Hellfire | Torn Asunder 17 | Dark Side
Battle erupts in the catacombs. All will be burned, sinners and saints, if he sits and watches. Lunik is forced to fight.
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The title is a reference to this song.
I’m writing this story as a companion piece to my visual novel Project Grandfather Clock - demo can be found here!
The events of this story are told from both the point of view of an outcast among his religion fighting to be heard (Festor), and a devout defender of tradition carrying the weight of The Moon on his shoulders (Lunik). Why was L’Sunder at the battle? You can find a version of this chapter from Festor’s POV here.
////|| Wails of L’Sunder: Velevyn Prison, Theophor - Year 32
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LUNIK
Once a clergyman’s soul was marked by Theo, it could not be erased.
Made dormant, kept concealed, or ignored? Perhaps. But never erased.
Davodson Lunik comforted himself by mentally repeating that truth, weaving his hands through his celibacy beads as the Moonlit One’s personal army descended into the catacombs. No matter how gruesome their plans would turn, no matter what Forbidden measures the troops were forced to take, Il Luna would still forgive him.
He only prayed the mark of The Goddess would not be as strong.
Pure Velevyn Metal coated the catacomb walls, silver surface spotless, as if it had never aged. Theo’s commandments, engravings clear, surrounded the assembly with whispers of ancient commands. A squad of twenty Holy Knights, as well as a Half-Moon alongside each, accompanied The Moonlit One and his personal advisors. The collective moved carefully, Leonard at the helm, his advisors fanning out beside him. They had snuffed out any lights on them save for the small crystal glowing at the top of Davodson’s staff. He provided guidance, while Half-Moon Rudolph - hand braced on a Velevyn-lined sword - provided security.
Davodson kept careful watch over the routes, memorizing which turns Leonard chose. Following his superior’s eye as it lingered on the walls’ etchings. Peered inside the confessional chamber he slowed down to pass.
The air was not quiet - filled with the drum of chafing metal - but it held the same emptiness to it as silence did. Davodson dared to break it. “Moonlit One. Where are we headed, signore?”
The scriptural walls gave way to prison bars. Leonard replied, “To silence the traitors. We’ve recently captured several of Hers hiding in the Holy Orders. They’ve broken out of this prison before, and it’s only a matter of time before the rebels try to compromise it again. So we’re cutting them off now before the influence spreads further.” Rudolph backed the champion up with a nod.
Jingling sounded ahead. The group broke into a march. When they reached the cell, the door hung ajar, two silhouettes hunched over the lock. Two young Crescents and a Holy Squire - looking sleepless - had been packed inside.
“Hey!” Davodson shouted, brightening the spotlight from his staff to illuminate the thieves.
The larger of the two barged his way in front of the shorter, concealing his ally as they retreated, raising his hands. A man in his fifties, dressed in a patchwork of Ginovan scraps. Davodson barely caught a glimpse of his warm chestnut face before he fled, too, several Holy Knights after him. Leonard blocked the door to the cell.
“They’ll be dealt with quickly,” Rudolph said, and directed the Half-Moons to the prisoners.
The Moonlit One unsheathed his sword.
“Tell me what you’re planning with Her.”
“What- I’m not- I’ve never even met a Ginovan! I swear, I never knew I had this until he-…” one Crescent cried, concealing his hand as the veins lit purple, his stare lingering on Davodson.
“I’d like to make something very clear…” Leonard’s voice lowered. He raked his blade over his palm. It sizzled. “Telling me the truth will hurt a lot less than hiding whatever you’re trying to protect.”
The Crescent teared up. He pleaded, “I’m not lying!”
Leonard’s diamond-plated glove hovered over the Crescent’s face, displaying the cut on his palm. “I know you’re plotting a rebellion. You have three tries. Then I’ll cut.”
The soldiers squirmed. Eves had his hands folded in prayer. A Half-Moon behind Davodson adjusted a patch on his cloak, a crescent moon over a green star.
The Crescent tried to run. He dove into the soldiers, immediately caught by the Half-Moon with the patched cape. But his own shirt snagged against Leonard’s blade as he shoved his way through. Judging by his gasp of pain, it broke skin.
Several staves were immediately on him. His breathing turned rapid. The healers whispered, “It’s ok. It’s just a scratch.”
One removed the Crescent’s hand from where he clutched the wound, revealing swollen skin tearing through his cape. In seconds, in spite of the healing magic covering him, the swelling spread from his waist to his armpit. The wound was… boiling, blisters actively bubbling and bursting. Davodson, shoving a soldier aside, spared no time pressing his staff against the burns. The Crescent was lying limp by the time he arrived. The boy had surrendered to the agony before Velevyn could even run its full course.
A hard impact cracked from behind Davodson. He whipped around, a trickle of blood hitting his cheek as he saw the patched Half-Moon bludgeon his staff over The Moonlit One. Leonard, thankfully, had suffered only a nosebleed.
“You’ve got the wrong Gi-Blessed,” the traitor growled, eyes glowing ultraviolet as he spat, “Luna-tic.”
Several more ultraviolet stares lit up around the room. Celibacy chains broke, shattered glass beads crumbling over the floor. Half-Moon cloaks fell, revealing brightly colored Ginovan garments underneath. The traitors all donned feathered masks, but the violet fire in their eyes still blazed through.
“How many are there…?!” Jonothon gasped. Horrified, Davodson was too shaken to say the answer aloud. It appeared to be at least a quarter of their troops.
One of the Forbidden dove for Leonard. Davodson swung his staff, catching them in a beam of moonlight, levitating back. He dropped them far down the catacombs - mercifully avoiding making them touch the Velevyn walls.
Leonard rose to his feet unscathed, but the traitor had escaped with his sword.
“Get the blades!” a muffled voice barked from deeper in the tunnel. “They’re lined! Velevyn metal!”
Feathers exploded into the battlefield as a crossbow shot echoed, radiant violet bursting throughout the catacombs. A Holy Knight slid to Davodson’s feet, felled.
The brightness stuck, the area clearly lit by dizzying motes of stardust. Davodson’s hand gripped his mask, though not just to secure it.
The two infiltrators had returned. And one of them was wearing a mask, sun-shaped orange spires surrounding a face split halfway between patterns of Stars and Moon.
A mask none in the tunnel recognized but him.
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Bullets were on them. The sun-mask’s shots came in like fire, bright and scorching. Davodson released a shield, a white forcefield blocking the stardust smoking of the magic, giving him just enough time to secure his mask. Holy Knights moved in front of him, entering a formation to guard the Half-Moons.
He moved to the back line. He had the strongest magic in the group, which meant he needed to reserve it for fatal wounds. Benodoct covered the smaller cuts, his elderly frame suddenly springing with vigor as he twirled his staff around, closing wounds faster than the rebels could open them. The catacombs stormed with magical flashes, violet, then white, each gleaming off the letters of Theo’s commands.
Thou shalt not have any gods before The Moon.
Leonard re-entered the brawl seamlessly, staff turning to a club, as he bludgeoned a rebel down. Beating them with a grunt even after they’d fallen. The momentum twisted his hair out of line, unsightly blond strands dangling down. Sparks from his victim’s panic grazed him, and Davodson stopped to heal the champion’s wound. He met The Moonlit One’s eyes. They were feral.
Thou shalt not steal.
The walls shimmered again as something barged against the ceiling. He saw white tufts break loose from a feathered cape. Mia cugina! He rushed to the knights, seeing several lying battered.
The flashes dimmed. The rebellion’s commander whistled, and the Stars’ lights on the battlefield blinked out one by one. The warm man in the patchwork tunic blocked their escape, sun-mask beside him. The Knights couldn’t be risked. Davodson needed to take action. He commanded his Half-Moons forward, and they raised their staves in unison, merging together to turn the catacomb’s walls white as moonstone. “Get them!”
Thou shalt not kill.
Davodson’s staff shook. He tried to direct it towards the fleeing criminals, but the end of it turned to lock onto the rebellion commander. Five pinpricks stuck to his chest like targeting lasers. He rose, trapped inside Theo’s gravity.
Davodson swung downwards, slamming the commander into the floor with meteoric force. He’d… desired to harm someone. The thought alone scared him. He shut his magic off.
The spell concluded. The fight was slowing, the Forbidden’s leader wounded, but too many renegades having escaped.
He felt a hot glare lock onto him. Sun-mask. Se è Festor…
One hand readied itself on his staff, the other clinging to his prayer beads for strength. Time slowed. A sword echoed across the ground. Leonard’s roar bombarded the walls. Davodson began to build up a forcefield. Festor raised his hand.
Then he burned.
He lost track of all of his senses. The battlefield vanished, replaced by an agonizing arsenic green. The color stung. Seared his eyes. Whistled in his ears. Wringing his chest, unwinding his veins. His heart quaked, panic bleeding over him, like a dam bursting.
Visions flashed before his eyes, dizzying. His pegasus flight. His Padre’s flickering soul. Harri’s. Il Luna blackening, and Davodson’s own hands blackening with Him. His doctrine was crumbling. His covetings were screaming. And as more magic scalded him, his lungs became desperate.
The visions occasionally flickered out of view. He heard himself shouting for the excision to end. Looked down, to see a coil of that damned green arsenic being pulled from him, like his guts had spilled.
The spell broke. The coil snapped, showering the tunnel in stardust. Davodson hit the floor from seven feet in the air.
Once the effect cleared, he felt his energy expunged, shivering from deathly fatigue, only able to think of oxygen. Oxygen. He needed oxygen… The air was polluted, coated in the sickly magical fumes. They smelled wrong, almost rotted, sulfuric. Davodson tried to breathe, but his mask suddenly felt like a lead weight. Crushing him. Jailing him. Tightening over his airways.
He couldn’t possibly risk inhaling… But… He couldn’t breathe…
He threw his mask down and recklessly gulped down the stardust.
Three breaths of the fog, and his body felt well again. Three breaths. And he felt as if the spell had never happened.
He examined his mask. It must have been damaged in his fall. He let it hang loose at his neck, and stood, steadying himself against the wall. His gloved hand brushing over an engraved commandment,
The greater sin is the sin of despair.
Fun Fact:Fitting to the lyrics of Hellfire, Lunik’s personal temple is called Chiesa di Maria, or Temple of the Sea. The name is unrelated to the religious figure of Mary - it comes from the geographical features of the real-life moon, lunar maria or mare, with “mare” being Latin for “sea.”
