Light brazenly shone down through the makeshift tent’s windows and onto Captain Sergio’s face. It burnt through his eyelids, pushing him to force open his eyelids and take in his surroundings. He was laying upon a cot, and there were two rows of similar cots filled with other soldiers. The smell of infection and rotted flesh filled his nose.

Looking down at his body, there were no legs where they once were, but he certainly could feel them. An icy ache shot down into where the ghost of his legs once were, as if they were haunting him with pain. He lifted his arms to make sure that they, and his hands, had survived unscathed. That wasn’t entirely true, they were wrapped in thick bandages, and with the realization of their existence, a rush of searing hot pain encompassed his hands as if they were dipped in a coal fire. The same hands waved over towards his face, which had more bandages wrapped over parts of it, hugging it close to skin he could only assume was too burnt to feel better.

A rush of emotions went through him. It began with fear, the fear of death, falling away into the void accomplishing nothing, being known for nothing. This was replaced by the courage that the Saints would welcome him into heaven. All of his convictions were sturdy, sound, and secure. His eyes flashed towards the day he turned his own family as heretics and royalists. He closed his eyes briefly to shake away that thought before going on to the next emotion, anger. Those heretics that not only escaped judgement, but let loose an entire contingent of monsters on a town of innocent people. Then, not only that, they had the nerve to fight back when he chased after them.

Sounds of muttering, and people shuffling across sand was heard outside the tent, and eventually the entranceway was parted to reveal a small boy covered in priestly garb. His head was adorned by a small cap in purple and red, the colors of the church, and his voice was in a constant state of tenor.

“Behold fellow believers! Cardinal of the Mother, the Maiden, and the Virgin, Yuronja has arrived to give thanks to all of the brave warriors of faith fighting against heretics, monsters and nations who wish to topple our great Holy Empire.” The boy’s speech belted into the infirmary, waking the dead and soon to be dead.

Two much taller figures erupted from the entrance soon after. These two were mostly naked, except for a simple set of sack clothing covering the mid-section. Dirty, blackened flesh was accented by the two having blindfolds covering their eyes. Around where the eyes may be, dried old blood stains looked as if they flowed like a fountain at one point.

Lastly, the star of the show entered the tent. A stole that was far too big for his tiny head oddly fit on top of a misshapen skull. Wrinkled skin struggled to try and pull his face down into the ground. Sunken in, once blue eyes now marked by milky cataracts. All of this strange human was clad in the wonderful finery of a cardinal. Beautiful violet robes tinged with crimson. The Cardinal began to limp behind the two hulking figures and boy towards Sergio himself.

All of the soldiers in the tent, including Sergio, began to sit up in their cots no matter the injury. The Cardinal’s hand waved at them before motioning for them to lay back down. “Rest, rest my sons. This is a place of healing. No need for you to cause further suffering to yourself. The Mother will take care of you here.”

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Groans of pain were heard as the men began to readjust themselves. The Cardinal began his stunted steps further into the makeshift building. This time stopping in front of Sergio himself. Every muscle in Sergio’s body tensed up as the Cardinal got closer towards him. He wondered if he was going to be branded a heretic right here, right now. Instead, the Cardinal leaned on a small spot on the cot, his eyes from this distance looked as if they were not aligned with each other. The sockets at an awkward angle from each other. It’s as if someone had tried to make it from clay, but didn’t quite know how to make a human. Sweat poured down his face, and his eyes darted side to side in a nervous gesture. The Cardinal caught on this and raised his hand once again to assuage any fears.

“I know what you’re thinking, my son but my presence here is positive.” The Cardinal smiled, revealing a row of jagged, rotted teeth. “I’m here to invite you. To make an offer. To allow you to get revenge against the heretics that did this to you.”

Sergio stared at him blankly. The sweat was still there, soaking his skin and bandages. His vision began to blur red, all he could think of was pure rage. Malice. Hate. Directed at Sheridan and his lackeys. Symbols of what everything was wrong with this nation before the revolution. Crumbs of the old guard, crumbs meant to be swept under the rug, never to be seen again.

“What do I have to do?” I’ll do anything to serve the Saints. They have wronged the people. They steal, commit crimes, murder, and harm the people. They served a false Queen. They took my men away from me. They took my own limbs from me.” Sergio barked, dejectedly looking down at the mess of body parts that he called his body now. If his body was a temple at one point, now it’s a desecrated old cemetery. The phantom pains increased in voracity and frequency, itching at every fiber of his being, shouting that they acched for vengeance.

“I’m intrigued that you didn’t ask what it entailed.” The Cardinal responded softly. “I just need a yes or no, then I can tell you the details.”

“I don’t need to know. I’m here to serve. It was my pledge as a servant. If it means becoming a Martyr.” The Inquisitor-Captain’s eyes shifted over to the two hulking men in the back. “I’d gladly drink from the Wellspring, no matter the consequences. The answer is yes.”

The Cardinal smiled once again, his mouth forming into a shark-like grin. A pair of predator’s eyes laid behind the gentle, wisdom expressing cataracts. His hand slid over further towards Sergio’s body, reaching his thigh, rubbing it in a massaging way. Sergio recoiled a bit in pain, but bit down in order to not show it.

“Glad to hear it. No, no, there is no need for you to become a Martyr. We certainly have quite a few of them. Their efforts are focused at fighting the wars against the unbelievers, the neighboring nations. There are a few here that remain with me, and for special tasks. What I have in mind for you, is far greater. It is a holy ritual that is extremely painful, and it has the possibility of rendering you completely invalid if your body does not accept it. However, if it is a success, you will become a most powerful servant of all of the Saints, and the Holy Empire. You would make me so proud.” The Cardinal spoke, words as sweet as honey, but with a hidden venom to it.

Sergio was too far invested in the cause to think twice before he said. “I’m ready. I know I can do it. Anything for the cause. Anything for the people. They’ve suffered enough under the Queen, it is time to show them what the Saints can provide for their future.”

The Cardinal motioned to the two Martyrs he was with to pick up Sergio. “Good, then we set out for Owlshead Mountain immediately.”