Personal Diary of Champion of Light Luan
The goddess is a fool—she hoards the light. Why can’t she see we could stop the rot and kill all the monsters easily if she just trusted me with the light’s power instead of mere crystal fragments? Yet it seems I assume too much. Even now she laughs and plays with me as I continue to hunt monsters and rot. At times, when I watch her, I wonder if she really is light—or a monster hiding in plain sight.
—Page lost to time - Final passage written by Light Champion Luan
"I don’t agree. Why can’t we do more?" Luan pleaded once more for her to listen, while he watched the goddess smile with amusement, drinking from her goblet. The music and chorus of prayers stopped—his words were blasphemy.
"You’re precious. But don’t question my will; you know I do what I wish," the goddess replied casually. Only for him would it be playful banter and light chastisement. For anyone else, it would be burning light and nothingness.
He watched her golden blonde locks flow freely down her shoulders, her eyes holding a depth beyond the light that shone a golden hue. She caught his look and blushed, mistaking it for desire. Her pale skin, smooth as silk, showed the depth of her red blush.
"Do not stare at me, my light," she whispered. "What would others think?"
He did not share her view—he felt no attraction to her, yet she seemed to harbor hidden feelings for him. It only fueled his annoyance into a deeper scowl. Once more, she mistook it as desire, as wanting her like forbidden fruit. And dare he say it? All he had to do was ask, and she would share it.
So it was with great pleasure that he saw her shock when instead he said, "The garrison keeps expanding per your request, but I wish to aid them, not sit here with you." He said it loud enough for all to hear. A hush of gasps flowed through the room as all sound stopped.
The goddess’s eyes narrowed at the slight. He wondered if maybe this time he had pushed too far, yet her focused ire surprised him. "Did I tell you to stop?"
She meant the chorus of her gospel—those always singing and praising her name in prayer. It gave him headaches when she tried to include him in the hymns, but he refused. He did not like blind worship.
The sound resumed, slightly louder, as if to mask their forbidden conversation. They knew they weren’t supposed to hear her anger soften almost to pity. "Perhaps I do push you too hard. I thought you wished to rest. It’s why you are by my side, no?"
She posed it as a question but expected no reply, focusing on her hand as she waited for a drink to appear. A servant, accustomed to staying near since the goddess disliked asking, brought it. As she slowly drank, she focused on him once more.
"Fine. If the rot means that much to you, go into it once more." She reached for her chest, dragging her hand slowly across it as she shifted the dress near her breast aside, as if reaching for something within an inner pocket. She watched his attention, smiling as she reached toward her breast, fishing for an item. It was an action meant for him—to encourage his desire to want more, to see more. But he had caught on to her game long ago and cared not. She could have easily summoned it within her hand without the theatrics.
She slowly withdrew her hand and held a gem of light. She was always careful with how much power she gave him—compressed power. She told him that if he ingested it, it would grant him divinity, a gift she deemed no other worthy of. If they tried, she would purge them for blasphemy.
But him? She would allow it. He was her champion, and a small sin could be forgiven—and punished in other ways.
He took the crystal yet would never consume it, hating its warmth. It felt conditional. Even with the freedom she gave, she always expected something in return. And he would'nt be bound forever in her name... Yet as long as he was helping people, he cared not. For too long, humans had been an afterthought against the blight of rot. So he will endure for the people who she would ignore.
He remembered being a child when monsters and rot were common as the unanswered prayers. until he grew older and fought. Slowly, after a sea of death, she noticed him, acknowledged him—maybe even loved him. She hinted at it often enough. even if he was unsure if her desire was true or a lust, she could not understand and will abandon him after he gave in.
"You are my champion," the goddess said with sadness, making him look up. Tears were in her eyes. Odd—she had never wept before. "Why did you lose yourself to the darkness?"
What? Something wasn’t right. The walls bled light, growing dim even as the goddess still stood before him. The light now burned as he threw the crystal, searing his flesh. He threw the light crystal not with intent to harm, but it still hit the goddess’s crying form, and both shattered in a blazing form, burning him even more. The entire room and all within, beyond that blazing light, started to crack.
He backed away, trying to make sense of why the light rejected him.
Rejected him.
He looked at his hands melting in the light as everything became darkness. Only the goddess on her throne remained whole as she wept. "I do love you. Even if I have to kill you again, I will. But you will rejoin the light."
Again?
The chorus that had sung of light before now hummed a new tune—one that sang blessings of darkness, of true hope and freedom. That which stands against the light, which purges lies, which sets you free if you choose to be better.
He faded deeper into the void of himself, watching the light flow further away even as he felt pieces of him tear loose. At first unsure if it was somehow still her doing, he knew with certainty it was not the goddess’s divinity burning him like rot, but sharing his divinity was his noose.
It made sense now why the light hoarded power—it cost your very life. That’s why she chose only him. Yet he had chosen all willing to embrace love and become more. But he had no more to give. He was near the limits, at the edge where he could still exist. Lost in pain and thoughts of madness, he wondered: Who even am I?
"Abaddon," a distant voice whispered as if in comfort amidst his pain, yet it was lost to him among the sea of his own madness, trying to stay sane. Ever so briefly, the power that had slipped away returned.
Unsure of the time that passed—be it a day or months—slowly, he felt souls die, giving him floods of power, bringing him back before ripping away once more.
New followers of darkness joined—an endless stream of back-and-forth prayers and random deaths from those opposing him, his will, his views. More power, more converting, which weakened him again.
It settled in time, balanced on an edge. He was still weak, but he was able to return and be more.
His eyes opened with that desire. How many times before had he been awake? He was unsure, but he had clarity now and was more whole, and knew he was in a cave of darkness—the place he had laid himself to rest before.
Home. No, this was unworthy of that word, but it was what he had. He looked at his hand—charred darkness, just bone. It seemed his essence was so depleted he had no more than a skeletal form. He could see Ezra now, his goblin’s eyes full of worry at what had become of his lord.
"Forgive my insolence, lord, but you push yourself too much. I fear you are near the edge of your limits, and I don’t say that lightly," Ezra said carefully, expecting his lord’s wrath for the blasphemy. Yet no divine retribution came from the skeletal lord.
Instead, Ezra watched his lord study the skeletal form he now inhabited. "Everything has a price," Abaddon said slowly, wisps of darkness flowing from his skeletal teeth. Ezra had known for a while that his lord was blighted but could do nothing except pray.
Even the great beast whined with concern, wanting its master strong, fearing others would come to challenge him and it wouldn’t be enough to stop them. Abaddon waved them both off dismissively.
"My kingdom grows, and others remake me, but they need time—as do I. They are doing my will." Abaddon’s ribcage swelled with darkness within. A beating heart of darkness formed and grew, and a sigh escaped the lord’s lips as the tearing of his essence lessened. Now the influx of power grew to ease the burden on his soul.
Ezra hated feeling powerless when his lord needed him, but part of faith was trust. As he went to his corner to meditate, he knew he would wait until needed. If the lord had trust in others, then so would he.
Abaddon breathed deeply once more, finally gaining flesh on his bones and a heart that could beat again. He had thought manifesting form was just a mortal thing, but it seemed he was bound to this form, affected by the loss of his power. All the places where he tried to spread his will and his self were weakening, fading to a distant memory, disappointing him mildly, but he accepted it as well—his people were doing well, it was enough for now.
Yet even with those thoughts, he knew what ate at his power was it fading back due to rot or the goddess’s light. It seemed he wasn’t strong enough an anchor to influence things versus them after all, but maybe in time he would be more divine and not so easily challenged and removed.
The underground was still tainted with his will and darkness. He remained deep in the earth, but the surface he could not claim. He would focus on the city where he now had a foothold. But among his followers and new believers, he noticed a disturbing pattern.
Too many defied him. Even those not believing in the light made their choices. Many rejected Vespera’s mercy as blasphemy, clinging to light and fleeing. Others met them with indifference, and the church still pushed light as truth. Too many things needed addressing.
"Vespera," Abaddon thought, willing her to know him not as a fragment in her soul but as his whole being. Abaddon felt her surprise as she found a place of darkness to speak freely.
"My lord, is something wrong? Did I displease you?" Fear crept in at the unknown—he had been silent and distant so long she didn’t know he could speak within her. It scared her a little to know a divinity could be so close, but she embraced the dark and would accept this truth as well.
"Be well, child. You did nothing to spark my ire. You did as I asked and more." He felt relief flood the connection as she waited to learn why he summoned her. "Too many stand against me, and I fear if allowed to fester, they will bring rot that will poison and hinder my progress. What is being done to address this?"
She sent images through their connection—thoughts of those fleeing, trying to embrace the light, secretly dying to rot or blade when they thought themselves safe. Whether guards, whores, or servants of light, it mattered not. Anyone who openly opposed the lord was being addressed slowly, one at a time, by new converts wishing to prove their worth. This led to many taking from his soul, trying to be the next blessed by darkness.
It seemed the flow had calmed and settled into equilibrium now. He just needed to tip the scale in their favor. "What is your next step? I can be with you in soul but know not your mind unless you share."
He probably could invade his followers’ minds and know all, even corrupt their essence to his whim. But he refused that—he wanted to be better than the light, and this was how.
"Lord, we seek stability first. We’re trying to secure homes versus the streets. We’re also removing guards and knights that oppose you where we can, converting those willing otherwise. I have an agent working with the guards, and Tom is dealing with the knights. I hoped to turn the church from the inside out."
Cleverly shifting the church to his view would be ironic. He enjoyed the idea and approved, yet all this was wearing his soul thin. The influx and drain of power was exhausting, and that dream hadn’t helped.
"Do what you must. I will sleep. Inform me if you need me—if not..."
"I understand," she replied as the connection faded. He sighed in contentment—the drain was lessening, the burden on his soul easing now that things were settling and those who opposed him would be addressed.
He didn’t like being passive in these matters. He was a god and should address them as such. But looking at his hand and remembering the dream, he still carried memories of the goddess’s demands. He wanted to see how things could be different from the light’s demands, so he needed the same patience he told his followers to have. Things would happen in time.
The shadows that swirled around his form seemed to want to hold him in a loving embrace, whispering in a voice he didn’t know. For a fleeting second, he wondered who the master truly was if a voice could exist beyond his control. But he let the thought slip away like wisps of smoke. He would not doubt who he was or his power—the voice was a follower, or perhaps one desiring to be such. He would embrace them in time, but on his terms.
As he slept once more, listening to the fragments of the voice, he wondered if he would dream of a man who he once was—and of the man who he was not.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuq1ZcFhqor
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