The cell doors opened with a groaning shriek, metal scraping against the dirty stone as light spilled in from the corridor beyond.
Bellum flinched as the glow hit his eyes, squinting while armored figures floated into his view. The bars dissolved their glow and slid aside, the magic singing softly as it withdrew.
A firm hand seized Bellum's arm and hauled him forward. His feet scraped against the floor as he stumbled out of the cell, chains clinking faintly around his wrists. To his left, the neighboring cell opened as well.
The man inside stepped out with a rebellious shitty grin. He was definitely old, older than Bellum had first thought. His face was a structure of deep lines and weathered creases, skin darkened and uneven like sun worn leather. His hair spilled down past his shoulders in tangled waves of gray streaked with dull copper and ash white, some strands braided loosely, others frayed being all over the place,
A thick beard framed his mouth, braided at the ends with bits of thread and twine, eyes bright and alert beneath heavy brows that refused to droop with age.
He squinted up at the floating warriors and laughed.
"Oi!" he barked. "Why are you guys floating in here?"
One of the Hierophants answered without turning his helmet. "We dare not to stand on the same corrupted ground of the dungeons as the evildoers."
The old man snorted. "Saying that, but you all take shits, right? But don't want to walk on a dungeon floor? With polished boots on?" He shook his head. "Fucking hypocrites."
A Hierophant snapped his head toward him. "Say that in the presence of Seraphel himself!"
"Bet you I will. Ya don't scare me at all."
Bellum barely registered the almost comedic but scary exchange. He was already being dragged forward once again, down the corridor where torchlight struggled against the dark stone walls.
The dungeon stretched on and on, walking through those halls was suffocating, the moisture clinging to the walls and dripping slowly into grooves carved by years of neglect and tragedy.
'A hero admits to his own problems when they screw up, yeah. I'm doing a good thing. I'm…but I'm fucking scared.'
His jaw tightened.
'But heroes risk their lives all the time. So I shouldn't be scared at all, right? Yeah.'
His mind drifted to the storybook version of himself. King Bellum. Tall and fearless and standing before monsters without his hands shaking, wielding a blessed king-ly scythe, without doubt chewing at his insides. That version of him never froze or failed, a version of him that was not controlled by fate, he controlled it himself.
"I'm not scared," Bellum whispered under his breath.
A hand slammed into his chest and launched him sideways. His back struck the wall hard enough to rattle his teeth, breath blasting out of him in a pained grunt. The Hierophants snapped into formation instantly with their weapons of light leveled inches from his face.
"What were you chanting under your breath?!" one demanded.
Another leaned in. "Curses?!"
"I wasn't chanting!" Bellum gasped, chest burning. "I'm sorry!"
The old man scoffed. "Geez, grow a spine, lad. These people are your enemies!"
"They're not!" Bellum shouted back, panic and guilt tangling in his throat. "I shouldn't have brought that stupid gem here!"
The Hierophants did not respond, they just simply seized him again like they were handling a violent child, and forced him forward with their grip unyielding.
"Hmph. Keep moving!"
The corridor opened suddenly into a massive chamber, and at its center stood a wide platform shaped like a lift, constructed from thick wooden beams reinforced with glowing bands of light. Around it, stone walls rose high, making the area feel even more spacious.
At least five dozen prisoners already stood crowded on the platform. Men and women of all kinds dressed in dirty rags. Faces bruised, scarred, and red eyed from crying before or just tired as hell.
The Hierophants shoved Bellum and the old man onto the lift. "Let Seraphel have mercy on your souls," one of them said.
The platform shuddered as the gate closed behind them, Bellum felt eyes on him immediately.
"A child?"
"As long as I've been in here, I've never seen a brat…"
"What did you do?"
Bellum said nothing. He stared at the wooden floor, shoulders tight, and arm shaking.
The old man stepped closer to the others, raising his hands. "Come on now, leave the kid alone will ya?"
Another prisoner said, "This kid must be dangerous if he came in here. Seraphel and the Hierophants always preach about protecting the youth from darkness. And now…"
"I'm not a kid," Bellum said bitterly but quietly, hoping no one would hear him..
"Heh?" one prisoner sneered. "Did ya say something?"
'What am I saying? These men are all killers and thieves and all that. I don't wanna be clobbered by them before I appear before the god. I won't win at all in a fight here. I shouldn't have said anything.' Bellum thought.
"Nothing," Bellum muttered.
The lift jolted, then began to rise….slowly…and somewhat majestically?
The walls slid downward as the platform ascended, light pouring in from above in widening columns. Some prisoners began to panic, voices overlapping and cracking.
"Fuck this!"
"No one ever comes back alive after seeing Seraphel…"
"I should've left to the kingdom of Myrrvindraal when I had the chance!"
"Everyone calm down! Maybe we can get through this…"
"Are you crazy?! This is the end of the line!"
A fist out of anger flew and cracked someone in the face, then another fist, then another right after.
Men and women collided violently, bodies slamming together as fear boiled over into rage. A man headbutted another so hard blood sprayed across the boards. Someone went down, immediately swarmed, boots crashing into ribs, hands clawing at faces, teeth sank into flesh, and screams cut short as a knee crushed into a throat.
Bellum backed away, heart pounding, eyes darting wildly.
"No… stop… stop fighting…"
The words clawed at his very soul, begging to be spoken, but he swallowed them down. If he spoke now, they might turn on him next, he definitely didn't wanna risk it.
The lift continued its climb, then it reached the top as a unique light exploded across the platform…and the prisoners froze.
Before them stretched a colossal open arena carved entirely from pale stone, its surface polished smooth by what looked like divine craftsmanship. There was no roof at all as well, the sky above was vast and cloudless, sunlight pouring down in blinding waves.
At the center of the arena hovered Seraphel.
But he was in the form of something unexpected, not even in a humanoid form at all.
"What the…." Bellum said.
Seraphel was a massive, literal bright white radiant heart organ, suspended in midair, beating slowly with thunderous weight. Each beat of the organ sent waves of light rippling through the space. And though no eyes seemed to be showing on it, its gaze swept across the prisoners with suffocating authority.
Circling the heart were four winged beings, the Saints. Their forms were humanoid yet otherworldly, power rolled off them in heavy waves, bending the air around their bodies.
Dozens upon dozens of Hierophants stood in perfect formation around the arena, weapons ready and silent, though they weren't the ones who were gonna bring judgment.
Bellum's breath caught in his throat, and around him, prisoners stared upward in stunned silence. Fists unclenched and Bodies stilled. Even the bloodied fighters stood frozen, awe drowning their fear.
Bellum felt small…Insignificant even, and most of all, utterly exposed.
"I can't move…" he muttered.
A Hierophant's voice thundered across the arena.
"Step forward, agents of evil!"
The prisoners hesitated, feet glued to the stone as the words pressed down on them like weight. Then one moved… then another….then the next prisoner…until all of the others followed.
Chains rattled amongst them, bodies shuffled forward in uneven lines, shoulders hunched, heads bowed, some muttering prayers that came out desperate, praying to gods they never even bothered to give their attention to before they were captured.
Bellum's legs felt empty as he stepped with them, every movement stiff and wobbly like a weak skeletons legs.
A man near the front suddenly snapped.
"N-No!" he screamed, voice cracking apart. "Fuck this! I won't die here!"
He spun around and bolted, but barely made it three steps. The heart (Seraphel) hovering above them convulsed in a nasty way.
Its surface rippled violently, flesh twisting in on itself, bulging outward as bone and muscle forced their way through in wet and obscene shapes. The organ stretched and reshaped itself, mimicking the fleeing man's body and literal appearance in a mockery of human form. A face and body emerged, identical to his own, but malformed, grown from pulsing meat and sinew, eyes popping and unfocused.
The prisoners screamed, and the thing opened its mouth, then the man's head exploded.
It burst apart in a chaotic spray, skull fragments tearing outward as blood and gray matter erupted in all directions. The force knocked nearby prisoners to the ground. Warm splatter hit Bellum's face, smacking across his cheek and dripping from his chin.
Bellum gasped and became even more frozen than he already was, his lungs refusing to draw breath.
Cheers from the Hierophants erupted around the arena.
"Evil has been purged!"
"Slay the wicked!"
"A stain has been removed!"
"Praise the Majesty of Fable!"
Bellum's hands trembled uncontrollably.
"He… he just… his head… his…"
Around him, prisoners sobbed and shouted in horror.
"That damned god turned into him… then…"
"His head just exploded!"
"His brains got on me!"
Bellum's vision tunneled, the world dulled at the edges, sound muffled like he was sinking underwater. His teeth chattered as fear wrapped around his spine and squeezed.
'No. No no no no.'
He clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms. He forced the image of the storybook into his mind. His unstoppable version of himself, King Bellum. Standing tall and unafraid, defying monsters and fate itself.
His fingers dug deeper into his skin until pain flared and blood welled up; He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and looked up. The heart Seraphel was whole again.
Floating, beating, watching, staring, terrorizing, all in one moment of dread Bellum couldn't afford to live through, but had to anyway for the time being.
The Saints were still circling that heart, and all four of them were looking directly at Bellum. Why?
Bellum's instincts screamed at him to look away, to bow, to curl in on himself, to fucking run or something, but he fought it. His eyes burned, and tears gathered and spilled over despite his effort, tracing hot paths down his cheeks.
Then those damned Saints moved, and In an instant, the Saints were in front of Bellum.
Way too close…
They surrounded him, towering over him, their presence crushing the air out of his lungs. Bellum's heart slammed against his ribs as his gaze was dragged from one to the next.
Alpam, Saint of Judgement. His skin looked like carved marble split by glowing red fractures that shimmered beneath the surface. Curly white hair hovered around his head like living light, and above it floated a jagged white halo that showed some cold authority. His eyes were pitch black and set beneath heavy brows, and white horns curved from his temples. A loose white robe draped from his shoulders, unmoving despite the air itself trembling.
Judex, Saint of Divine Fire.
He floated slightly above the ground, body bare and naked and unashamed, a single glowing white leaf covering his lower privates. His wings were white and gray, feathers shifting slowly as if stirred by heat. Long black hair hung messily around his face, framing vivid dark green eyes. On his forehead burned a star, yellow and deep gold colors seemingly having smoke lingering from the top of it, glowing like a sun held in flesh.
Nepherel, Saint of Prosperity.
She stood calmly with her eyes permanently closed, her expression quaint and serene. Her fitted robe was dark orange, hugging her form, its fabric alive with subtle warmth. Long hair cascaded down her back in streaks of red, white, and orange, and above her head hovered a halo. White wings rested behind her, folded neatly like clothing. In her hands she carried a white and orange battle shield with intricate designs on them, and a sword wreathed in dark orange flame that never flickered.
Icarus, Saint of Dominion.
He was wrapped in a loose white blanket that barely concealed his powerful frame. In his grasp was a long red spear, its shaft covered in complex white patterns that caught the light. At the tip glimmered a small white glow, and on his back, red imposing wings spread behind him. His hair was bright red, and he had three red eyes which stared down at Bellum with unblinking intensity.
Bellum stood there still trembling, staring into divinity and terror all at once.
Around them, whispers spread through the prisoners.
"Why are they all up on the kid…?"
"He's done for now…"
"He must've used necromancy…"
One voice shook more than the others.
"Alpam… Nepherel… Judex… and Icarus… the demi god children of Seraphel…" The man swallowed hard. "Is he gonna make his own children slaughter us? Are they gonna make an example out of that kid first?"
Bellum's knees threatened to buckle.
'Please don't speak like that….' He thought.
He stayed standing though.
And out of nowhere, Seraphel's gentle voice from the heart flowed through the arena like warm breath on cold skin, sounding like countless tones and voices woven together into something calm.
It slid into the ears of every living being present and settled deep in their chests, smothering fear completely, loosening clenched muscles, and quieting those racing thoughts.
"My children," Seraphel said softly, "return to me. He is nothing."
In the same instant, the Saints vanished from Bellum's immediate space and reappeared beside the heart, resuming their horrific watchful orbit. The crushing closeness disappeared, and Bellum staggered slightly, lungs finally pulling in air again.
"Oh my goodness…" He sighed.
A Hierophant then stepped forward, he was older than the others, around fifty, his posture rigid but trained to show power and authority. His white armor bore engravings of authority and rank, his helmet crowned with longer wing motifs that curved backward like swept feathers, and his deep voice carried the weight of ceremony and a commanding tone.
"Now," he announced, "you will all be judged by the king himself. I will call out names, and your fate will be in the hands of the Great Paladin."
The prisoners' composure shattered.
"No…."
"No!"
"M My crime wasn't that bad though… I should be fine…"
"Please… have mercy!"
"I have children!"
Bellum's legs trembled. He swallowed hard, throat dry, praying in a way he had never prayed before that his name would not be first. Sweat slid down his temples as his thoughts spiraled.
'Our fates… huh. Letting someone else, better yet a god, decide mine? Yeah, I deserve punishment for what I did. But that feeling of letting fate control even a god… when fate's kicked my ass all my life. Even as a kid. Guess that's why I wanted to be a hero. Someone who can protect everyone else's fate. And my own. I thought maybe if I could save the care of everyone else, maybe I'd actually finally be happy, or even turn my fate around. Make things actually go right for me. Guess not.'
A shadow passed over the arena, Bellum looked up. And those other prisoners did too.
Massive griffons descended from the open sky, their feathered wings spanning wide, their leonine bodies gleaming in the sunlight. They circled high above, flying through the air in elegant pathways, their cries echoing like song.
Along the sides of the arena, magic bards with instruments enhanced with bright power stepped forward holding instruments carved from pale wood and glowing crystal. Strings were plucked and pipes sang, The music drifted through the space with a choirs harmony, layered with gentle rises and falls that wrapped around the soul.
It looked like a celebration, It felt like a performance, it sound like—
—death.
Seraphel spoke again, his voice still smooth and tender. "Call their names, Hierophant. Call the evildoers by name so that I may judge them."
The sound of Seraphel's washed over the prisoners, their shoulders were relaxed, their shaking hands steadied slowly. Some faces softened into faint smiles, tears slipped from eyes not in fear, but relief.
Peace…..Tranquility so deep it bordered on bliss.
Bellum felt none of it. He looked around, heart pounding harder as he realized it. Everyone else was sinking into the calm. He was still fully awake inside his terror.
The Hierophant finally raised his voice.
"Adlick Benn. Crime: begging. Your fate is death."
The heart Seraphel convulsed, its organ flesh twisted brutally, reshaping itself in midair into the exact appearance and likeness of that trembling man, Adlick. Below, Adlick Benn smiled serenely, eyes glassy with false comfort.
Then his head exploded.
Blood and fragments sprayed outward, Bellum flinched as warmth struck the back of his neck, sticky and hot. He gasped sharply, eyes locked on the collapsing body.
"He died… over that…?" Bellum whispered, voice shaking. "That's not right…."
'Something as small as that…?!'
The music continued, The griffons soared and continued along with the instruments, wings beating gracefully in the sky.
"Lysett Shauni," the Hierophant intoned. "Crime: tripping into an elderly woman. She could've died. Your fate is death."
The heart reshaped again, molding itself into Lysett's form, features eerily accurate. Lysett stood smiling peacefully.
The sound of her skull bursting made Bellum jerk rapidly again, fists closing so hard his nails cut into his skin.
The Saints just watched it all, grins on their faces.
The names kept coming.
"Rethan Cole. Crime: stealing bread."
"Mariel Voss. Crime: lying to a tax official."
"Thorne Yelric. Crime: trespassing after curfew."
Each name followed by the same ritual. The same grotesque transformation. The same explosion of blood and bone. Bodies dropping. Music playing. Griffons dancing above it all.
Bellum jumped every single time.
His body tensed, released, tensed again, like a cord pulled too tight. His ears rang, his vision blurred at the edges with the smell of blood saturating the air.
Then the Hierophant paused….the music softened, and he inhaled.
"Bellum Arrowfen."
Bellum's breath caught completely.
His knees buckled, vision swimming as sweat poured down his face. He barely stayed upright, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted to escape his body.