Chapter 7: Smiles

Morr blinked. Upon opening his eyes, he found himself in a white room. No doors or windows could be seen anywhere. The brightness of the light was harsh on the eyes. They came from all directions, except the ground. All ten people here were standing, except for him.

“Wake.” A voice called out to him.

Morr turned his head and saw Pontiff next to him.

“Finally, dead sleeper.” Pontiff poked Morr with his scalpel, gently pressuring the blade to his face.

“What’s going on?” Morr asked.

“Next round.” Pontiff replied.

Morr immediately jumped to his foot and looked around. Men, women, and elders comprised of the people here. They were all cautious and wary of each other. All of them seemed capable of killing; some just have a greater bloodlust than others. A sense of unfamiliarity walled the individuals from one another. The only two who dared to be near each other were Morr and Pontiff.

“By the way, I’m Morr.” Morr held out his hand, which surprisingly looked just like the hands in his dream.

“Pontiff.” Pontiff shook his hand.

“Dr. Mav did a great job with my hands.” Morr praised.

“Trust.” Pontiff said with his usual listless demeanor.

“Hey,” Morr whispered to Pontiff, “you wouldn’t happen to know the way out, would you?”

“No.” Pontiff answered with a monotonous voice. “Why?”

“Dr. Mav treated you like his assistance, right? I didn’t think you were like me and might know a way out.” Morr massaged his face in fear that Pontiff poked a hole somewhere.

“No.” Pontiff shook his head. “I was here, and Dr. Mav picked me up.”

Part of the eastern wall that encompassed the room gave way. A man in a white robe with a red sash around his shoulder entered, and the wall reverted back. He strode in with great posture and confidence.

Morr clenched his fist and took in a deep breath.

“Everyone,” the man announced, “you have all done well. Continue towards this path, and salvation will be what you seek. Continue on this path, and the sins that you’re drown in will be cleansed! The Lord will reborn you! I am Bishop Traitin, let me hear your woes.”

All the men, women, and elderly genuflected and crossed themselves. Except for Pontiff and Morr. They looked amongst the people, confused at their behavior.

“Father, these hands have done horrific deeds. How do I repent?” A man mercifully begged.

“Bishop Traitin, I want to devote myself more to the lord. How do I do that? How can I be pure again?” A woman pleaded for answers.

“Thank you for gracing me with your presence, Father Traitin. May the light of the Lord always be with you.” An elderly man prayed.

“My brothers and sisters, I am pleased and I will let the Lord know about all of your problems.” Bishop Traitin preached with great resolution. “All men and women, the moment they were born, are pure and innocent. It is only the through this tainted world and the effects of the horrors of war that you became impure.”

“But!” Bishop Traitin shouted with great emphasis. “Not all is lost. For you to seek help from the Church of Salvation is the first step on the right path. The fact that you’re here means you can be redeemed. Don’t lose faith; pray and you can be saved.”

“Father Traitin! Bless you!” They all shouted in unison.

“My brothers and sisters! The next step is upon you!” Bishop Traitin shouted.

Bishop Traitin conjured a blue fiery whip within his hand. He meticulously swung the whip to draw and write on the ground. Three thin layers of circles sat at the center. Unreadable scribbles filled the in-between section. An outer, thicker layer served as the circle’s ring. The scribbles rotated clockwise and the rings rotated counter-clockwise.

“Come! Line up and step in, one at a time. The Lord will judge your very soul!” Bishop Traitin urged.

One by one, everyone stood on their feet and formed a line behind the magical circle -- everyone, except Morr and Pontiff.

“Pontiff,” Morr whispered, “most likely everyone in here will fight each other and only the last person standing can leave.”

Pontiff nodded.

“How about we avoid each other until the end?” Morr proposed. “I don’t want to face that sharp knife of yours yet.”

“Trust.” Pontiff assured.

“Come!” Bishop Traitin urged the boys. “Do not be afraid. Let the light of the Lord bathe you!”

Morr and Pontiff got in line; Morr being in the last position and Pontiff in the second-to-last position.

The first person in the line, an elderly man with his biceps and stomach fat outlined through his clothes, stepped onto the circle. Once his feet were centered the circle rapidly rotated and a blue light shone from the scribbles. The air and space within the circle’s diameter grew hotter and fiercer. Smoke arose from his clothes and the little hair on his head.

“This warmth! This must be God’s light!” The elderly man shouted ecstatically.

His skin reddened, turning from a light pink to dangerous red. Fire spread, consuming his hair and clothes, and then his whole body. The smell of burning flesh permeated through the air. Everyone in line watched the man from the beginning. The air around them was cold, but the sudden flame burst warmed the surrounding area. Once the fire was gone only a corpse, unrecognizable by anyone, was left in the circle.

“The Lord has given his almighty judgement!” Bishop Traitin announced. “Do not be afraid! Do not be discouraged! Our brother was brave and pure to put himself before the very Lord! He has received the holy fire! His sins have been purged! The Lord has smiled upon him and he shall forever be at peace!”

“The Lord has free him from his sins? How wonderful!” A woman cheered.

“I wish to join him, soon.” An elderly woman prayed.

The corpse slowly sank into the circle as if it was being consumed. After it was gone, the circle slowed down until it stopped spinning. The blue light then faded away.

“Is this not a deathmatch?” Morr whispered.

“Don’t know.” Pontiff shrugged.

The second person in line, a woman, stepped forth. A dry, frizzle hair that resembled a bush rested on her head. She dropped to her knees and crossed herself. With a silent “Let me be,” she readied herself.

The circle spun and the scribble words lit up with a bluish hue. Like the other man, the clothes on her back and her dried hair emitted smoke. Fire started at the tip of her hair and her clothes, and slowly worked from there. Without a scream or a word, she was burned alive. The fire settled down, leaving her corpse charred black. Her corpse was also consumed by the circle.

“Pontiff,” Morr whispered, “this thing is dangerous.”

“Magic.” Pontiff whispered back while keeping his head fixed ahead.

“That’s magic?” Morr asked. “Is there a way to destroy it?”

“Yes.” Pontiff answered. “Destroy circle.”

“Can you do it?” Morr asked. “I’ll cover you.”

Pontiff nodded.

“You two!” Bishop Traitin pointed at the last two people in the line. “Say no more, you two can be next to receive the Lord’s warmth! Come! Step forth and let your souls be free!”

“Bishop Traitin,” Morr raised his voice, “We are incredibly happy that you would let us be the next ones to receive God’s warmth. I am really, really happy. To have God smile upon me would make me the happiest person here. But how could we skip everyone else? They’ve waited, and when they saw the Lord’s holy fire, how can I make them wait any longer? To skip everyone now would be another sin that I do not wish to show the Lord.”

“Do not worry.” Bishop Traitin said with much enthusiasm. “The Lord sees all and hears all. All of your sins now will only show how much happier you will be without them! Come! Step forth!”

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“Come!” A middle-aged woman urged. “Be a good child and listen to Father Traitin. No one will blame you.”

The first person in line waved his arm. “Come here.”

Morr walked forward. Just as he passed Pontiff, he whispered, “I’ll go first. If anything goes wrong, I’ll send you a signal.”

Pontiff nodded and followed behind.

Everyone scooted back to accommodate space for the two of them.

Morr stepped in the circle. The circle accelerated, spinning slowly at first and gradually becoming faster. Blue light shone from the scribbles and rings of the circles.

A foreign energy invaded his body, raising his body temperature to an uncomfortable level. Smoke arose from his clothes and hair, and his skin slowly turned to a pinkish hue.

So, this is magic. Maybe with chakra… An internal warfare waged in his body, clashing at his organs. His chakra spread from near his diaphragm to throughout his body. At the same time the foreign energy was heating his organs, his chakra was trying to cool and stabilize it.

Morr concentrated with all his will. Everything was under attack; his skin became dry and crusty, his organs felt like they were on fire, his muscles were burning like they were overclocked. He controlled all his chakra and concentrated them to his upper body. Without any protection, his feet lit on fire and his bottom half became dangerously red. Taking in a deep breath, he pushed all of his chakra down in one flow. A tidal wave of chakra flushed through his body from top-to-bottom, and his chakra gained dominance once again. The amount of foreign energy left in his body wasn’t enough to cause harm with his chakra protecting him.

The people in line watching were flabbergasted.

“Father Traitin, he denied the holy fire!” A man yelled.

“Father Traitin, what does this mean?” A woman asked.

“A potential vessel?!” Bishop Traitin’s excitement got the better of him.

A vessel? Morr pondered.

 “Worry not,” he reassured, “the holy fire tested his very soul. The Lord peered into everything he has! All the good deeds and bad deeds were shown. His very being was tested and judged! The holy fire is true, just, and merciful!”

“But!” Bishop Traitin shouted. “His sins are too deep! Too evil! Too cursed! To send him off now will only bring misfortune to those who loved him. The Lord will offer him salvation, but for another day. If the holy fire denies you too, then worry not! Everyone turned away today will receive another chance for salvation!”

“That child has that many sins?” A woman said shockingly.

“Unfortunate soul, I’ll pray for your salvation.” A man crossed himself and prayed.

“Boy,” Bishop Traitin addressed Morr, “come here and be calm. It is okay for the holy fire to deny you. Your time will come. We will prepare an even greater fire to redeem your soul.”

Morr stepped off to the side with his blacken feet. He laid on the ground and flung his feet into the air.

“My sins are deep, I know this. If I have failed the holy test, then the next one in line will surely fail as well.” Morr pointed to Pontiff.

“I approached him earlier, because I knew him before. The things he has done are beyond terrible, even for my standards. If my soul is this incredibly dark, then the holy fire will surely fail him. Father Traitin, it’ll be a lot faster to let him skip this holy fire and move on to the next one.” Morr urged.

“I hear you, I truly do. If he is as bad as you say he is, then I would like to see it for myself. He will go last, so everyone can receive their salvation faster.” Bishop Traitin looked at the people and asked, “Will you all be fine with this?”

They all nodded their heads in agreement.

“Yes, Father Traitin.” A man nodded.

“May the Lord have mercy on his soul.” A middle-aged woman blessed him.

Pontiff nodded and moved towards the back of the line.

What was a ten-person-line soon shortened to only a youth with a mundane expression. Pontiff stood as the only person left in line. All the people before him had their souls judged by the holy fire, and their bodies consumed.

“Now! Come!” Brother Traitin urged.

Pontiff glanced at Morr from the corner of his eyes.

Morr answered with a subtle nod.

Pontiff grasped the scalpel in his pocket and stood on the circle.

Bishop Traitin stepped closer for a better look. Blue light shone from the scribbles and the circle’s rotation accelerated. The air around him became hotter and heavier.

Morr sprang towards Bishop Traitin from his back. Gathering the chakra in his body and concentrating them towards his fist, he unleashed a blow aimed towards Bishop Traitin’s head. The blue whip moved on its own and wrapped around Morr's hand, forcing him to stop in place.

Bishop Traitin turned around with an evil grin.

Pontiff pulled out his scalpel. A sharp, thin energy coated the knife. He scrapped the ground, running it all the way from one side of the circle to the other. With a strong leap, Pontiff distanced himself from Bishop Traitin.

“Sneaky little devils. So this is what you were planning.” Bishop Traitin turned around and faced Morr.

“Should’ve let my fist hit your head. It would’ve been easier for the both of us.” Morr said.

“What is it you hope to accomplish? To kill me?” Bishop Traitin asked.

“I just want to see you bleed, that’s all.” Morr glared.

“To see me bleed? You must be mad.” Bishop Traitin laughed.

“Well, I wonder why.” Morr said.

With Bishop Traitin's back faced towards him, Pontiff ran forward with his scalpel at his side.

Morr took the opportunity and focused all of his chakra to his hand. The fiery whip grew fiercer and hotter, blazing and flaring occasionally. It wanted to consume the boy's body, but the energy surrounding his hand acted like an impassable gate.

“So it seems you can withstand the Holy Whip.” Bishop Traitin pulled a white scroll with a green seal from his robe. He pulled back his whip, releasing the boy free, and broke the seal. The scroll burnt to ashes and the seal faded away. In place of it was a crimson, dual-sided flaming sword. The blue flame from the whip condensed and wrapped around both of his hand, protecting it from the crimson flames.

“Your body can be useful for the Lord and the Holy. But we don't need a vessel with a mind.” Bishop Traitin twirled the dual-sided flaming sword around his body. Smaller flames shot out from the twirling sword.

Pontiff stopped just outside of the scorching ground.

 Morr jumped out, dodging the shooting flames as he created distance between the fire and himself.

Pontiff stared at Bishop Traitin, undaunted of the fire falling a few feet short in front of him.

Bishop Traitin relaxed his arms and lowered his shoulders. A ring of crimson flame surrounded him. He stood at the center of it, but didn’t seem to be faze at all from the heat.

“I’m surprised that Dr. Mav’s candidate is acting this way. I didn’t think a slave of that man would dare do something like this. It seems we need to work on you, as well.” Bishop Traitin smiled.

“So happy…” Pontiff mused.

“If the Lord is happy, so am I. And let me tell you: he’s in a very good mood this time.” Bishop Traitin said enthusiastically.

It doesn’t seem like the heat is getting to him. Does that mean the fire doesn’t affect him, or… Morr calmed his mind and concentrated his chakra to enshroud his feet. The chakra rippled throughout his feet internally, easing the pain but not erasing it completely.

Pontiff backed-up a bit and raised his scalpel to eye-level. It went up-and-down, like he was cutting the ring of fire in half.

“So violent! I’ll have to correct that behavior before you can serve the Lord.” Bishop Traitin walked forward and thrusted his sword into the flaming wall. A fireball shot forth at a slow speed, and gradually accelerated as it traveled through the air.

The scalpel, coated by a thin layer of energy, cut right through the fireball. The fireball broke apart, and dissipated to Pontiff’s side.

“Ah, yes. Resist! But for how long can you keep up?” Bishop Traitin thrusted one side of the dual-sided sword, pivoted his body, and thrusted the other side of the dual-sided sword. Two fireball shot forth, one trailing behind the other.

Pontiff found himself in-between two incoming fireballs. He stepped towards one of them, and sliced it. Just as the fireball spit-in-half, another wave of fireballs approached him at an even faster speed. Pontiff stepped towards one of them and sliced it again. The next wave of fireballs reached him even faster than before. Huffing and puffing, he didn’t have time to catch his breath.

Waves upon waves of two barraged him, one faster than the previous. The fireballs that couldn’t find its target exploded upon impacting the wall, and scattered its flame in a small radius. Pontiff couldn’t keep up, and he eventually abandoned the idea of attacking the fireball altogether. He ran around the ring of flame, trying to outpace the speed of the incoming fireballs.

Bishop Traitin continued his back-and-forth thrust while rotating around the ring of fire.

Morr hopped on one leg and leaped with the other. He tried to maintain an adequate speed, as well as hanging in the air as long as possible. The less time he spent on his foot, the less pressure his blackened feet would feel. As he continued to hop his way around the ring of fire, he noticed that the height of it wasn’t as tall as before. The more fireballs shot from the flaming ring, the smaller it became. An idea popped into his head when he saw the two contrasting fire: the blue fire that coated Bishop Traitin’s hands, and the crimson fire of the dual-sided sword. He immediately changed his direction and ran towards Bishop Traitin.

Pontiff noticed the abrupt change of direction from the boy across the room. He coated the scalpel with a thick layer of energy and gripped the knife while placing his middle finger on the blade.

Morr evenly spread his chakra throughout his body and dived into the ring of fire.

“I see you!” Bishop Traitin pulled his sword out of the ring of fire and twirled it around him as he approached Morr. Once in range, he horizontally slashed at the boy’s stomach.

For just a second, Pontiff relaxed his arms and pulled it backwards. He bended his wrist backwards, cocked the knife, and flicked his wrist. Just as the scalpel left his hand, he gently brushed it with his middle finger.

Morr crouched to dodge the incoming swing.

The scalpel found its target and lodged itself at back of Bishop Traitin.

“Damn you!” Bishop Traitin cursed.

Before Bishop Traitin could even turn around and refocus his anger at Pontiff, the boy in front of him ejected from the ground and threw a hook. He tried to dodge by leaning back, but the pain from his knife grew worse and worse. The hook connected, sending him to the ground with the sword free to take.

Smoke rose from the clothes on his body. The ground that was scattered with flames were merciless.

Morr quickly picked up his body and threw it across the room, where the fire was less prevalent.

Pontiff and Morr quickly ran away from the fire and next to Bishop Traitin.

“Hah… this time will surely succeed with you two.” Bishop Traitin struggled as he talked. “Aislings, know that you gain nothing from killing me. Your fate has been decided the moment you came to us.”

“What, satisfaction doesn’t count anymore?” Morr laid on his back and hanged his feet in the air.

“Is that all? Whether I live or die today doesn’t matter. Enjoy it while you can, for soon you won’t even know what it feels like.” Bishop Traitin smiled.

“Pontiff, can you stop him from dying?” Morr asked. “He’s probably knows the way out.”

Pontiff ruthlessly flipped his body so that he can dislodged the knife from his back. After retrieving his scalpel, he flipped his body again with no concern for his injury.

“So happy…” Pontiff waved his scalpel closed to Bishop Traitin’s face, mesmerized by his expression.

“What are you doing?” Morr asked.

“Get that away from me…” Bishop Traitin said. His eyelid blasted from half-closed to fully-opened.

A thin layer of energy coated his hand and the scalpel. Slowly and precisely, the scalpel scrapped Bishop Traitin’s vulnerable face.

“Stop!” Bishop Traitin screamed.

“Hey… stop it!” Morr urged.

The scalpel inserted into his face, but not too deep. It was clearly bulging as it slowly worked around the edges of the man’s face. Bishop Traitin’s initial scream diluted into soft, horrific murmurs. Pontiff pulled the scalpel out and carefully traced it around the nasal bridge and the edges of his eye sockets. Once his work was done, Pontiff pulled the skin off of the shocked and voiceless Bishop Traitin, revealing the human anatomy underlying the beauty of the skin.

“Why…” Morr was speechless.

Pontiff planted the skin onto his own face.

Through the mouth of the grafted skin, Morr saw Pontiff’s lips curled, something he preconceived as impossible. Through the eyes of the grafted skin, he saw Pontiff’s eyes slightly squint, which he thought he lacked the required facial muscles. The thought of the boy in front of him smiling, after all of that, sewed the seed of cautiousness into his heart.

“What’s wrong?” Pontiff asked.