"Why?! Why did I have to come back?" A voice echoed in a dark cave. In the middle of it, a man lay on the floor, given only a couple of rags and a piece of animal fur to sleep on. Every breath he exhaled left a small amount of vapor in the air. He had stopped trembling a while ago, but he didn't stop coughing.
"After all I did for them… I've been their soldier for years, and that's how they repay me?!" He screamed into the darkness. No answer came, leaving him utterly alone.
A small stalactite nearby was the only sound he heard for the past… how long exactly? The man wasn't sure. He had lost track of time. Each breath now brought him pain; even his thoughts were slowing.
His stomach growled intensely, but he could do nothing about it. He tried bending the bars, and when that failed, he tried hitting them, but all he ended up doing was breaking his thumb.
The man was ready to give up, barely able to move. But then, for the first time in possibly days, a smile flickered across his face when he heard footsteps.
He turned toward the sound and saw two people walking toward him. Even with light illuminating their surroundings, reddish-dark capes covered their faces, the same capes he had worn not so long ago.
"Why did I have to join them?" he thought. "If I hadn't, I could be lying in my bed right now, drinking with my buddies."
If only he had stayed.
*****
"You're a disappointment." His father said while drinking another mug of booze. "Men your age are already fighting to get a place in the chieftain's army and here you are afraid of even touching a sword!"
He threw the mug at him. Again.
"You're not even a man! Your whore of a mother must have fucked a dog because you are not my son!" He spat.
*****
"Wake up," the voice interrupted his thoughts. "It's time for your execution."
"Ga-ha… ha… hahahaha!" The man laughed uncontrollably, tears gathering in his eyes.
"After all of that… you're going to kill me!" He tried spitting on them, but his body was too dehydrated to produce even a drop of saliva. Even if he had, he knew it wouldn't matter. Though he hadn't been in the cult long, he understood that those of higher rank rarely showed emotion, a fact he had always found unsettling.
Seeing that the man didn't even try to rise, two cultists grabbed his hands and dragged him to the exit.
"Where the hell are you taki..." he began, but stopped when they entered a giant hall. His body trembled, muscles tensed.
The pressure of the air shifted, and all his senses sharpened. He knew instinctively where to look, as if the air itself pointed the way. But he didn't want to look. He wanted to run.
In the middle of the hall, a man dressed in a white robe knelt before a relief of a tree, topped with a golden star. From his head, two large horns curled backward, each adorned with small golden rings and chains. The torchlight made his shadow dance across the walls.
He knew immediately who the mysterious figure was. The Grandmaster. One of the Five Fingers, the highest rank in the organization.
His words rang across the hall:
"Oh Father above, please have mercy upon us. Send us your blessing, so that we may eliminate your archenemy. The child of the devil is still out there, killing your faithful believers every day. Please let us fulfill your will."
He spoke calmly, yet every word made the prisoner's heart race and his breath quicken. He wanted to scream, but his lungs refused. His body seemed to know there was nothing he could do.
The two cultists stepped back and knelt before the Grandmaster.
"Grandmaster," they said in near unison. "We bring you this heretic. He betrayed our cause and fled from his duties."
Hearing that, the Grandmaster slowly stood and turned. He could finally see the prisoner's face. The man looked old, long hair and beard streaked with gray. He wore a golden medallion with a red ruby around his neck, and a small golden ring with a similar ruby on the middle finger of his right hand, glowing faintly.
At this point, the tension in the room eased slightly. The Grandmaster walked slowly to the prisoner, who now found himself on the ground without the support of the cultists.
They met each other's gaze. The prisoner was terrified but hoped for a swift death. The Grandmaster, however, studied him curiously.
"Tell me, child, is it true? Did you flee your duties?"
"Y… yes, I did," the prisoner whispered, fear in his voice. "I wasn't ready to die, and… he… he was running around killing everybody. I saw him with my own eyes. Humans can't move that fast or cut with such power. He wasn't human."
"So you saw the child of the devil," the Grandmaster said. "What did he look like?"
"His hair was white. Most of his clothes were white too. Other than that, I didn't see much. I spent the entire time hiding behind a hill, hoping he wouldn't notice me."
"So you didn't even join the fight?"
"No. I just couldn't. I thought I was going to prove something by joining you, hunting this… these things. But I was wrong. I am no killer."
"Not everyone has the willpower to do God's bidding," the Grandmaster said, smiling at the prisoner. For a moment, the man felt calm, hopeful, even.
"To be honest, I too do not enjoy killing. But when done for our Lord, it is no different from peeling weeds so the crops may grow," the old man continued.
"Tell me, child, why did you join our religion?" the Grandmaster asked, a note of pity in his calm voice.
"I… I wanted to prove who I am. They were laughing at me, calling me half a man. My own father said I am not his son when I refused to join the army. When I heard of this… of the son of the devil… I thought hunting him down would bring me glory. I could walk up to my father, look him in the eyes, and proudly announce myself as his son to the entire village. But I was wrong…"
"I see. So you wanted to prove yourself. And that is all?" the Grandmaster asked, still smiling.
"Yes," he answered.
"I see." The Grandmaster calmly placed his hand on the prisoner's shoulder. "Fear is by itself no sin. We cannot punish you for that."
The man smiled at the words, thinking he might have been saved, maybe given another chance.
"BUT! It is not fleeing that brought you to this fate… it is your lack of faith." The Grandmaster's smile vanished.
The old man placed his hand over his face and whispered:
"Arotsh onklei este."
Immediately, his face was engulfed in flames. He screamed and writhed, but nothing could stop the fire, it seemed alive, connected to him.
The man could feel the fire fill his lungs. It slowly started to consume rest of his body. It felt as if each second a hundret needles pierced every centimeter of his skin.
And as they did only a couple words echoed through his mind.
"You're a disappointment."
"Tell me. Did all the messengers spread the news to the nearby villages?" the Grandmaster asked the two cultists, his previous smile slowly returning.
"Yes, Grandmaster. As you ordered, they informed everyone. The target should know about the gathering."
"Excellent."
"Also, your majesty?" one cultist asked. "Are you sure we shouldn't inform the remaining three Fingers?"
"No. I'll handle him myself. That is all. You may go."
The two cultists left, ignoring the prisoner's burned body. The Grandmaster returned to his prayers. After a while, all that remained of the man was a pile of ash... and regret.