The first scream tore the temple apart. Elias woke to the sound of metal hitting stone. The dormitory floor was shaking. Dust was falling from the rafters and the air was becoming hazy. Then there was the smell — ash, blood, and burning oil. A holy place was never supposed to smell like that.
He got out of his bed, barefoot, bewildered, and half-blind by the smoke. The silver emblem of the Order was still shining faintly on his wristband. He had it since he was a boy, a symbol of his commitment to the Light. Now it was heavy and even a little bit mocking.
The yelling filled the corridor outside his room. The brothers and sisters of the Order were running past him, their robes on fire, their cries of prayer turning into shouts. One acolyte fell, holding his side. Elias caught him and tried to calm his own voice.
"What happened?"
"Demons," the boy said, barely able to breathe. "From the hills. The wardstones."
It was supposed to be impossible. The wardstones were secured with relics of the very first saints — their light powered by the faith of generations. Elias wanted to know more, but the boy fainted in his arms, his eyes wide and lifeless. He was gone.
The bell rang once and then broke.
Elias looked toward the sanctum with the broken bell echoing in his ears. The fire was moving out of the door like a living creature. He took the dagger of the fallen acolyte and headed there.
Each step was agony. The temple that had once been pure and dignified was now suffocating him in its flames. The statues of the seraphim were breaking due to the heat. The golden icons were melting on the walls. Voices were calling on a God who was silent.
When Elias came to the main hall, the first thing he saw were the intruders.
Not animals. Not humans. They were shadows with human forms, and they were moving with a goal. Their eyes were red like fire; their hands were leaking smoke. Demons, yes — but they were too orderly, too quiet. As if they were being controlled.
One of them faced him. Its face used to be human, but was disfigured by the Abyss's mark. When it talked, the voice it used was like a hundred whispers all said at the same time.
"You have the light," it said. "We will see for how long."
It attacked.
Elias countered. He pierced the demon's throat with the dagger, but the demon didn't even look like it was going to stop. A dark substance oozed out of the demon and on to Elias' hand and it was burning the skin. He removed the blade quickly and repeated his strike, this time pointing higher. At this point the demon let out a loud cry — not of pain but of victory.
The cry resonated with the surroundings. Fire twisted itself in the shape of letters on the floor.
They were surrounded by a circle of fire.
Elias fell back, but the demon grabbed his wrist. The demon's claws were digging deep, pulling Elias closer to the sigil. He yelled and fought to get away. Then the fire — it was actually forming words, old and forbidden ones — caught his eye.
Before he was able to move, the mark imprinted itself into his flesh with fire.
The agony was beyond human. His eyesight broke up. For a moment, the world was silent — and then a voice, icy and deep, spoke within him.
"Mine."
The circle burst.
The demon disappeared in a puff of smoke and Elias was left on the stone floor, his arm burnt and shimmering. He was breathing heavily, his mind was shattering like glass.
He heard the noises of walking — heavy and severe. The Inquisitors.
In their silver armor they went, with faces covered by brightly-hammered metal masks. Their leader, High Inquisitor Daren, looked over the mess. He saw Elias among the dead and made up his mind immediately.
"Arrest him."
Elias tried to say something. "Wait—"
However, it was too late as two soldiers had already grabbed him. Holy iron shackles tightened around his wrists. He fought, but their power was overwhelming.
Daren came forward. "You are the one who has the Serpent mark," he uttered. "And no human can keep their innocence with such a mark."
Elias looked down at his arm. The brand was a little lit — a serpent wound around a sword. It was alive with the rhythm of a heart.
"I didn't—" he was about to say when Daren interrupted him.
"Quiet. The Light is always right. You are the ones who are chosen by the dark. You shall be judged."
The temple towers were falling one after another. The sky was all red. Elias was feeling his body to be getting weaker due to the shackles which were tightening and their runes consuming his strength.
He roved his eyes around — saw his brothers and sisters dead and lying among the fire. Every oath, every prayer, and every act of faith that he had believed in — all of them were gone in one single night. The Light which he had served didn't come to rescue them.
The only one left was the voice from inside.
"They are scared of that which they cannot understand," it said inside his head.
"Let them burn as they burned you."
He was grinding his teeth. "Be silent."
The voice was amused with his efforts. "We are bound, you and I. The mark cannot be undone."
Daren drew his sword. "If it is not by the Sanctum's authority, then it is by your own, that you face purification."
Elias gazed into his eyes — and a part of his was gone.
The mark shone brightly. The chains disappeared.
The black fire wave spread from him and thus, the Inquisitors were thrown far. The ground split under his feet. The sound was not that of fire or magic, but something of an ancient nature. Something primal.
Once the light dissipated, the floor was again quiet. Daren was leaning on a shattered column, his armor scorched. He looked at Elias — not with hate, but with fear.
"What are you?"
Elias kept silent. He moved past the dead, his arm which was burned still giving off a light. The voice in his head was now speaking very quietly, almost lovingly.
"The beginning."
After the ruins, under the fading moon, the surviving Inquisitors assembled. Daren was the one to speak, his mask broken, his belief deep down unsettled.
"Serpent's Mark is what he has," he told them. "No one must talk of this night. We will be after him until the last day if it has to be. The Light is calling for it."
A young knight was not so sure. "But if the Light had allowed this—"
Daren silenced him by his strike. "Do not question Heaven."
The wind that passed through the valley was carrying the smell of burnt things. The temple's last tower can be seen far off, falling and throwing sparks into the night.
Somewhere beyond the mountains, Elias was having a walk by himself.
His every step made the snow catch fire, though only a little.
He did not know where he was going. Only that going back was not an option.
The voice was whispering again — this time it was quieter and more persistent
"There are others who bear the mark. Find them, and the truth."
Elias turned his eyes to the farthest point of the earth where the sun was trying to rise but there was still smoke covering the sky.
For the first time, he did not pray.
News of their defeat was brought to the Sanctum of the High Church by dawn. The Archons met together without a word, wearing white robes, and their faces covered with veils.
"The last of the old temples has fallen," one of them said.
"The Inquisition did not succeed in containing the corruption," another responded.
"Then the Serpent stirs again," an elder voice whispered.
A woman in silver feathers, with eyes like ice, appeared from the darkness among the other Archons who were bowing. "Speak, Seraph Lira," said the Archon.
She didn't say much but her gesture of nodding her head was enough. "The mark has selected a vessel."
"And you are looking for him?"
"Yes," she said. "It is better that I find him before the demons do."
Hearing that, everyone kept silent.
The one among the Archons who dared to speak, finally said, "And suppose he is irrevocably lost?"
Lira looked at the light coming through the stained glass and said, "In that case, I will do it."
That night, Elias reached the edge of the Vale. Ash was falling where snow used to be, and the forest seemed to be full of whispers of the movement of some creatures which couldn't be seen. He was beside a frozen stream and, after cutting his hand, he washed the blood off it. Looking into the water, he did not see his clear reflection - half of it was some kind of a shadow. There was a black shadow behind his eyes that would not go away.
He brought the wrist which was burned due to the fire to his chest and tried to feel something which he knew. His heart was still beating. His breath was still creating a white mist in the air. But the man who had done the praying under temple arches was not there anymore.
Only the mark was left.
"You will learn," the voice said. "Faith is a chain, and you were never free."
Elias covered his eyes. "And you are?"
"What you will become."
The wind was tearing the leaves off the trees and he left, quiet, going further into the forest - neither saved, nor hunted, only changed.
The Light had turned away from him. Heaven had spoken through fire.
And a Seraph was starting her descent somewhere beyond the clouds.