THE FLEET OVER MERCIA//HUNTER 117
Above the ever vigilant– ever loyal– ever pious, glinting surface of Mercia, rested, in it's ceaseless obedience and devotion, The Trident.
The most glorious and most devout, Inquisition Fleet in all of the known universe. And, perhaps, one of the, if not the largest fleets under the command of the Inquisition. Comprised of several war-dreadnoughts, star-cruisers and innumerable frigates; all of whom, were led by a most majestic yet monstrous, Vigilance Class Dreadnought, Odyssey.
It all, filled him with warmth. His chest, inflating with a sense of inexpressible pride, as he gazed upon The Trident.
In-spite of this, a shiver passed through his spine, unsettling him. His… retrieval, for the lack of a better word, was disturbing. It had not been the first time, hardly; he had become rather used to it, being summoned, being reassigned. Yet, it was the nature of it all, that unsettled his nerves.
The abruptness of it, the swiftness of it, but more importantly, the secrecy of it. Price had been wholly unaware, and thus, in his ever self obsessed mind, chalked it up to him being a coward. A coward. If his oaths, had meant lesser to him, the more basic nature of his soul would have prevailed. Suffice to say, Price would speak no more, had that happened. But, it did not, and thus, the man's ravings and ranting would continue.
Not to mention, the slaying of a comrade, was an act of a heretic– of one, who did not uphold her teachings. To loose her favor, would be a fate worse than death.
“Approaching Odyssey landing bay-126, in approximately two minutes and thirty seconds,” Unit-731’s voice rang across the craft through the intercom. Hunter 117 banished his thoughts away. His thoughts, cultivated worry, deep worry and alarm. Worry, would bring naught but discomfort and indiscipline. Worry was unnecessary. For, all he needed, was his faith in Lilac and her eternal mercy.
As the Odyssey, grew closer and closer, his mind drifted off to a moment, long ago. A time, when he had felt her eternal embrace.
“Under the Eclipse, under the darkness that shrouded our ancestors' ill minds, under the hatred that fuelled their misbegotten conquests! A light, arose! A light, which blotted out the insidious Eclipse– A light, which heralded the Golden reign that followed!” A pause, a moment, before the man continued, his words drowning in reverence, “A light, which came in the form of our ever glorious! Ever merciful! Ever reigning Lilac! Talis scriptum est, talis veritas est!”
“Talis scriptum est, talis veritas est!” Innumerable voices chorused the ever wise words of the Gospel. His voice was one among the many, yet it was, he hoped, a voice which was more reverent than even the priest’s.
As the priest's words reverberated throughout the confines of the massive auditorium, they reverberated, even louder, within his chest, fueling the very pumping of his heart. The air, was charged with fervor. A fervor, he admitted in the deepest confines of his mind, that eclipsed the fervor of the original legions that marched alongside Lilac.
“In her, ever lasting mercy! In her, eternal forgiveness! She turned the snow barren lands of Schnee into the greenest of all pastures! From a barren Godless land, into the greenest of all pastures for the devout!” The man halted, abruptly, and continued, in a tone more somber– in a tone, even more reverent, “And, how was she rewarded? How was she rewarded?! By betrayal! By treachery! By Deceit!.... Yet, she endured, yet, she vanquished the bastard spawn of sin, Elena Sinclair! May, the devil in human countenance, suffer eternal damnation!”
“DAMNATION!” The voices chorused, once more, driven deeper and deeper into their prayers, the voices became one, each and every soul binding together into a holy and symphonic orchestra.
In this moment of submission and union, priests and priestesses alike, of the Church of Lilac came forth, from their places at the far corners of the auditorium. With low hums and chants, they anointed each individual in the crowd, one after the other. With quiet prayers, they bound their souls to Lilac, in eternal servitude.
“From her victory and from, over the ashes of the sinful world before, arose the faithful– over the graves of the culled, arose her children– over the ruins and cleansing fire, arose her Eternal Reich! And, in her Ascension!... arose, our greatest test, our greatest trial. A trial, which we have failed, again and again.”
Soon, it was his turn. He realized so, when a priestess dressed in the traditional garb of the Church, came up to him. A modest pure-white robe, a white cowl with a golden stripe shrouded their face in darkness– a cowl, which served no purpose, than aesthetics; The priestess’s face was covered entirely by a mask, locked perpetually in a neutral expression.
It was made, to mimic the countenance of a human, yet it accomplished the goal, so disturbingly, that it left him uneasy.
He hoped, that the priestess would not take note of his uneasiness, for it would be, highly heretical to be unsettled during such a Holy ceremony.
Unconcerned by his inner turmoil, the priestess dipped her fingers, specifically the index, the middle and ring finger, into the liquid that inhabited the bowl which she carried. A quick prayer, and the fingers ran across his face, from his forehead till his chin.
“Welcome, brother,” With the words, the priestess bowed her head– low enough to signal respect yet high enough to maintain a sense of personal dignity, before walking towards the individual, next in line.
The ceremony continued, and the man spoke once more, “Yet, even in a universe plagued by rampant sin, her Eternal Light could never be snuffed out! And thus, by her grace, by her gift, by her mercy, we have been delivered onto this universe! To cleanse it! To purify it! To reshape it, in her image! Glory, my fellows, glory! Glory to her brood! Glory to her house! Glory to Lilac!!”
“Glory! Glory!” The voices chorused, louder than ever before, overtaken by a feverish devotion that ran in their blood. All embracing her enlightenment, all embracing her as her children.
John– no, Hunter 117 could feel it. The warmth, the affection, the light that she promised. He could feel it all, and more. So much more. His mind, could never comprehend the depth of her heart– the depth of her affection towards her children. Nevertheless, even as he drifted deeper into her embrace, his mind continued to decipher its depth– its benevolence.
Something, that even years later, his mind is still, yet to accomplish.
As the ceremony came to an end– as the sermon ceased, The Grand Inquisitor of Mercia, stepped up to the podium and in a tone full of fatherly affection, began to speak, “Welcome, my brother's and sister's of the Inquisition! I, Grand Inquisitor Alexander of Mercia, greets you all, as an equal, as a servant of her will. Long may you serve her in this mortal plain of existence, and in eternal perpetuity after your death. For our service, our duty, never ceases! Now, arise.. arise as her servants, arise as Inquisitors, arise and embrace one another as brethren, embrace your eternal comrades, embrace your eternal family. For now, you have been reborn, as Lilac's most devout and most loyal servants!”
As if, the strings that had been holding them in place, had been suddenly severed. The Inquisitor's all rose, to greet, to mingle, and to embrace their new family.
“Greetings, brother,”
Unbeknownst to him, as he turned to embrace this, newly anointed brother of his, he would be finding his greatest and, perhaps, only ally. Suffice to say, James had certainly been the most memorable part of the initiation.
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Hunter 117 broke out of his reverie. A small smile blossomed on his face, at the thought of James. It had been, far too long, since he had seen, or even heard from, his brother. Far too long.
It was a mistake that he would correct. James was, at least at the time of their last communication, still posted on Mercia. Thus, this summon would not be entirely unfruitful. Even if, the worse was to come to pass, he would still be able to see his brother, one last time.
“The Grand Inquisitor, shall see you now,”
He nodded, stepping through the door with a flicker of annoyance. A flicker that was immediately squashed. All occurred, according to the will of the Goddess, if she had willed that his line of thought was to be interrupted, then it shall remain so. Annoyance would do naught but misguide the mind.
Misguidance was, the death of duty.
Something washed over him, as he stepped through the door. A feeling– an inkling, that all was not as it seemed. It washed over him, like a wave– a tsunami, far too volatile to be a misjudgement.
It was, as he gazed upon the room, that he realized, the nature of the inexplicable feeling.
The room was, humongous, inexplicably so. It was built in a manner, which was incomprehensible– in a manner which did not align with the design of the ship.
The room, itself was cylindrical, built primarily using Blackstone and ordinary stone for the flooring. A common sight in the Churches of old, on Lilith. The lighting, being dim yet warm enough to allow him to gaze at the architecture, and the art, within it.
A dome, painted flawlessly with grandiose sights from the Gospel, shrouded the entire room in its beauty. The paintings, were all illuminated by sources of light, hidden and tucked away into the base of the dome.
All across the room, were indents in the wall, along the side of which were pillars, made of blackstone, holding up the base of the dome, itself. In between, these pillars were, to his knowledge and observation, the statues of the Grand Inquisitor's of the Mercian Inquisition.
At the center of the room, was a statue, made of gold, taller than the rest. The statue, depicted the Goddess Lilac, a crown atop her head, wielding a greatsword in one hand that rested atop her shoulder, and with the other, pointing forward.
Surrounding the statue, was a pool. A pool, which harbored the same liquid that had, so long ago, anointed him and his brethren as Inquisitors. The same inky water with the golden hue that looked so inexpressibly alien yet, humane– so beautiful yet, so monstrous– so harmonious yet, so discordant.
It was, all too confusing to him. But, such was the might of the Goddess. What could, mere mortals such as him, know of this, clearly, Holy Water. For, no human or alien, could ever envision or comprehend something so flawless, so eldritch, so divine.
Sitting, in a meditative pose, in front of the statue was Grand Inquisitor of Mercia, Alexander.
“I, forget much, but I distinctly remember, dimensional phase doors being forbidden on warships,” He spoke. Both amused and affronted by Alexander’s blatant flaunting of the rules.
A chuckle, followed by a quiet laughter was his response. The laughter faded, becoming a memory, and his hand patted the spot beside him, “Come, sit, my child. Let, your weary father gaze upon you,”
Ever the obedient child, he obeyed, walking comfortably towards Alexander. However, instead of taking a seat, he remained standing. Protocol dictated so.
Alexander sighed, “You are, not a soldier here, child. Sit, I insist.”
“By your leave then, father,” With a bow, he sat beside Alexander, his father.
A few moments of comforting silence, passed by, with none speaking. It was, unnatural. Yet, he refrained from breaking the silence, afraid of the reasoning behind his summoning. A greater part of him, gave comfort, it is by the Goddess' will, it whispered. Yet, a much louder part, whispered furiously, it is your ruin.
He felt, unsure– divided on whom to heed. His heart, ever the misguided one, or his brain, ever the pious. He did not know. And, perhaps he never will, for Father Alexander chose, this moment of turmoil, to break the silence.
“You, my child, say that phase doors are forbidden. Yet, upon your being, I smell the scent of one, of a foreign one,”
Hunter 117 grimaced and nodded, “Brabantia makes use of them, although, I assure you, never in a warship. We heed the Queen's words,”
Father Alexander pursed his lips, a scowl forming on his face. Likely, affronted at the name of Brabantia. A few moments, and he shook his head, “Then, my child, you have already, answered your question. If Brabantia can flaunt the rules, they themselves enforce, then so can we, the most devout, of Mercia flaunt them.”
His piece said, Alexander returned to his meditation. A few moments of unease, and Hunter 117 questioned, “Why? Why now?”
“Hmm?”
“Why, recall me?”
A pause, and Alexander responded, “Because my child, it was time for you to return home. The Goddess has willed it. She yearns for her children to return, for her flock to gather,”
Hunter 117 nodded in understanding. Truly, a most benevolent Goddess. For her, to yearn for her foolish children, showed the depth of her infinitely vast affections. Praise be, upon her name.
The two, muttered a prayer of servitude before Alexander spoke, somberly, lost in his mind, “My time, is at an end, child… No, child, do not fret, for I have accepted my fate. I have, served her long, longer than my forefathers. And now, it is time, for the torch to be passed down, to an inheritor. The Goddess has willed it,”
“The Goddess wills it, and thus, it shall be done,” Another prayer.
He shook his head, “I do not understand, my Father, why summon me? Why, have me shirk my duties to her Reich?”
“Because, the Goddess has willed so,”
“To, sully my oath to her?”
“Have you, truly? What matters most for you, child? Duty to the Goddess, or, duty to her Reich?”
“Both do. They are, afterall, one and the same,”
Alexander hummed, “Then, it appears, we are at a quandary. It seems, your time at Brabantia has changed you,”
“Changed me?” He replied, offended. Was, Father Alexander, questioning his devotion?
Alexander muttered something, so quietly that he could not hear. Alexander sighed and spoke, loudly, “Nevertheless, Hunter, your new mission is in service to both, The Goddess and the Reich,”
“Oh? How so?” He questioned, confused. He, had been recalled, from his duty, only to be reassigned to another of the same nature? Or perhaps, it was a greater duty.
And with that, for, but a moment, he allowed himself to hope. Hope for being chosen as the inheritor– hope for setting the Inquisition right– hope for being intertwined with his Goddess.
“Your mission, Hunter 117– No, John, your mission is simple, yet it is of profound importance. You must, protect the inheritor, safeguard her,” With it, his hopes were banished. He berated himself for it. Utter folly, to think– to lust after such a prestigious rank. Surely, his rejection, was his punishment, “..till the Goddess demands her Ascension,”
And, within a moment, he felt hope returning to him. His chest warming and inflating with a sense of accomplishment, so vast that it threatened to burst him open. This was, not a punishment, nay, this was a boon. To serve Lilac and her chosen inheritor, called for his immense gratitude. Gratitude, that he displayed by muttering a prayer in her honor.
Truly, a most benevolent Goddess– a most, loving Goddess.
Regardless, a question remained prominent in his mind, “Why me? Why, not someone else, someone more, experienced?”
“Someone from Brabantia?” Alexander questioned sharply and he grimaced. His intentions weren't to insinuate that Brabantia handle this, it was merely a point of personal inquiry. And, he voiced the same.
Alexander sighed before responding, “We are those, who were bred and born on the most devout world of Mercia, we are those, who were taught and raised on the evergreen holy pastures of Lilith, we are those, who bled on the sands and rocks of Noctis Prime. We are those, who have served the Reich, long before the Inquisition itself. Do you follow?”
Hunter 117 nodded. He did understand his point, but it did not answer his questions.
“Thus, it shall be us, who should ensure the safeguarding of the inheritor. Allowing Brabantia any sway, over the inheritor will destroy our autonomy. And, that is something, we cannot allow. Is that understood?”
Hunter 117 nodded, “Crystal,”
A smile blossomed, slowly, on Alexander's face. “Then, my child, tarry not, embark at once, protect the girl at all cost,”
“Certainly, Father Alexander. By the Goddess’ grace, she shall be far from any injuries under my eye.” He took a pause, as Alexander muttered a prayer of blessings upon him, before he spoke, “But, my Father. Who, is the inheritor?”
“An acting custodian of the most prestigious library on Lilith and perhaps, in the entirety of the Reich. And, by the Goddess' grace, she has military experience,”
He nodded in understanding. His Goddess was truly, a most benevolent one. To have thought of, so deeply of her children, so as to not inconvenience them; For, if she had not been their benevolent mother, she would have been indifferent to the background of the inheritor. Truly, the most caring of all Mothers. Praise be, to her name.
“Her name?”
“Leyah Engel.”