world, and knows it very well. So it's been caught; it's been used.
And now, what color?
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#094
How can you not hate them? How can you not want to rip off their wings, they who fly so high? No, the question is how. Let's grit our teeth, raise our fists, furrow our brows. This is a story about you and me, them and us, you and him, you and her, you and me!
Run, rush, kill! Give up to die; flee to die; weep to die; fight to die. Let's make this green red, this blue a macabre gray, this rainbow even brighter!
Join us, as and have done. It's only what's waiting for us at the end of the road that counts.
Naive? Don't make us laugh.
They deserve a hell worse than ours.
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#089
A kettle. Smoke coming out. The water boils, the inside gets excited: soon, everything will come out. It's all going to explode. Maybe it's already happened, honestly. Maybe the water's spilled on the floor, but to clean it all up, to calm that kettle, there's only one solution. However, manages to leave the lid in place. It's not too late. That's reassuring, isn't it?
Look at him, the one who took everything from him. Reaching him seems impossible, reaching out will never help. So, , run and go for it. Even if he has to cross three oceans in a row, he'll do it. Destroy astar, beat a God, become a monster — if that's what it takes.
VENGEANCE. VENGEANCE! VENGEANCE!!!!
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#096
Mockery, fingers pointing at idiots, laughter expressing the thoughts of the heart. Don't pity them: they deserve it! All of them! Why should we cry for the heretics of this world? Them, who dare to look down on us. No tears allowed; only crimson drops.
We deserve better; is not only convinced of this, he believes it to the core of his being. Let's laugh, let's have fun, let's not think about the trash of this world. Our strength surpasses theirs, so what are we afraid of?
The summit is our rightful place.
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#091
The more I hear it, the more disgusted I become. The further I go, the less I want to go on. The more I live, the more I want to stop. Stop with this term; is it true? Stop with the looks; I want it to beat in a better way.
It's a life laid out before you, . Aren't you full of joy? Happy? Don't you want to jump to the ceiling? You can fly so high, so high, beyond the heavens, reaching for the stars, then why, , why are you looking at us like that?
The feathers fall out on their own, but don't you want to keep them?
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#095
Neutral. So neutral. So pale, so ugly. Lift your brush, get excited about this canvas, about the landscape in front of you. Smile, laugh, cry or get angry; can't you hear it, ? That's not being deaf; that's what you've become. Look up to the sky, what do you see ? Deep down, can you observe — no, admire — anything? Your eyes; your heart; your hair; your soul; your body; your you. Why do you think that, ?
Elnath shines in the sky, but its rays have no warmth. The night is so banal, but life is so beautiful. The sound of the waves is audible everywhere but in one place, so living is the best way to ensure their continuation forever.
I tried, I would have tried, but what did I expect?
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#098
- So here it is. So this is where we arrive.
- What can one say about such a person?
- Life is so beautiful, but not everyone sees it that way.
- Smiling doesn't mean joy; looking sad isn't necessarily the reality of the heart.
- The wings melted under the unbearable heat of emotions.
- Untraceable, yet always present.
- If you suffer today, you'll laugh tomorrow. Never forget your choice.
- Because you are now…
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
With her red eyes, she observes the world with a faint smile. Her long hair dances in the melody of the wind.
- Angels aren't the only ones with wings, you know?
She speaks into the wind, addressing the whole world — or maybe nobody? Does she care if her words reach a single ear? Ants or Gods?
- Hearts beat to survive, but wings beat to live.
She stands up and shakes her head before grabbing the scrunchy around her wrist with her teeth. With precise movements, she ties her hair into a long ponytail and smiles.
- Someday I'll be back. For you.
From the top of the ruined building, she observes the landscape before her, even if the red rays of the terrible night prevent it from being beautiful. Then she turns around and smiles broadly.
✻ CHAPTER 0 ✻
‘Crowned Of The Destiny’
- Heaven can only be reached by climbing the walls of hell, so lament... and let your sins be your guide.
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?? December 1850:
- Dear Diary. I don't know what's going on. I don't know what to think. The light is strong; too strong. I think we're all going to die. Anyway, I
?? December 1850 :
The population of Arcave is 8.4 billion. Humans, Kemonos, Kizons, dwarves, elves... anything not considered "animal".
2? December 1850 :
- Dear Diary.
Farewell.
December 25, 1850:
Arcave's population is 2.1 billion.
ARC 1
ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP SIN