The ocean slammed the rocks with a force that could have been heard from miles away. Fierce wind travelled over the stones, spraying salt and rain around. Elias was at the very brink of the ravine, his coat flying behind him, and his hair sticking to his face. The tempest was loud, but he was there still. His eyes didn't leave the black sea.
The mark was beating under his tunic – slow, steady, and alive. One could almost feel the rhythm of the pulse in his entire body.
It was only a few nights ago that he had a funeral for Kalen. Dirt even now was lodged under his fingernails. His hands were still dirty and so was his heart.
The demon hadn't made any noise since then, but Elias understood that silence was the demon's way of speaking.
Movement was coming against the wind – the sound of armor, of steps taken carefully, of voices muffled by the gale. He looked. Three horsemen were coming up the cliff road. No emblem was on their armor, and a steel mask was hiding their faces.
Before the very first word was uttered by the man Elias already knew them.
"Heretic," the leader named the offender. "By the command of the High See, you are restrained. If you resist, we will kill you but in that case, no mercy shall be shown."
At his side Elias's sword was hanging loosely. "Mercy is a word your masters are not acquainted with."
The man on the left pointing the crossbow at Elias, said, "He's marked. Slow down or take cover."
The one furthest to the right spoke in a quiet, hoarse voice. "See his eyes. He's half gone already."
The chief off the gang got off the horse while taking a spear with a silver tip out of the holster. "Then, we have to drag this bitter end home."
"You are too late." Elias's fingers twitched by the side of his blade.
The mark came on in a blaze. Fire crawled up his arm, licking through cloth and flesh. The riders jumped back, yelling prayers that were overpowered by the wailing wind.
The leader ran at Elias. But Elias was a step ahead and moved faster. His blade crashed against the leader's spear, breaking it. The blade wasn't going to stop there; it continued its journey into the man's armor, then the man's bone. The man went down without a single word.
The second person aimed and shot. The arrow went in Elias's shoulder and quickly turned dark. He was not hurting—only, he was feeling like a hot molten glass was entering his veins.
His attention was coming from the other side. His sword was up. He was accompanied by the fire.
After the muffled scream of the third rider, the cliff regained its silence that was only interrupted by the sound of the sea.
Elias dropped on his knee, his breath coming out in short gasps. There was smoke coming out of his wounds, but there was no blood. The mark was fading, as if it had been filled.
With fright, he put his palm on his chest. "Enough," he uttered. "I meant it, enough."
The glimpse of the whisper was back, this time even softer, more serpentine.
"You asked for power. You asked for revenge. Now you hold its price."
Elias clenched his teeth. "What I'm saying is that I am not your vessel."
"No. You are the chosen one."
The storm stopped. The rain that fell was of very small drops. Elias stood up, shivering. "Then why would it be me?"
"The reason is that you broke and you still didn't fall apart. The reason is that you are no longer bound by faith alone."
A scream was on the tip of his tongue, but his tiredness took away his voice. Heading for the cliffs he turned, and there he was looking for any human to hold on to.
But, there was none.
II. The Serpent's Chains
Before the sun rose, he had arrived at the ruins of an old watch-fort on the cliffs—a place left behind by the first wars. Its walls were fractured, and the towers were empty. The stones were covered with moss like old blood.
He went inside the fort and saw that the great hall was still intact. There were torn flags hanging from the rafters, and they were the faded emblems of a long-gone kingdom. A broken altar was lying at the very end, and its reliefs were indiscernible due to the erosion of time.
Elias went down on one knee in front of it.
"Light of the dawn," he whispered, going over the line again that he hasn't spoken in years, "listen to the voice of the unworthy. Make fallen ones have peace. Make the cursed have a purpose."
Everything remained motionless. No heat came back. No spirit moved.
Only the demon's voice was heard.
"They do not hear you. They never did."
He lowered his head. "So, why do I still pray then?"
"Habit. Fear. Hope. All the same chain."
The mark burned. A beam of light went through his chest, and the thin red lines that were under his skin started to shine. He was short of breath and he fell down, holding onto the wall. Things in the hall appeared to him to be spinning.
He saw figures coming out of the light—scales, eyes, teeth.
The serpent.
It was everywhere in his mind, patient and huge.
"I am the chain. You are the link."
Elias wanted to get up but his hands and legs were of no use. His body trembled with a power that was beyond muscle or will. The serpent's voice became more distinct.
"You are my essence carrier. You deny me , but you still feed me. You are worshiping gods who have left this world, whereas I am the one who is here."
"I will not serve you ."
"you already do."
The hall shook. People heard the sound of breaking stone. The altar was broken in two. A stream of power came out of the scar and it pushed Elias far away from it. He hit the ground and lay there, gasping for breath.
The serpent was not there when he looked up, but its arrival was still there—around his head, like a coil, waiting.
He was not very sure of himself when he got up and he wiped blood off his mouth. His sword was lying there, a few steps away, and it was still hot.
He looked at it and on the metal he saw himself. His eyes—once of gray color—were now tinged with red and they were faintly glowing.
III. The Pursuer
Watching the smoke from the cliffs, Inquisitor Serah Vale was far away across the valley. The return of her scouts was accompanied by a horror on their faces.
"Three of our riders have been killed," a man said, "The mark gets more powerful. He is fire."
Serah's lips pressed hard together. "Then he is lost.
An assistant of hers was not sure. "Maybe not completely. The news say he comforted the dead by prayer."
"Prayer to hell does not rescind."
"But—"
Her face was as cold and sharp as her blade when she spun on the aide. "Enough."
The aide bowed to her and left.
Serah was still at the camp looking into the fire. Her mind wandered to the mark on her wrist, the golden counterpart of Elias's curse. It was hurting again, and the pain was getting stronger just like her heartbeat.
She said softly, "That was not your lot."
She almost could hear his voice coming with the wind, very far and low.
Then it was gone.
IV. The Awakening
Night came again. By the fire which had long been dead, Elias was sitting in the watch-fort, his sword lying across his legs. He had taken off his tunic; the mark was blazing through his flesh like a wound of light.
He had his attempt to sleep, but each time he closed his eyes, he saw those faces—Kalen's, the dead at Greyston, the children from the Sanctum. All of them staring at him.
He uttered the words, "You think me damned. Maybe you're right."
Something glimmered in the black. The hearth caught fire. No wood, no fuel, the fire was dancing, it was born from his blood and his wrath.
The demon's voice came from the fire like a coil.
"Do you understand now? The earth is on fire for the faithless ones. You are the reason."
"I am the cause of the fire."
"Same thing."
The walls were trembling. The fire was bigger, it was higher, and it was coming out of the fort. Elias did not move or flinch.
Cords of red fire were wrapping around his arms and his chest starting from his wrists. They were glimmering, and they were changing between being real and being flame.
He was trying to break them, but they were strong and he was powerless.
The voice was becoming louder and clearer.
"The more you resist, the tighter they bind. Accept the mark. Accept me."
Elias had his jaw tightly shut. "Never."
The chains tightened. The portion was so strong that it could tear Elias' body. He shouted but in fact this is the only sound that could be heard in the whole hall, his voice was an echo.
The fire was so powerful that it was able to burst through its confinement and it did so, in the most dramatic way.
Then, there was silence.
When it was all over, Elias was seen kneeling amidst the ruins, he was still very much alive and breathing hard. There were no chains and the mark that he had was still visible, although the place was no longer ablaze.
He inspected the surroundings. All that was left of the watch-fort was a heap of rubble. The sea was still there, roaring wildly though it looked black and endless.
He stood up.
"Then we are bound," he whispered to himself.
"As all thing are ," the demon answered.
V. The Morning After
At first light, the tempest was no more. The atmosphere was chilly, fresh, and merciless. Elias was on top of the wreckage, looking to the sunrise.
The earth was still covered in fog, valleys of mist, rivers shining faintly under the weak light stretched before him from the height of the rubble.
Inside, he was like a void, but he was still alive. The mark was still there, slower now, it was as if he had a second heart.
He murmured, "Not anymore."
However, he was aware of the serpent being inside him even at the time, it was waiting for the next command, the next act of rebellion or trust.
On the shore road, below, a single horseman was keeping an eye on him from a distance. Serah.
They looked at each other from a long way off. Both of them stayed where they were.
After that, she turned her horse and left.
Elias followed her with his eyes.
"The beginning of it all," he said.
He put his sword away, took off his band from his face, and went down the cliffs.
The conflict between the three powers of heaven, hell, and the marked was the one to come, and Elias was at its center.