Seren caught Cedric by the collar of his coat as he stumbled forward, disoriented by the sudden transportation. The room they had arrived in was vast, with a set of stairs on either side of them leading up to a platform that overlooked the rune circle they had arrived in. Atop that platform stood the man who had teleported them back to the Cult’s base of operations, Edmund. He was a reserved old man with a braided beard that was about as long as his torso and a widow's peak, his long white hair tied into a ponytail of similar length to his beard.
He kneeled as Seren walked up the steps to the platform, Cedric in tow. Seren gestured for Edmund to stand as he walked past, not uttering a word. Edmund followed close behind the two, his long cloak making it seem almost as if he was floating instead of walking. “Is it true what they say, Seren? Has Svarog been defeated?” Edmund asked, his low and weighty voice startling Cedric. Seren laughed.
“Word travels fast, eh? I should’ve guessed you’d know, though. Anyone else privy to the information yet?” Seren asked, letting his hand glide across the onyx black walls of the wide hallway, making sure he didn’t gash them like the wall back in Ashbourn. The torchlit hall was vast, lined with redwood doors leading to different parts of the underground. “Yes. Two members had learned of what had occurred. I had them bound and sent to the dungeon. They await your judgment,” Edmund said. The torches lining the halls flickered as Seren’s brow twitched.
“That was entirely unnecessary, Reverend. We can’t operate like that any more. Not with so many fresh faces in the cult. After Krysis, we don’t exactly have as much staying power as we did. Behaving like we did before will only sow doubt amongst our ranks,” Seren reprimanded, stopping as they came upon an especially ornate door. “Of course, sir. Forgive my lapse in judgment,” Edmund said, lowering his head.
“Crisis?” Cedric asked, following Seren as he pushed open a door that led into the library. The library was relatively small, with only a few rows of bookshelves sitting uniformly against the gray stone walls of the square room. The dark red wood of the shelves had begun to rot, but Seren had no care to replace it. Most of the books in the room were useless to him anyways. A table of similar wood sat in the center of the room on a slightly lowered platform, although the table was in much better condition. The floor was of the same stone as the walls, but with crimson cloth laid on the ground in front of the bookshelves, one pathway from each side of the room led down to the table.
“Krysis. Spelt k-r-y-s-i-s,” Edmund corrected. “A warrior that almost wiped the cult from existence single-handedly,” he said. Seren scoffed, an aggravated look painted on his face. “He’s presumed dead by many, but Seren is convinced he’s still out there” Edmund added quietly so that only Cedric could hear.
“Edmund, take Cedric with you to the grand hall. Gather the rest of our members as well. I’ll meet you there once I’m done here,” Seren said, rifling through a bookshelf. Edmund bowed deeply and placed his hand on Cedric’s shoulder. Shadowy tendrils leapt from the ground and surrounded the two in an instant, forming a cocoon around them, and in the next moment they were somewhere completely different.
Cedric stumbled once more, still not accustomed to the teleportation; Unlike Seren, however, Edmund did not catch Cedric, instead opting to watch him fall flat on his face. Edmund didn’t understand what Seren saw in Cedric. He didn’t hold resentment for him like the others, but he found Cedric to be incompetent, and therefore a danger. Cedric didn’t say anything more than a rushed apology as he stood. “I’ll be back with you in a minute,” Edmund said in a harsh, dry tone before those same black tendrils leapt from the ground and disappeared him once more.
Cedric looked around the room they had ended up in, taking in the full glory of the grand hall for the first time since he had joined the Cult. The room was long and wide, easily enough to hold well over two thousand people inside the confines of its black stone interior. The balcony that he stood upon was roughly fifty feet from the ground and overlooked the entire room with no stairs leading up to it from the ground level that he could see. He leaned against the banister as he looked over the room further
The floors were simple at a first glance: mostly unpolished and undecorated, but if you looked hard enough, you’d notice the stone was slightly transparent, revealing sculptures of people beneath the floor locked in eternal conflict. Some were more grotesque than others, their faces contorted into expressions of agony as stone blades cleaved through their bodies, or some crying next to corpses.
The walls were lined with pillars carved to look like people clambering atop one another to hold up the weight of the halls high, domed ceilings that were made up of a strange metal that Cedric had never seen before. It had an almost auroral color with shifting colors and shape. The most disturbing aspect was that it felt distinctly alive.
Loud footsteps behind him alerted him to the arrival of someone new. Cedric turned to look, seeing a shadowy cocoon already taking Edmund away behind the new arrival. Their appearance caused Cedric to take an instinctive step back. Their clothing wasn’t anything particularly ornate, in fact it was incredibly simplistic. They wore a black cloak that covered most of their body, but under it Cedric could see a glimmer of thin armor made from the same material as the metal ceiling. It looked different, not the same shifting motion or color, but Cedric could tell it was the same type of metal based on how the air changed as the figure approached. It seemed unreal, as if it shouldn't exist. But it did. That was off putting enough, but what startled Cedric was the obsidian-esque mask they wore.
It completely covered their face, hiding any discernible features behind its smooth, mirror-polished surface. The figure walked up next to Cedric and leaned against the banister. They pointed to the ceiling, then to their chest. “Soulsteel,” the figure said, their voice coming out distorted and seemingly delayed, as it only echoed out after ripples of spikes rolled across the mask from where the figure’s mouth should be.
Cedric returned to learning on the banister as well. “Soulsteel?” he asked. He felt like he had heard the term before, but couldn’t place where he would’ve.
“It’s what it sounds like. Steel shaped from souls. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? Something so abstract and incorporeal being beaten into a physical form.” The figure held a gauntleted hand out in front of them, flexing their fingers. The steel moved strangely with their hand, almost shifting to provide passage instead of having unarmored segments at the joints.
The figure turned towards Cedric, head cocked to the side slightly. Cedric couldn’t make out the person’s expression, but he could sense the curiosity and confusion leaking out of them. “Everybody wonders about you. About why exactly Seren picked you out of anyone else. He’s always got some greater plan for everything, but with you? None of us have been able to figure it out,” the masked man said. Cedric narrowed his gaze, standing up straight.
“What are you trying to say? That you think he made a mistake?” Cedric asked, voice low and tone harsh. The masked man regarded him for a second before bursting into laughter. The sound was unnatural and startled Cedric, but he didn’t flinch. “Who knew Seren’s lapdog had some bark! Can’t say I’m sure about the bite just yet, but I guess we’ll see,” the masked man said. Before Cedric could respond, Edmund appeared behind the two in a whirl of shadow.
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“I hope you managed to get along with Cedric while I was away, Elric,” Edmund said as he walked towards them. The masked man, apparently named Elric, let out a dry laugh. “Something like that. I was just explaining to him what Soulsteel is, if you’d like to elaborate for me,” Elric said to Edmund, a tinge of hope in his tone.
Edmund scoffed, turning his attention to Cedric. “Do not take Elric at his word regarding Soulsteel, he knows as little as you and it will stay that way. It’s better not to dwell on it now. It will be explained when the time is right,” he said. Cedric had several questions he wanted to ask at that moment, but was stopped as he heard footsteps approaching.
Seren stepped through the archway behind the group, his face in a concentrated frown. Edmund and Elric kneeled as soon as they spotted him, Cedric lagging slightly behind. Seren’s eyes flickered to Edmund. “Is this everyone?” he asked. Edmund nodded. “The Blacksmith and the Scholar weren’t able to make themselves available,” Edmund said. Those were the formal titles given to those at the peak of power in the Cult. Seren was the Sovereign, Edmund was the Reverend, and Elric was the Warrior.
“Of all the people I expected to show, I can’t say I expected you, Elric. You’re usually too busy for my speeches. I’m touched,” Seren said with mock sincerity, a wry grin on his face. Seren motioned for the three to stand before walking past them to the banister.
“Edmund, if you would be so kind as to bring everyone here,” Seren said, crossing his arms behind his back. Something felt different about Seren. Something Cedric couldn’t place. Before he could dwell on this feeling, shadows erupted from the ground, filling the entire room before dispersing, bringing with it a chorus of confusion from the fifteen-hundred or so cultists suddenly transported into the room.
Cedric saw the faint glow of a divine rune in use as Seren snapped his fingers, and the room quickly fell silent. People’s mouths were moving still, confusion etched on their faces as no sound came out. “Much better,” Seren mumbled to himself with a smile.
“Pardon the sudden interruption, however this is more important than whatever else you might’ve been doing,” Seren said dismissively, his voice amplified with magic causing it to carry through the entire hall. Cedric saw the divine rune on Seren’s back extinguish, and with it the crowd began mumbling once more.
“You all have been brought here, united under the banner of Svarog for one specific purpose,” Seren said as he began pacing from side to side. “The Royal Families joined together almost one hundred years ago. They claimed it was to broker peace between Humans and Elves, but I believe there was a different motive. I believe they were scared of us. Uniting brought together not only civilians, but their armies, and from that spawned the Moth division. A division solely made to hunt and kill members of our Cult.
“Their efforts amounted to nothing. Time and time again. But after all of these years, they accomplished something. With the help of a Pyromancer, the Moths forced Svarog to appear in our world, and with that, they managed to subdue Svarog himself.” A rumble of confusion and unrest spread across the crowd. The Cult and its members were well aware that Svarog had been weakened. It was the only reason they had captured and tried to break the Prophet. To make him into a vessel to strengthen Svarog. Despite that, hearing that the god they worshiped had been beaten by a mortal man would certainly waver the faith of some of the newer members.
Seren stopped pacing and turned to the crowd, placing his hands on the banister as his eyes scanned every face in the room, some filled with confusion, some anger, but in all of them there was a flame that burned for the sake of revenge. And Seren intended to give them a chance for just that. “The Royal Families have slipped by uncontested because I haven’t seen them as anything more than a fly: However, I have listened to their droning for far too long. A buzzing always just far enough out of reach that I deem it not worth the effort. But now they’ve flown into arms length and practically delivered me a swatter as well.” The Cultists looked up at Seren with morbid curiosity as to what he could mean.
“Svarog is being brought into Yenneth. I know not where exactly he will be kept or what their intentions for him are, but once I find out, we move on the city.” A smile drew upon Seren’s face as he felt the anticipation in the room grow. “We will lay siege to the capital, we will find Svarog, and we will awaken him in the city.
“You will have no targets. The siege will be a day to prove yourselves to the cause. Kill as many as possible. Fight until you taste blood in the back of your throat. Scar the city deep enough that they’ll struggle to cover it even after centuries.” The beating hearts of the Cultists thumped in rapid near synchronicity as Seren spoke, making his smile widen even further.
“It’s time that we come out of hiding. It’s time that the world remembers why they fear us. It’s time that we do what we have needed to do all these years. It’s time that the world learns who their true God is.” Seren stood straight and turned on his heel towards the archway as a chorus of cheers erupted behind him. With a wave of his hand, he signaled for Edmund to transport the crowd out of the room, and in a fraction of a second the room had fallen silent, leaving behind only a faint echo of the cheering.
“Not as drawn out as you’re usually accustomed to, my Lord,” Edmund said, coming up behind Seren without making a noise. Seren nodded silently, his expression distant. Edmund cocked a brow. “Surely you aren’t nervous? It’s not like you,” Edmund commented, eliciting a dry laugh from Seren.
“No, I’m just… confused, I suppose. All those years spent trying to make a vessel for Svarog. He had asked us to. The only time he had ever spoken to us was to ask us to torture someone to their breaking point, and now we find he doesn’t even need the vessel to walk the earth?” Seren ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just curious as to why we went through all the trouble. And all the bodies,” he said with a morbid laugh.
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Edmund mused. “I think it a fool's game to try and understand the motivations of a God. Especially one as storied as Svarog. The best we can do is assume this was always what he intended. I’m sure he’ll see us out of this,” the Reverend said confidently. Seren nodded, grunting in agreement.
“Any news of the Moth’s location? Have they left Ashbourn yet?” Seren asked, changing the subject. “Ah, I meant to tell you earlier. They are awaiting transport back to Yenneth as we speak, and the caravan meant to take them has the Royal Guard protecting it,” Edmund said, coming to a stop.
Seren turned to face him, stopping as well. “Makes sense. The Elven Princess is with the Moths,” Seren said, brow raised in wonder at what the Reverends point could be. It seemed that was exactly what Edmund wanted Seren to say, judging by the slight twinkle in his eyes.
“While that is well and true, this division belongs solely to the Elven King himself,” Edmund said with a barely repressed smirk. Seren’s eyes widened before a smile settled across his face. “Well, isn’t that something,” Seren said before starting down the hall once more, this time with a bit more energy.
“I assume we’ll be paying them a visit?” Edmund asked, trailing behind Seren. “A short one. I’ve got a few things to discuss with the King. And I’d like to give him a heads up about what’s to come,” Seren said, accentuating the last part of his sentence with a wave from his hand.
Edmund tilted his head to the side. “You intend to tell the King we plan on laying siege to his home? That seems unwise,” he said.
“You’re probably right,” Seren agreed, but his smile stayed the same. “But I’m bored, and it’s been a long time since I’ve talked with the King. Plus, it’s not like they’ll be able to stop us regardless.”
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