Prehistory, Earth

The circle of ministers hustle down the corridor of the castle with several guards in tow. Sandwiched between the armed men are a young man and woman, dressed in the finery fitting for the heirs to an Empire. The Prime Minister wipes the sweat off his face with a damp handkerchief, his flabby gut wobbling from the speed of his gait. And for the umpteenth time this night, the same thought repeated itself in the Prime Minister's mind, that he was really, well and truly, too old for this shit.

"I demand an explanation." a cold haughty female voice snaps as the well bred princess harrumphs at being pulled from her chambers at this late hour. Her brother nods in silence, still too dazed by the sudden appearance of all his father's ministers.

"Your highnesses, please, questions can wait." the Prime Minister begs, "Both of you are in grave danger. All of us are in danger. We must flee this place as quickly as possible."

"We are in the Imperial palace." the Prince objects, "This is literally the safest place in the world."

The soldiers push their charges along, clearly in a hurry to leave the palace. Wooden crosses hang from the necks of the soldiers and ministers, and the Prime Minister's hands play nervously with the symbol of faith.

"The Emperor has gone mad." the Prime Minister grinds out, "That accursed priest has talked him into performing yet another atrocity. We need to run, before we get swallowed up by the insanity."

"I never liked the priest." the Prince murmurs, his wits slowly returning to him.

"What is going on here?" the Princess bursts out in annoyance, "Does it have anything to do with the Inner Chamber that father keeps going into with the Priest?"

"Something like that." the Prime Minister sighs in exasperation, "Where are your crosses? We told both of you to wear them when you were fetched!"

"Did you expect us to grab something so trivial while being bullied out of our private chambers?" the Princess rolls her eyes in response.

"Never mind. I came prepared." the Prime Minister shrugs and pulls out a pair of crosses from his robes, handing the symbols over to the royals, "Never lose the crosses. They will keep you safe."

"Thanks?" the Prince answers, completely confused. His sister for the first time, is left speechless.

"The crosses don't work." the Treasurer pipes up, "I'm telling you, we can't rely on the Lamb God. But there is another -"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP?" the Prime Minister roars, his voice travelling down the corridor before the man manages to hush himself, "Things are already bad enough! I don't need you second guessing everything I do!"

"The only thing that can save the Empire is -" the Treasurer tries to elaborate, but is cut off again.

"Shut. Up." the Prime Minister grunts as he rubs his brow in exasperation, "Once we leave the palace, you are free to wander off on your wild goose chase. But for now just be quiet. Clear?"

The treasurer frowns, but before he can deliver his rebuttal, an unexpected yet familiar voice interrupts.

"No one is going anywhere." the priest declares in his rasp, standing magisterially in his black cassock just behind the small procession.

"Damn it." the Prime Minister curses, "We weren't fast enough."

"No you were not." the Priest notes smugly before turning to the Prince and Princess, "Your Royal Highnesses, the Emperor desires your presence. This lowly servant will take both of you to him."

"No." the Prime Minister grates and the soldiers draw their swords, forming a barrier between the group and the Priest, "There will be none of that."

"Iron wielded by brute muscle?" the Priests snorts, "I am disappointed you think so poorly of me, Prime Minister."

"We have this as well." the Prime Minister declares, holding the cross out like a ward, "Your sorceries won't work against us. Not in the presence of the Lamb God."

"Really." the Priest hums with an eyebrow raised.

"Yes. Really." the Prime Minister hisses in agitation, "And now we are leaving this place."

"Its not going to -" the Treasurer wails in distress but is quickly silenced by a venomous glare from his colleague.

"How do you expect the Lamb God to hear you?" the Priest asks almost conversationally.

"Don't listen to him." the Prime Minister urges as the group starts moving again, "Concentrate on escaping."

"The Lamb God did not hear you when the kingdom was in peril." the Priest sighs, "And so all of you turned to the Perfect Being for succor."

The procession speeds up, feet pounding the ground. But no matter how fast they go, the Priest keeps pace with them, moving as leisurely as ever.

"Or perhaps the fall of the kingdom was willed by the Lamb God?" the Priest muses as he begins to undo his rope belt, "To draw all of you into the land of salvation?"

"Can someone tell me what is going on?" the Princess yells between pants of exertion, to no response.

"What makes you think the Lamb God will hear you now, after you have turned from him?" the Priest's face twists into a vicious sneer, the belt falling to the floor.

"LEAVE US ALONE!" the Prince shouts defiantly, waving the cross above his head.

"You will hear me boy." the Priest's voice reverberates with malicious power, shaking the palace to its foundation, "All of you will hear me!"

A shockwave sweeps over the group sending them staggering. But as each of them struggles to regain their former pace, they find their feet rooted to the ground, as if tied down with lead.

"The perfected will always have authority over the crippled." the Priest laughs, "Now gaze upon my perfected body, the temple of the Perfect Being."

The Prime Minister cries in pain as an invisible vice locks itself on his head and forces him to turn, eventually facing the Priest. The rest of the group follows suit, groaning and shuffling as they struggle vainly against the power from the great beyond. The Priest languidly lifts his arms up, allowing the loose cassock to fall away, revealing his naked, hairless body.

"Yes, gaze upon perfection!" the Priest crows, "And kneel!"

The Prime Minister's vision swims for barely a second, before his eyes are drawn towards the Priest's crotch, a web of scarred tissue. But the scars begin to swim about, almost dancing hypnotically. The Prime Minister tries to break away, but his vision begins to narrow, until all he can see are the scars, writhing sensually against the flesh of the Priest, coiling around each other like maggots in a mating pit.

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What is the nature of perfection?

The maggots soundlessly scream.

A burning pain begins to build in the crotch of each and every would be escapee. The mark of separation that weighs mortals down, dooming them to an imperfect existence. The sign of the Lamb God's cruelty, crippling humanity just as they were on the cusp of attaining the forbidden knowledge of perfection. The soldiers and ministers keel over, vomiting their guts out, their entire bodies revolting against any disloyalty to the world's true master. Guards emerge from the shadows bearing chains and advance forward to apprehend the escapees.

"Told you the crosses wouldn't work." the Treasurer gasps, "But you all didn't listen ..."

The Princess howls in agony as jolts of pain lance her breasts. The Prince curls into a fetal position, his penis standing at attention, the organ having grown so hard that it threatened to tear itself apart.

"Enough!" the treasurer cries out, throwing a large leather pouch high into the air. The pouch hits the floor and splits open, sending gold coins spilling out everywhere with a blinding flash of light, forcing everyone in the room to shield their eyes.

And breaking whatever spell the Priest had been working.

An acrid stench rises from the gold coins as they begin to rust, flaking away into brownish powder. The armor worn by the Priest's flunkies begins to constrict around their bodies, holding the guards fast and throttling away at their throats. The Treasurer grabs the arms of both royals and bolts, heading straight for the exit.

"What about the rest?" the Prince protests, "We can't leave the soldiers and other ministers behind!"

"My little trick won't hold our enemies back for long." the Treasurer gasps, "The Priest is far more powerful than I am."

The Treasurer lowers a meaty shoulder and barges through the pair of heavy double doors that lead to the courtyard. The trio are buffeted by the chill of the night wind as they scramble down a cobbled path.

"The horses should have already been prepared." the Treasurer encourages, "Its just further down."

"But where are we supposed to go?" the Prince questions, "If father is truly after us ..."

"We need to seek allies." the Treasurer says, "The Grand Magi, the First of the Order of the Invisible Hand. He will be able to help us and to save the Empire from the evil at its heart."

"Why haven't I heard of this Grand Magi?" the Princess rebuts, "I know the elders of your order have visited my father, and I have never heard them speak of a Grand Magi."

"The Grand Magi was exiled." the Treasurer shakes his head, "He was ... too rapacious, that would be the best way to explain it. But his power is real."

"And you know how to find the Grand Magi?" the Prince asks hopefully.

"Yes." the Treasurer confirms, shaking a scroll case hanging from his shoulder, "I traded for a map of the First's place of exile. It cost me a great deal as well. The Invisible Hand will guide us safely, I'm sure of it."

"No." the Princess suddenly stops and pulls free from the Treasurer.

"What? We need to hurry!" the Prince objects, eyeing the horses tied to a post in the distance. They were already so close to freedom and with just a bit more effort, it could be grasped.

"Are you actually listening to this nonsense?" the Princess throws her arms up in frustration, "The Order of the Invisible Hand, the ones who abandoned us when the nomads invaded? You are putting your faith in them?"

"The Grand Magi -" the Prince blurts out before being cut off.

"Does not exist." the Princess folds her arms, "You know what I think? This is a plot, someone is trying to stir up trouble in the Empire, to set us against father."

"We can discuss this on the road." the Treasurer urges.

"Think about it." the Princess barrels on at her wavering sibling, "The Order of the Invisible Hand bows before father. Their gold fills the Empire's coffers. Do you think they can stand up against him, even if we were truly in danger?"

"So what do we do?" the Prince swallows hard.

The doors of the palace swing open and a pack of tough looking warriors in heavy armor march out, led by a stern looking older man. The silver of the older man's hair shines in the moonlight, giving off a ghostly halo.

"I'm surrendering." the Princess says, "Let's stay with father together, alright?"

"I don't ... I don't ..." the Prince mutters alternately looking at his domineering sister and the nervous Treasurer.

"The Emperor has become just like the Priest." the Treasurer mumbles, "Is that what you want for yourself?"

"Liar. What do you know?" the Princess scoffs.

"I know because I saw!" the Treasurer snaps.

But before anyone can react, a crossbow bolt thuds solidly into his chest. With a pained moan, the man drops to his knees, blood staining his clothes.

"Go." the Treasurer burbles to the Prince, blood oozing from his mouth. The scroll case is roughly shoved into the Prince's arms and the Treasurer stares at the approaching troops with tired resignation.

The Prince did not what was true or false anymore. Within a single night, his world had been turned upside down. But the Prince knew one thing. The Priest was an abomination, and he would never allow himself to become like that. No matter what.

"I'll be back for you!" the Prince declares to his sister as he begins to sprint for the horses. A twinge of guilt pulls at his heart for abandoning his sibling, but people just like horses, cannot be forced to drink.

The Treasurer drops the remaining coin pouches hanging from his belt and with the last of his strength tosses the gold high into the night sky. There's an eruption of light, and for the span of a single breath, it seemed like it was day again. Then the moment passes and fire begins raining from the sky. The sounds of fighting and death erupt from behind him, but the Prince does not dare look back. A single look from his sister would cause his resolve to break. And that was something the Prince could not afford.

And so the Prince covers his head and mounts one of the horses, galloping away into the night.