as the house burned. Flames spread to the neighboring homes but didn’t make it across the street or alleys to any others. She let the roar of the fire and the crack of timbers drown the horrific sounds of the city. After the roof collapsed and the walls fell in on themselves Nuriel turned around. She took the claymore from her back. She strode down the road, her boots chiming on the flagstone. Six Clerical Guardsmen came from a building, their boots leaving bloody tracks down the steps. Nuriel moved in on them. Before they even had time to process what was happening, Nuriel’s claymore carved its way through their ranks in long, sweeping flourishes. Entrails splashed onto the street; limbs and heads fell like rain. Before the bodies could collapse Nuriel was across the street, her sword raised against the next group of unsuspecting Clerical Guard.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The church was a large, gothic structure at the center of the city, built of gray stone with high buttresses all around. Upon its front was a large clock whose pale face wept streaks of brown rust beneath each of the hours wrought in iron. The hands were in the shape of Aeoria’s Star and were at a quarter-past the hour of seven at night. Slowly, the oaken doors swung outward. Nuriel came out onto the wide steps and her legs quivered, almost giving out on her, and she had to catch herself on the door frame. Her bodysuit and Star-Armor were wet and sticky with blood; her face a mask of red; her golden hair matted with gore. Her arm trembled as she put her claymore back into its scabbard on her back. She stepped forward and collapsed into a sitting position atop the high steps of the church.
The empty roads were filled with a stillness and silence. There were no more screams; no more bolt-throwers. A warm breeze swept her, carrying with it the scent of blood. The evening’s sun lent its rich light to the wet crimson that painted the streets of the city, but Nuriel hardly saw anything. Her mind was racing, wondering if she dared go back into the church. She sat there alone for many long minutes, contemplating what she had seen and if it were truly a sign from Holy Father. At last she heard the sound of hundreds of boots. From the surrounding streets and alleys poured the Sin Eaters and their Oracles. Where once they were specters in white, they were now a lot colored red.
An Oracle approached the steps of the church and looked up at Nuriel and she caught her gruesome reflection in its mirror-mask. Behind it an ocean of Sin Eaters choked the streets. “The Convocation is complete.” it spoke.
Nuriel rocked as she sat. She sniffed. Out of habit she went to tuck her hair behind her ear, but her fingers stuck in their matted, sticky clumps.
“Saint Nuriel, is there something the matter?” asked the Oracle.
Nuriel shook her head. “Just tired. This was a big city.” she said, not looking at the Oracle.
The Oracle nodded slightly. “We shall depart through the Celestial Gateway. Will you accompany us?”
“I’ll be along in a while.” said Nuriel.
“Very well.” said the Oracle. It turned and was lost into the crowd.
Nuriel watched her army depart. It was like a great, bloody serpent slithering away through the street, and when it was gone the road was a sheet of red from their footprints. Alone once more, Nuriel worked up the courage to stand up and go back into the church.
The nave was a cavernous chamber where hundreds could gather for service, but now it was a disarray of overturned pews amongst the bodies and limbs of dead knights. Blood splattered all the walls and dripped in thick sheets from the stained glass windows. Nuriel had killed them all, and when she was done, Holy Father had sent her a sign. It was magnificent, and she hesitated to look upon it again for fear that it might not be there; that it might have just been a figment of her imagination.
Nuriel’s heart beat fast as she gathered her courage. She
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The church was a large, gothic structure at the center of the city, built of gray stone with high buttresses all around. Upon its front was a large clock whose pale face wept streaks of brown rust beneath each of the hours wrought in iron. The hands were in the shape of Aeoria’s Star and were at a quarter-past the hour of seven at night. Slowly, the oaken doors swung outward. Nuriel came out onto the wide steps and her legs quivered, almost giving out on her, and she had to catch herself on the door frame. Her bodysuit and Star-Armor were wet and sticky with blood; her face a mask of red; her golden hair matted with gore. Her arm trembled as she put her claymore back into its scabbard on her back. She stepped forward and collapsed into a sitting position atop the high steps of the church.
The empty roads were filled with a stillness and silence. There were no more screams; no more bolt-throwers. A warm breeze swept her, carrying with it the scent of blood. The evening’s sun lent its rich light to the wet crimson that painted the streets of the city, but Nuriel hardly saw anything. Her mind was racing, wondering if she dared go back into the church. She sat there alone for many long minutes, contemplating what she had seen and if it were truly a sign from Holy Father. At last she heard the sound of hundreds of boots. From the surrounding streets and alleys poured the Sin Eaters and their Oracles. Where once they were specters in white, they were now a lot colored red.
An Oracle approached the steps of the church and looked up at Nuriel and she caught her gruesome reflection in its mirror-mask. Behind it an ocean of Sin Eaters choked the streets. “The Convocation is complete.” it spoke.
Nuriel rocked as she sat. She sniffed. Out of habit she went to tuck her hair behind her ear, but her fingers stuck in their matted, sticky clumps.
“Saint Nuriel, is there something the matter?” asked the Oracle.
Nuriel shook her head. “Just tired. This was a big city.” she said, not looking at the Oracle.
The Oracle nodded slightly. “We shall depart through the Celestial Gateway. Will you accompany us?”
“I’ll be along in a while.” said Nuriel.
“Very well.” said the Oracle. It turned and was lost into the crowd.
Nuriel watched her army depart. It was like a great, bloody serpent slithering away through the street, and when it was gone the road was a sheet of red from their footprints. Alone once more, Nuriel worked up the courage to stand up and go back into the church.
The nave was a cavernous chamber where hundreds could gather for service, but now it was a disarray of overturned pews amongst the bodies and limbs of dead knights. Blood splattered all the walls and dripped in thick sheets from the stained glass windows. Nuriel had killed them all, and when she was done, Holy Father had sent her a sign. It was magnificent, and she hesitated to look upon it again for fear that it might not be there; that it might have just been a figment of her imagination.
Nuriel’s heart beat fast as she gathered her courage. She
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