Butcher, "Here, take this meat and feed your family."
Man replied, "Thanks, Guur. You are very generous."
A group of followers following the priest got inside the village. The priest looked around. The street was almost empty — no children playing, no laughter. Everything was eerie.
The head priest leading the group asked a group of people, "Where is everyone?" The men in the group stared death at the priest; for a second, the priest was taken aback by the expression on the faces of these men.
Then, with a hoarse voice, one of the elderly men beckoned the priest from the back, "Father, you have come, thank God. Lord Eden, please show mercy to our village."
"Father, something weird is happening around the village. There have been multiple people vanishing. "
The priest, turning his back on the group of deranged villagers, faced the old man. "What happened? Please be more coherent."
The old man calmed down and slowly started speaking again, "There was a butcher that lived near the hills. He used to come down to set up his market, but just after the town's church was abandoned by the earlier priest... I mean, the priest left without saying anything... maybe he was the first one to disappear."
The priest frowned, "O' Lord, give mercy to this man. Let there be hope in his heart. "
A ray of light shone on this old man, rejuvenating him.
"Now, speak clearly."
The old man, full of vigor as if he had become youthful again, "Yes, Father," he nodded.
"After the priest left and the church was abandoned, many problems started occurring in the village. First, the water supply got contaminated; the water became dark as the night sky. Then that dreadful rain came our crops were destroyed. Pests rampaged and ate our granaries. "
He paused, taking all the pain into his heart.
"But then he came, the butcher. He came down from his hill. He then set up his inventory, his pantry, his cold storage in the church. At first, everyone was against it, but he offered meat in return for letting him stay. And we were already out of food, we had no choice but to let it happen."
A dark expression came over his face.
"Everything was fine, but... he didn't stop there. He asked for more. First, it was the few remaining cattle we had. Then... then the bastard asked for children. And this God-forsaken village obliged. I—only I—protested. And now I'm secluded in the corner of the village, where I live alone in a small hut..."
Guur was slashing the meat when there was a knock on the door. He stopped what he was doing and looked at the door, stared at the door. A dark smile was upon his face.
The priest and his followers saw the door opening before their eyes. Behind the door was a man in his 50s, tall, big, and huge. He towered over the door itself. The priest had to strain his neck to see the face of this giant. This giant wore an apron, with some khakis on the bottom and heavy boots.
"How may I help you, Father?" Guur said it with a smile.
The priest tried to look past him. What he saw made him disgusted. The church was marked with blood on the walls, and at the entrance to the confession chamber now lay a door made of flesh and bones, grotesquely reverberating. The chapel entrance was smoking black smoke, reaching up to the transept. The aisles were glittered with the intestines of the animals he butchered. The nave was less filled with animal remains, but it was much more gruesome to look at the remains were barely recognizable. The sanctuary surrounding the altar was reverberating ever so slightly. To the left of the altar, the lectern was empty.
The priest, with anger and disgust in his eyes, "What have you done to this church? This is blasphemy to our Lord!"
Guur, still smiling, "The priest before you left the place vacant. And as you know, this village needs hope and kindness, which I cannot provide from far away. I had to come down here."
He paused for a few seconds, then spoke again.
"Why don't you come inside, Father?"
The priest looked at his followers and said, "You all may return. If I do not come back, request the inquisitors."
The followers, initially hesitant, observed the Father's unwavering resolve, nodded in agreement, and departed.
Guur, still smiling, welcomed the priest, "Welcome, Father. Come inside."
The priest entered the church, now reduced to a mere collection of items. Scattered about were some chairs and a table, where the butcher had been slaughtering animals, their remains still present. The priest sat in one of the chairs and, facing the butcher, asked, "Which faction do you belong to?"
Guur laughed, his voice echoing through the whole church.
"I serve the first-born, Father."
The priest listened, calm and steady. He brought out a book titled Lumen Scriptura. He hugged the book with one hand and placed the other on his chest. He recited a verse, a hymn to his God:
"By sacred flame and holy breath,
I cast thee down to lightless death.
Let judgment strike with heaven's roar.
Be cleansed, unclean, forevermore!"
Light filled the church as the sky seemed to glow, wrapping the butcher in its radiant embrace. The priest rose to his feet and made his way to the door. His task was complete...
The fresh light of the sun was about to hit his face, but before he could set his foot out of the door, a hand shot from behind. It gripped the priest by his hair and dragged him to what was once the confession booth; now an amalgamation of flesh and veins, reverberating like a beating heart. The priest's scream didn't reach outside the door. The whole church was singing as the priest was dragged down into that grotesque booth.
Guur's hoarse voice spoke, "Too late, Father. You are too late."
The followers were making their way back to the city of Sol Menor. As they approached the edge of the village, a black raven soared overhead, releasing a dark, round object. It tumbled and came to rest at the feet of one of the followers.
The follower leaned in with curiosity to examine it, but his expression quickly twisted into one of pure terror.
He fell back, trembling on the ground as he shouted, "Father Noa..."
The rest of the gazes followed quickly.
It was Father Noa's head, his face frozen in fear as he died.
The entire village trembled, starting with the church. But the followers didn't pause, they just ran toward Sol Menor. It was beyond their control.
Next Day:
A few people lingered in the streets, some laughing hysterically, others weeping. Guur walked up to them, distributing meat, which they accepted gratefully.
Eventually, an elderly man stepped forward slowly. "Guur, I did what you asked. Now, fulfill your promise."
Guur hurled a hefty black bag toward him. "Enjoy your meal."
The weight of it sent the old man toppling to the ground when he tried to catch it. From the bag's slightly open top, a small hand dangled out.
Evening:
A man clad in white armor, accompanied by more than a dozen others, stood at the door of the church. Guur greeted his new guest.
"Welcome, Inquisitor. May I know your name?"
The armored man replied, "Nicholas Lucen, Inquisitor-Captain of the Fraternitas Spes Sanctae."
A huge grin spread across Guur's face. "Welcome, all of you. Come inside."
Nicholas signaled his team to stand guard, locking eyes with the giant. Despite Guur towering over him, larger than the doorframe, he seemed diminutive under the weight of the Inquisitor's piercing gaze.
"It will be just me... Butcher."
Guur frowned slightly. "It's alright. Come in, Sir Lucen."
Nicholas entered the church, its atmosphere dark and unsettling, with bloodstains smeared across the walls. The most grotesque sight was the confession booth, now twisted into a grotesque tunnel of flesh and veins.
Near the transept, a chair stood with a book resting on it.
Nicholas stepped closer and read the title: Lumen Scriptura.
Guur's voice echoed from the back, "A friend left it. Would you like to give it a read?" A chuckle followed.
"No need," Nicholas replied, unsheathing his sword.
Guur's eyes widened. "A Branded one, huh? Not many of your kind remain."
Red light shone from the blade, flooding the church.
The warped door of the crypt below began to tremble, as if something was forcing its way through. The black fog within the chapel shrank back, and even the confession booth retreated, its tendrils curling away.
Guur's eyes long sewn shut burned from within. He groaned.
"UGHHHHH"
The red light began to fade. As it did, Guur opened his eyes and saw the knight holding a blade glowing crimson.
A shiver ran down the giant's spine.
"Gladius Ruber... Why are you here?!"
Nicholas crouched low, preparing to dash and skewer the giant. But before he could, a flood of darkness swept across the chapel, blinding him. Slowly, the fog retreated devoured by the holy sword's radiance.
Nicholas could see again.
But now, the church looked far worse.
The butcher's shop smelled of brine and dried blood. Slabs of meat dangled from rusted hooks, shifting slightly like guilty souls in a still chapel. Every breath Nicholas drew was thick with the stench of decay not just of meat, but of something deeper, something soured in spirit.
His boots clung to the slick stone floor, the grease sticking like forgotten guilt. Overhead, lanterns sputtered weakly, their shadows trembling with need.
Nicholas said nothing.
A chunk of flesh dropped from the ceiling with a wet slap. Not just flesh a human face. Its eyelids remained open, lips torn. Someone recent.
Then the butcher stepped into the light.
He was a man no longer.
His grotesque frame bulged with overfed strength. His apron was fused to blistered flesh, his body pocked with burn scars. Two massive cleavers, rusted and veined, had become part of his forearms melded by divine punishment.
His eyes were stitched closed, yet mouths had appeared on his cheeks, his forehead, his throat, murmuring softly.
"Stay where you are... don't move. Let me feed, let me grow."
Nicholas raised his gauntlet. The sigil on his palm pulsed with light not grace born but powered by the weight of unwavering faith.
The butcher roared, a hollow bellow that cracked the hooks above.
He charged.
Cleaver met counter. The beast's first swing obliterated the butcher's old cutting table. Nicholas sidestepped, unnervingly fast.
The second cleaver swung wide, and Nicholas raised his marked hand.
The sigil responded. A fiery shield of faith blazed to life, sparks flying as cursed steel clashed against sanctified power.
"Ahhh! Curse you, zealot! Why can't you just pass on peacefully?"
The mouths screamed fragments of ancient prayers, twisted in agony.
The entire church sang—sang with mouths. More mouths began appearing all over the church, and they sang.
Nicholas surged forward, gripping his sword tightly. The blade glowed faintly, adorned with inscriptions from a time when gods walked the earth.
It found flesh sank deep.
The butcher laughed.
His bulk crushed inward, cleavers swinging dangerously close. The air thickened with the stench of bile and broken miracles.
Nicholas plunged his hand into the gaping wound, pushing past the pulsing, corrupted organs. His fingers closed around something ancient, something gifted not a heart, but far older.
"The first-born... the oldest and the youngest... He will keep his word. You zealots were destined to fail."
The sigil flared.
A silent crack resonated. Light burst forth, not merely divine, but ultimate.
When it cleared, the butcher was still. His body had split and slumped. Steam rose from within.
Nicholas stood alone in the shop.
Blood soaked his boots.
"A heretic of the first-born... again. Again, and again..."
He murmured, "Lord Eden... protect us."
Outside, the village bells began to ring.
The Crowthen village was cleansed.