THY NAME
Disoriented, bound, feet tangled to a support hiding above in the all enveloping darkness, the young man awakens. Although calm, his disturbed breathing causes a stir within the black aura surrounding him. Flashes of light attack his eyes as candles ignite, held by shrouded figures, many of them. "Do you repent?" A voice asked, echoing out from under one of the hoods, a knife appearing in the hand of the one believed to ask the question. "Do you repent?" The same voice asked, but with a female tone. Could that be? How was it the same yet different all the while not? The young man listened on even though his mouth was free, he waited for other words to follow, trying to make sense of this inquisition.
"Simply say the words, boy," The voice, once again familiar but twisted, this time projecting another command. "I repent. Just say it and this will all be over." He understood the words, unsure of the effect it would have, his curiosity peaked by this vocal phantom, hiding behind shadowed faces. "I...repent..." The young man managed to say, tired, sore from his bindings. The crowd was stilled by his response, as if the words were not to have been spoken at all, hushed murmurs floating from one hood to another. Waiting, unmoved, the hanged man remained silent, the outcome of his stammer hanging in time.
Suddenly, huge lights burst about the room, hindering his sight, peering from one eye to another until his vision has grown accustomed to this light. He could see that their hoods were removed, revealing the human faces beneath, men and women garbed in ritual clothing. He was relieved by this fact, now knowing who, or what, had been behind this whole charade. Looking about, his pleasure turned pain, witnessing the forms of many others such as himself dangling from the rafters above, throats slit, emblems carved into their foreheads, sealing their fates. He shuttered upon seeing the others slaughtered, the purpose of which unknown.
A jolt shook him back into the moment, reminding him that he was still in a vulnerable position. Naked, outnumbered, so much information to consider before acting. Lowered to the ground, one of the elders cut the ropes loose from his feet and hands, while a young woman lay a fabric item at his feet. Standing, shaken, the lone survivor gazed over all of the faces, trying to ascertain who these people were, what they wanted from him. He looked over their clothes then down at the garment laid below, picking it up clumsily, trying to figure out how to put it on. Finally, he slid the cloak over himself, hood falling upon his brow, a crimson hued apparel with a strange insignia upon the chest.
Smiles filled the room, welcoming their new brother, ushering him until the adjacent room. It was marvelous, a rectangle suspended in the sky, three sides you could see out of, looking out over an expansive city with more denizens. A sprawling ecosystem built by man, forged from mind and matter with blood and time. It was beyond impressive, so much that he felt the allure of this life. As the others gathered about in excitement, they began to speak.
"Brothers and sisters, we have overcome a great evil this day. We, the Third Hand, have removed evil in the guise of our fellow humans, losing all to the battle but one. We praise you, oh god above. We thank you for this solitary salvation you have brought upon us, for he will bear your name. He alone, will be our savior. We drink to you, young man. Speak thy name so that we may honour you, forever granting you acces into the heavens above." The aged ones praise weighed down on the man while the others awaited their newcomer with glee. "Thy name is long and difficult, allow me to spell it for you," the young man spoke happily, a smile appearing upon his face. His fear was gone, now understanding this whole debacle. Turning back, he entered the room where he was once bound, visiting each body hanging from the ceiling, taking blood from each, drawing marks upon the ground, sigils and glyphs that baffled the others. They crowded into the room, appalled but absorbed by this act, awaiting for the end result. On the last spot, where he swayed high previously, he drew a final mark, larger and bigger than the others, standing upon it, facing the others with that same excited smile.
"What is this meaning of this, brother?" The elder from before spoke, agitated by the blood stained runes drawn by their savior. "We ask thy name, not for mad perversions. Are you not our salvation?" Smirking, the young man spoke. "I have given you thy name," he said, waiting for the truth to settle in. The group began to whisper and worry, a dreadful air taking hold of the room, fear dripping upon their brows. "Thy name, is damnation..." The ropes holding the empty bodies burst into flames, falling down against the sigils, returning the slain to their vessels. "Demons!" The young woman shrieked, drawing a knife and rushing the fallen creatures. Her foot stepped on one of the blood marks, causing her to scream in agony as her soul ignited with black fire, leaving her charred corpse behind, terror saturating the once living face. More ropes snapped, more of the Third Hands fell. The building began to shutter, the remaining red priests attempting to flee from the sound emanating from the damned ones mouth, each portion of his name sundering the supports and souls abroad, while those returned through blood summons preyed upon those enraptured by the mans voice. With the last piece released upon the world, the building moaned, yearned for death, and collapsed, puffs of dark flames igniting on the way down as the glass tower fell into the earth, swallowed up by thy name.
Disoriented, bound, feet tangled to a support hiding above in the all enveloping darkness, the young man awakens. Although calm, his disturbed breathing causes a stir within the black aura surrounding him. Flashes of light attack his eyes as candles ignite, held by shrouded figures, many of them. "Do you repent?" A voice asked, echoing out from under one of the hoods, a knife appearing in the hand of the one believed to ask the question. "Do you repent?" The same voice asked, but with a female tone. Could that be? How was it the same yet different all the while not? The young man listened on even though his mouth was free, he waited for other words to follow, trying to make sense of this inquisition.
"Simply say the words, boy," The voice, once again familiar but twisted, this time projecting another command. "I repent. Just say it and this will all be over." He understood the words, unsure of the effect it would have, his curiosity peaked by this vocal phantom, hiding behind shadowed faces. "I...repent..." The young man managed to say, tired, sore from his bindings. The crowd was stilled by his response, as if the words were not to have been spoken at all, hushed murmurs floating from one hood to another. Waiting, unmoved, the hanged man remained silent, the outcome of his stammer hanging in time.
Suddenly, huge lights burst about the room, hindering his sight, peering from one eye to another until his vision has grown accustomed to this light. He could see that their hoods were removed, revealing the human faces beneath, men and women garbed in ritual clothing. He was relieved by this fact, now knowing who, or what, had been behind this whole charade. Looking about, his pleasure turned pain, witnessing the forms of many others such as himself dangling from the rafters above, throats slit, emblems carved into their foreheads, sealing their fates. He shuttered upon seeing the others slaughtered, the purpose of which unknown.
A jolt shook him back into the moment, reminding him that he was still in a vulnerable position. Naked, outnumbered, so much information to consider before acting. Lowered to the ground, one of the elders cut the ropes loose from his feet and hands, while a young woman lay a fabric item at his feet. Standing, shaken, the lone survivor gazed over all of the faces, trying to ascertain who these people were, what they wanted from him. He looked over their clothes then down at the garment laid below, picking it up clumsily, trying to figure out how to put it on. Finally, he slid the cloak over himself, hood falling upon his brow, a crimson hued apparel with a strange insignia upon the chest.
Smiles filled the room, welcoming their new brother, ushering him until the adjacent room. It was marvelous, a rectangle suspended in the sky, three sides you could see out of, looking out over an expansive city with more denizens. A sprawling ecosystem built by man, forged from mind and matter with blood and time. It was beyond impressive, so much that he felt the allure of this life. As the others gathered about in excitement, they began to speak.
"Brothers and sisters, we have overcome a great evil this day. We, the Third Hand, have removed evil in the guise of our fellow humans, losing all to the battle but one. We praise you, oh god above. We thank you for this solitary salvation you have brought upon us, for he will bear your name. He alone, will be our savior. We drink to you, young man. Speak thy name so that we may honour you, forever granting you acces into the heavens above." The aged ones praise weighed down on the man while the others awaited their newcomer with glee. "Thy name is long and difficult, allow me to spell it for you," the young man spoke happily, a smile appearing upon his face. His fear was gone, now understanding this whole debacle. Turning back, he entered the room where he was once bound, visiting each body hanging from the ceiling, taking blood from each, drawing marks upon the ground, sigils and glyphs that baffled the others. They crowded into the room, appalled but absorbed by this act, awaiting for the end result. On the last spot, where he swayed high previously, he drew a final mark, larger and bigger than the others, standing upon it, facing the others with that same excited smile.
"What is this meaning of this, brother?" The elder from before spoke, agitated by the blood stained runes drawn by their savior. "We ask thy name, not for mad perversions. Are you not our salvation?" Smirking, the young man spoke. "I have given you thy name," he said, waiting for the truth to settle in. The group began to whisper and worry, a dreadful air taking hold of the room, fear dripping upon their brows. "Thy name, is damnation..." The ropes holding the empty bodies burst into flames, falling down against the sigils, returning the slain to their vessels. "Demons!" The young woman shrieked, drawing a knife and rushing the fallen creatures. Her foot stepped on one of the blood marks, causing her to scream in agony as her soul ignited with black fire, leaving her charred corpse behind, terror saturating the once living face. More ropes snapped, more of the Third Hands fell. The building began to shutter, the remaining red priests attempting to flee from the sound emanating from the damned ones mouth, each portion of his name sundering the supports and souls abroad, while those returned through blood summons preyed upon those enraptured by the mans voice. With the last piece released upon the world, the building moaned, yearned for death, and collapsed, puffs of dark flames igniting on the way down as the glass tower fell into the earth, swallowed up by thy name.