The straw that broke the camel’s back, or rather Rosomil’s mind, was a gruelling mission. It was a last-second call for help.

Full of despair.

Full of pain.

A group of necromancers had attacked a village and were turning everyone into mindless thralls, butchering men, women, and children while trapping their tortured souls to call forth an ancient evil. Due to their zealousness, their patron had covered them well, but, alas, they weren’t so perfect. The Crimson Hand found out and send their finest, with Rosomil at the helm.

What he and his companions saw is beyond what I wish to inflict upon you, little brother. The sight was so devastating that, would have an archangel witnessed it, he would’ve lost hope and turn his back to God. So, how could have poor Rosomil, so full of love and despair for mankind, hoped to resist?

His belief in God cracked like an egg thrown to the ground, and a whisper broke through the gaps.

“There is no hope if things stay the same,” it said.

The words cut deep. Deeper than any blade could. Widening the cracks in his crumbling ideals, hopes and dreams.

“You couldn’t save them”, it continued. “God didn’t save them.”

Distressed, he tried to deny the voice.

“N-no!” he murmured, drawing the eyes of his companions towards him.

But in their humanity, they didn’t recognise the evil gaining a hold on him. They thought he meant the massacre in front of them. Poor fools…

Together, they killed the necromancers and salvaged what could be salvaged, which wasn’t much at all.

On the way to the Order's headquarters, the whispers continued with fervour. They followed him during every waking and sleeping hour. There was no moment of respite left in him and the more poor Rosomil tried to stifle them, the stronger they became and mixed with his own thoughts, his own voice.

“You can change everything. You alone. Listen to me”, the whispers, negged. “Listen to me and I shall grant you the power you seek! Go to my Tome and I shall reveal its secrets to you and you alone.”

—

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The air shifted.

The wind became unpleasant and cold.

Father Tremo huddled into his thin robe. At the same time, fear crept into his heart. The knight… He, or rather, it had changed. There was something abysmal about this being now. Something forcing Tremo to remain put, even as it stood up and continued the Divine Lord's story with a bone shaking voice.

At the same time what it told him seemed to become a visible scene.

—

The moment Rosomil and his companions entered the headquarters, he rushed into the tower he kept the Skin-Bound Tome. Immediately knowing that dark things were underway, they followed him, but the door was blocked.

Inside the room, Rosomil took the book in his trembling hands.

“Blasted book and whispers! Cease torturing me!” he shouted at the ink stained cover.

Suddenly, the book fluttered open, its pages turning on their own. At the same time, the ink of the strange runes began to glow.

“It is yourself and your god, who cause you pain”, a voice answered from within the flittering pages. “Deny the latter, and the former will cease to hurt you.”

“I won’t!” he tried to rebuff the book, but his own wavering voice betrayed the cracks in his mind and heart. “God will-“

“God didn’t save them, and he sends you and your companions there once the majority were dead and those still clinging to life mad and better off mercy-killed. You were just clean up for this mess.”

“But…”

“It’s hard to accept, but you know I’m right, don’t you?”

At this, he opened his mouth and closed it again. His mind raced along the paths it had already treaded so often they felt like groves within his soul.

“What can I do?” he asked, barely audible, his blue eyes empty and the golden sheen of his hair dull.

His companions felt something was off and hammered their fists more fervent against the door. Haunted, he turned his head towards it, but I finally appeared as a shadow between him and the door, blocking his view.

—

The knight stood suddenly right in front of Father Tremo, the cowl pulled back, revealing the pallid face of a woman and eyes like burning coals. With a scream, he fell over and scrambled away, but the demon followed on bird legs. A heartbeat later, he hit a massive tree and was trapped like a mouse underneath the wings and claws of a bird of prey.

“And there I was”, the demon said fearfully calm, with a cold grin showing their sharp inhuman teeth. “Whispering to this poor fool, ‘Become the new god of this world and let God suffer as he made you suffer! All you need to do is take up the offer of my power!’ And do you know what Rosomil said, little brother? Can you guess his words?”

“H-he took y-your offer”, Tremo answered, barely able to give those words enough of his voice to be heard.

“Yes!” the demon shouted laughing like a madman and spread their wings and arms, which looked like bird feet. “But I’ve grown sick of him and the way he uses my power as if it were his alone! Damn this fool! He could’ve been a saint, but strived for the seemingly easier path! He didn’t even hesitate when I suggested that he should get rid of his companions!”

“But why are you telling me all of this?” Tremo asked trembling. “What good does it do you, to tell me the truth and reveal yourself in front of me?”

“Because another test of faith is underway, and it will determine the outcome of this world”, they explained calmer and turned with a tired expression to Father Tremo. “And because I want the truth to be known by someone else. Someone outside the grand scheme of things. Someone innocent.”

“And you choose me?”

“No. God did.”