A clear blue sky shone over the city of Ashmore. The city served as an important trade center for the eastern region of the nation of Albion. Its proximity to neighboring territories made it a valuable military asset, as well as a thriving hub for commerce. With this wealth, the city built rows upon rows of beautifully decorated stone buildings. The tallest of them all was a grand cathedral, adorned with asymmetrical spires that towered over the city and covered in colorful stained glass. Recently, Ashmore had gained a reputation as a city of miracles.

  The Church of Ardna, renowned for its miracles that seemed to defy magic itself, had recently gained widespread fame. Emerging at the end of the war, the Church of Ardna’s ceremonies and healing practices had become synonymous with Ashmore itself.

  “Thank you, Father Damien,” a woman said, bowing to the elder. “My mother-in-law can finally see her granddaughter, thanks to you!”

  Damien smiled kindly as he raised his hand. “My dear, I merely did my duty. Lord Ardna blesses those who seek His love. All His believers are rewarded with His grace, after all.”

  “Ardna bless you, Father!” she repeated emotionally, holding her daughter’s hand as they departed.

  “Indeed, Ardna blesses those who follow Him,” Damien murmured to himself, turning toward the church. His once-soft smile slowly twisted into a smirk as he disappeared into the shadows of the grand entrance.

  Walking to a stairwell, the sect master unlocked a heavy metal door and descended into the cold, stone catacombs. The air grew damp as he moved through the narrow corridor, his steps echoing off the walls. Smiling, the priest placed a torch into a wall fixture, casting flickering shadows across the passage.

  Lining the walls were countless cells, sealed behind metal bars that seemed to stretch into eternity. Damien strutted past them with calculated ease, his gaze sweeping over the helpless prisoners.

  Eventually, he reached his destination at the corridor’s end. Clasping his hands together, he stepped into the cell with a mockery of reverence.

  “You look disagreeable today,” Damien sneered.

  In the far corner sat a young woman with mid-length dark blue hair, her green eyes burning with pure disdain. If looks could kill, he would have died twice over. She wore a bloodied white gown that clung to her knees, her hair matted with dirt and dried blood.

  “I hope my toxin didn’t ruin your cognitive functions,” Damien mused, voice dripping with false sympathy. “It would be such a shame to waste a woman of your… value.”

  “If I had a sword, you’d be dead.” The woman spoke bluntly, her tone cold and certain. To Aria it was an undeniable fact, not a threat.

  Aria struggled to maintain her focus. Whether it was the lingering effects of poison or the fever brought on by malnutrition, her body felt heavy, sluggish. The cold stone walls seemed to press in around her, and every breath was a battle. Even in the dim light of her cell, she could see the priest’s twisted smile, amused by her suffering.

  Has it been a month since her capture? Time seemed meaningless in this dark cell, each passing moment blending into the next until the days were nothing more than a haze of pain and exhaustion.

  “Yes, I’m well aware of your family's reputation, Miss Corvo. The nation of Easenna is renowned for their unique history, magic and swordsmanship. Your family was considered the strongest of them after all.” Damien said. “Living weapons, that's what they referred to you people as correct? Regardless, Lord Ardna protects those who follow his teachings. Including demons, such as yourself. You’re welcome to repent your sins to Him. You’ll find He’s very forgiving.”

  “Repent to a god whose messenger tortures and assaults women?” She scowled.

  Every instinct screamed at her to rise, to fight, to escape. This man wasn’t stronger than the soldiers she had defeated in the past, she knew she’d win. But her body refused to respond. Her dominant hand was currently recovering after they'd broken each of her fingers for her ‘disobedience’ towards the priest. She had managed to bind it with a strip of fabric torn from her gown, a small act of defiance in itself. Aria wasn’t naive. She had expected hardship the moment she became a prisoner of war. But she hadn’t expected her captor to revel in cruelty with such sadistic pleasure.

  “Where’s Mary?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

  Damien chuckled cruelly. “You really are moody today. She’s alive, for now. I was just about to pay her a visit actually. It’s a full-time job keeping that one around.”

  Before he could react, she was suddenly right in front of him. Her movements were swift, unnaturally so. Powered by force of will. Damien froze, genuinely surprised. His toxin was supposed to cause complete muscle paralysis.

  She’s surprisingly resilient. If she had the chance, she really would kill me! Damien mused with an amused grin. Fortunately for him, he had acquired Aria while she was still injured from whatever battles she’d been in. He had slashed her legs along the tendons as added insurance. He knew just moving caused intense pain for her. Yet Aria ignored it for the chance at killing him. Unfortunately, Damien was still in control. His purple ring glowed ominously causing her attack to miss by a few inches. Aria’s eyes widened in disbelief, her vision blurring at the worst possible moment. The priest countered with a single punch to the stomach. The force of his attack sent her across the cell and caused her to cough up blood.

  Sauntering to the end of the cell, Damien pulled her up by the hair. “Perhaps you misunderstand your situation, my dear. You are my property now. You were sold to me and, as such, I own you. Completely.” He taunted. “You should use this time to truly assess your situation.”

  Dropping her back on the floor with force, Blackwell’s eyes lingered on her frame for a moment. A small smile carved its way across his face as he left. While she lacked some of the 'assets' her handmaiden had, she’d still work well. Plus, the strong-willed ones were more fun to break in.

  Shame the ritual requires her to be left untouched. But I can wait until after… He half considered cutting each of her fingers off to prevent her from potentially harming him. Maybe that would finally break her spirit. Living; knowing she'd never use a sword again.

  Another part of him found the idea amusing just to see what kind of face she'd make. “It doesn't matter. Once the ritual is completed, she’ll be subservient to me.” As the cell door was latched shut, Aria stared up at the ceiling. How many days had she been here? She estimated it had been about a month since she was brought here. She’d try calling out to Mary, but Blackwell purposefully kept them separated. Was this her future? It felt like a cruel curse cast upon her by God.

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  This is Hell.

  A crimson moon bathed Ashmore in a red hue. As the city slept, the church of Ardna was very much awake. The cathedral's chamber was barren except for Blackwell and some followers. They were all dressed in dark cloaks. He stood at the altar dressed in his regular white robe. At the center was a pentagram with an outer circle drawn in chalk with various symbols etched around its edges. The same pentagram matching the priest's ring.

  “The great Lord Ardna has gifted us two sinners to cleanse. They were followers of demonic forces but arrived here to follow the true god.”

  Aria was shackled to the side of the altar, her limbs bound by chains. A cloth gag muffled her breath, forcing her to watch helplessly. Beside her was a woman Aria assumed was in her early thirties. She had dark brown hair braided neatly despite her disheveled appearance. her tattered dress looked similar to hers, maybe worse.

  Two of Blackwell’s followers seized the stranger and dragged her to the center of the circle, chaining her down at the heart of the pentagram. The cold light of the crimson moon poured through the stained glass above, casting long, blood-red shadows across the ritual site.

  “This first one,” Blackwell declared, his voice echoing through the hall. “She was rumored to be conspiring with the dead… Such a sin violates not only the sacred laws of our great nation but the very laws of nature itself!”

  With a subtle gesture, he summoned one of his acolytes. A robed figure emerged from the shadows, carrying a metal poker glowing a fierce, molten orange. The heat from the searing iron pulsed through the chamber, bathing the room in a sinister glow.

  “W-wait! I’m not a sinner!” the woman pleaded. Her eyes brimmed with tears, wide with pure desperation. “I was only praying for my child! Is seeking salvation truly a sin?!” Her voice broke on the final word, raw and distraught, echoing through the cold chamber.

  Meanwhile, Aria fought to stay conscious, her vision blurring at the edges from exhaustion and pain. Every fiber of her being burned with rage. She wished for nothing but ruin upon these monsters. Every cruelty, every injustice they’ve committed to them and this city.

  “Who gave you permission to talk?” one of the robed figures sneered before striking her with the hilt of his sword. The brutal impact sent her crashing to the floor, a strangled sob escaping her lips as she crumpled against the cold stone.

  Yet, even through the pain, she forced out trembling words. “If nothing else… I’ll accept whatever punishment, just let that child go free.”

  Aria’s eyes widened in shock. This woman, a complete stranger, had every reason to beg for her own life. Yet she chose to bargain for hers instead. Aria was momentarily stunned by the selfless act, having not expected it in the land she spent years fighting against. But Aria knew better than to hope. She wished she could have told the woman not to waste her breath. Aria knew that Damien would never grant them mercy.

  The priest stepped forward, his expression softening into a mockery of kindness. “You’d give anything so that girl goes free?” His voice dripped with false sympathy. “Even though she’s from the nation that caused the death of your only son?”

  The woman’s gaze shifted toward Aria as he considered Damiens words. After a moment she simply shook her head. Despite the obvious fear in her eyes, there was an unwavering in their compassion.

  “She’s just a child,” Her voice trembling but steady with conviction. “Even if she’s from Easenna, she can’t possibly be at fault for the Eldritch! Why does she need to suffer?” the woman pleaded.

  Perhaps it was na?ve, but some part of her still hoped Damien Blackwell could be reasoned with; that there was a shred of mercy left in him. “Is your god not a kind one?”

  “I see,” Damien said, his tone devoid of emotion.

  In an instant, a blade made of a dark aura sliced clean through her neck with ease. The sound was grotesque, inhuman, and hauntingly unforgettable.

  A spray of blood erupted, staining the altar as the woman’s face froze in a final, agonized expression. Her eyes, wide with fear and sorrow, remained open. A trail of blood poured off the end of the altar as the woman's expression was permanently saved to her face.

  “Using Ardna’s name in vain,” he muttered coldly. “No respect…”

  Damien kicked the severed head off the alter, wiping the blood from his robe with a rag. He shifted his gaze back to Aria, enjoying her reaction. Undoing her gag he had one of his acolytes chain her down at the center of the alter where the woman was killed.

  “You bastard!” Aria roared in anger.

  One of the acolytes stepped forward, hand raised to strike her into silence, but Damien stopped him with a slight gesture. His amusement curled into a smile, as if the entire ordeal was nothing more than a twisted game.

  “I had planned to sacrifice her regardless,” Damien said mockingly.“But why so upset, Aria Corvo? For someone who spent her life butchering Albion’s citizens, you seem awfully distraught over one more dead Alban.”

  He leaned in closer, his words like poisoned daggers. “Hell, you might’ve been the one who killed that poor woman’s child. He was killed during the war.”

  Aria’s breath caught in her throat, rage clashing violently with guilt. As much as she wanted to fight or argue, deep down Aria felt he may be right. Aria has killed people before so she was far from sinless.

  Opening a briefcase, a vial of murky purplish fluid and a syringe were placed on the altar table. Damien mixed the dead woman's blood with the fluid creating something different. The liquid looked unnatural, as if it still had a pulse to it now. Inside the vial the fluid began to move on its own.

  “The funny thing about Eldritch is that their effects on humans still remain a mystery. It may destroy your sense of self, or it might make you completely subservient to me. Hell, it may very well boil you from the inside out! I'd hope not though, it would be such a waste for someone as accomplished as you my dear.”

  Aria’s body trembled as realization crashed over her. An Eldritch… Her pulse pounded in her ears in unbridled fear. “N-No… You’re insane!”

  “Insane? Well who can really say?” The priest smirked as he filled the syringe with the concoction before looming the needle over her eye for fun. The acolyte forcefully kept her eyes open.

  “Once you become this Eldritch’s host, it won’t matter. The ‘you’ that you know will be destroyed. I may have you visit that companion of yours after this is done. I’m curious what kind of reaction she’d have!” Retying her gag, Damien prepared the ritual.

  From the brutality of war to the endless echoes of death and suffering, Aria had faced horrors that would break most people. Yet in her eighteen years of life, this was the first time she truly felt terrified.

  Being forced to serve a monster or becoming something unrecognizable… something inhuman.

  After losing her family, after enduring the guilt of watching her best friend suffer because of her, this was the final cruelty she couldn’t bear. To lose her humanity would be a fate worse than death.

  Tears threatened to fall as she squeezed her eyes shut. I don’t want this. I’d rather die than accept this! Please, anyone

  BANG!

  Just as Damien’s hand descended, the shattering crack of glass splintered through the air. In an instant, the syringe exploded fragments of glass and liquid raining down harmlessly while the distinct sound of a gun echoed through the halls of the cathedral. Damien stumbled back, his expression twisted in shock and anger. He clutched his hand where shards of glass had torn into his flesh.

  Aria’s eyes slowly open, heart hammering in disbelief. What? Before her was a glowing light-gray barrier around her. A mixture of glass and fluid slowly poured onto the floor in front of her. Damien’s eyes widened in shock.

  “For a man of God, I’d think torturing and killing people would be an unforgivable sin.”

  Looking towards the source of the voice, Damien saw something sitting in front of the stained glass fixture above them. Its silhouette was wrapped with the dark of the night. Yet somehow in that darkness, he saw a pair of crimson eyes cut through the dark. The figures' gaze burning with a silent, almost ancient judgment.

  “So you’re the one using a grimoire to play God?”