The sweetest poison upon your lips
Let me beg for your mercy as flames consume my home.
Let me seek redemption while you condemn my very soul.
Let me serve at your blessed command.
Drink deep of my offering, for my revenge is a poisoned wine that will kill you slowly so you know you were wrong.
—Lost to time, thoughts from Vespera, serving wine to the bishop
The smell of ash still hung heavy in the air even a week after the fire. Morale was at a new low as they were forced to form an uneasy alliance with the church—offering Vespera to submit to whatever his will was in judgment, and she would force others to follow his command.
It broke what little happiness people had found, knowing their hope was fleeting and so easy to lose. What little they'd gained was too easy to watch burn to ash.
Yet Vespera did not share their despair. No, she had hope. She knew what they did not—a reckoning was coming, and she would be the deliverer.
"Don't know why you have to submit to the Light's shit. I thought we escaped that," Terra asked, long since losing her tears. She wept—I was surprised to see her cry the most out of all of us. She'd been beaten, used, covered in rot in the past and laughed it all off. But learning kids and innocent women died? She was the one who wept the most. Today was the first time she'd sworn since that night of flame, too deep in mourning. Even now, I felt she was saying it more out of habit than desire to swear.
"Trust Ves. She has a plan. She's led us this far," Jane defended, watching the crowd gather. It seemed all but the upper class attended—the slums wanting to witness her fall and what would be their place in this new order.
They all remembered when the church was in the middle class versus the slums. I'd heard the tales from when the thieves still ruled, before Abaddon offered them a choice—which they made. The rumor was they'd killed the old bishop for taking too much in donations and not wanting to pay for their protection. They ignored the slums—not worth the effort hunting the bottom when you had a strong grasp on the middle class with money.
So maybe that was the bishop's goal—rise in power by showing he could control us. Rumors said he'd spun it that the Light helped him get rid of the thieves, so it was plausible. But she wasn't going to let it stay that way. No, a change was coming.
Raised voices surprised her—she'd zoned out from the bickering between Terra and Jane, so lost in her own thoughts. But she'd heard it often enough it tended to be background noise.
Only Serra was not here. She was with Bobby, the guard captain, setting up an event that would unfold later. Few knew, as she needed it to be a surprise and shock to almost all.
She trusted Jane and Terra too, but hadn't had time to get them on the same page while they were in mourning. And if too many knew, it might draw eyes too soon, so it was kept hidden mostly for now.
Vespera scoured the crowd. They were gathered near the church. Whatever rare light power he had was gone—the crystals he'd used, they'd managed to gather, went dull and shattered. To break his power, unless he somehow had more and was playing coy about using them, she was afraid they would kill them and ruin her plan. No.
She knew even if he had a hundred more, he wanted a show of power and needed people to believe he was ruling them with fear versus killing in the goddess's name. Otherwise, the people would fear they were next and he'd rule nothing. He needed the submission, and she would give him the gift he sought while sharing one of her own.
She saw him near the hastily built platform, scowling it was not grander, but also simmering as if he hated the idea they had anything of worth—even the object that would lead to their fall.
She wanted to spit in the distance to show him her disdain, but that would reveal a truth when she was supposed to be hiding shame. So she bowed her head and forced the tears. It did not take much to convince them to fall—there was real pain, just not from shame like they would believe.
The guards nearby saw her and knew they would have to guide her to the bishop. They wanted nothing to do with him, but all they knew was the fall, and this was for the best as they confronted her.
"Sorry, Ves. If we could help, we would. I got to search you..." She saw the shame on his face as he looked for a hidden blade or other threat on her body.
She wanted to smile, knowing they would never find the true poison. They would end this, as it was within and mixed with her darkness. The Light protected them for now, but when he ingested it? The Light wouldn't be able to protect him. No—worse, the Light would prove its neglect and allow it.
The whispers from the crowd—none beyond the slums cared about her fate, but still wanted to hear how it would end for their own—watched her passively as she went to the top of the platform. A chair and small altar were all that was there, except on the altar was a cup and wine, and in the chair now sat a smug bishop wanting to scream and shout to all he'd won, as if a child won a game for fun and not a sociopath killing innocent lives.
She was led near him and gently forced to kneel to the side. She would have to wait for the bishop's speech and proof of why they were all here before he would listen to her side. Depending on how she pleaded, he would offer mercy or condemn them all to a worse fate than a few burned houses and lives lost.
The bishop rose. His robe was pure white save for the inlay of gold mixed in patterns. He looked full of joy as he gazed at all who came to see his rise to power, to witness her change for all to hear his speech of greatness as he decided their fate.
"PEOPLE!" he started, but waited. A sea of voices hushed everywhere. When that one word was spoken, you could hear a rat scattering even from here.
"I TAKE NO PLEASURE DOING THE GODDESS'S WORK, BUT IT MUST BE DONE." He watched them all stare, smiling, knowing he had all attention.
"THE LIGHT'S WRATH JUDGED THE UNWORTHY—HENCE THE FLAME OF HER WRATH. BUT... SHE CAN SHOW MERCY."
Your mercy is lies. You burned them and fled like a coward even as your own men fed the light, stopping us from saving everyone.
"I WILL BE MOVING THE CHURCH FROM THE SLUMS ONCE CONTROL IS SECURE AND I'M DONE."
A wave of gossip formed at that. I already knew his plan. The thieves ran them out of the middle class due to money—now the thieves were gone? The money could flow to him along with new faithful.
"YET..." He waited for the voices to calm once more. "YET I FEAR THE LEADER OF WHORES AND SLUMS STILL IS HERE, AND I CANNOT LEAVE IT BE..."
He looked saddened, as if he was denied saving them all.
"HOWEVER..."
He paused, building tension and playing his part. He'd already told me long before I knelt here—let him control me and the slums pay tribute, and he would let us rot in peace while he pretended to care and control us. While in the middle class, nobody would come here to care or prove him wrong that we weren't behaving. And even if they did? Well, rot can only be contained unless it's all purged, and it always comes back. So they'd allow leeway.
"IF THE HARLOT QUEEN SWEARS SHE HAS CHANGED AND BEGS MY MERCY, THE LIGHT MAY GRANT IT. FOR I SPEAK FOR THE GODDESS, AND SHE ALLOWS ME TO CHOOSE WHO AMONG YOU IS WORTHY OF FORGIVENESS... OR JUDGMENT."
She knew her part, and this was the time he wanted her to play it up. So swallowing what little pride she'd found with her hope, she begged like the slums had made her.
"Please show me mercy. We are not what we were. We ask for mercy and a chance at redemption."
The bishop smiled, happy it was going so well. Boldly and loudly, he spoke for all to hear: "THE WHORE IS TOO HUMBLE. SHE SHOULD SPEAK MORE LOUDLY FOR ALL TO HEAR HER LIES."
She was worried this was going off script, and she didn't want this to turn into an open bloody war. She wanted it to be a slow suffering. He saw her panic and relished in it, knowing he had all the power.
"FILTH CANNOT KNOW ITS LIES. IT IS WHY IT IS FOR ME TO DECIDE THE TRUTH—IF SHE IS WORTHY OF MERCY, AND WHY IT IS FOR ME ALONE TO SAY WHO AMONG YOU WILL KNOW PEACE AND FORGIVENESS WHEN WE REBUILD THE CHURCH IN THE MIDDLE CLASS."
Aha, it makes sense now. He's just trying to sell his power as absolute—that he has final say, lest we assume we have a choice. And by doing it openly, he's trying to ruin any chance I can secretly build resistance. Clever.
"I CANNOT SAY I SHOW MERCY IF I CANNOT FORGIVE THE GREATEST SINNER AND FILTH AMONG YOU. THEREFORE, AS PROOF I'M BETTER AND WORTHY OF GIVING YOU ALL SALVATION, I WILL ALLOW HER TO OFFER ME A CUP OF WINE—PROOF OF MY TRUST AND PROOF OF HER DEVOTION."
They watched as I kept my head low, slowly crept to the wine, and poured. Gently shifting a finger into the wine as it poured, I slipped essence of our dark lord into the wine, which he would hopefully drink and set in motion the true plan and change.
The drain pulling from her made her stumble, and she feared spilling the wine. A collective gasp from the crowd showed it did not go unnoticed, and she panicked as she steadied herself. She did not know pulling essence from herself would drain her, and now knew why it was a burden and cost to her lord when his gift was greater. She risked looking up, seeing the bishop scowl—his great stage and plan was almost ruined. But he quickly recovered and wove this misstep from her into his narrative.
"PROOF MY JUDGMENT EXTENDS TO HER EVEN NOW! SEE HOW SHE STUMBLES FROM THE WEIGHT OF MY MERCY?"
She nodded quickly, trying to sell that she agreed and was desperate to have his mercy. She slowly brought him the cup and knelt before him, and she could swear even beyond his smile she saw his disdain. He soon proved her right.
"If I could, I would see you all rot as the trash you are," the bishop said carefully, glancing around to ensure none overheard as he spoke in near a whisper, taking the cup from me. "You're just... a whore." A final bite once he knew none could hear before he raised the cup high for all to see and drank deeply. And my smile bloomed, knowing he'd sealed his fate.
I rose, the meek self gone—a straight back facing the bishop where he sat. Fire raged within the bishop's eyes, now clearly seen by all who looked upon him. Yet it mostly went unnoticed with the whispers of gossip, unaware of the changes to take place, too absorbed in their own fates. Until I spoke loud and clear, letting all know the true change that took place here for all.
"THE BISHOP IS A LIAR AND MURDERER OF INNOCENTS WHO DO NOT BOW OR FEAR HIM." Watching his face pale at the open defiance was a joy I will forever remember, and my only regret will be not personally witnessing his fall as I went on. "THE LIGHT GODDESS DOES NOT CARE AND WILL WATCH HIM ROT AS SHE WILL FOR YOU ALL. ABADDON, A NEW GOD, EXISTS AND OFFERS MERCY TO THOSE THAT KNEEL. THE REST MADE THEIR CHOICE AND WILL SHARE THE BISHOP'S FATE."
A choice that used to be more fair and open, but that choice was taken away by their indifference. Proof was their lack of outrage that anyone died in the slums, or that the church was not helping the meek, nor was anyone else rushing to donate to help them. But the church coffers sure grew fat from their free coins.
We would let them see what that money bought them when we gave a choice of follow or else. We would listen and go from there. It was, after all, still a choice.
She fled the platform while the confusion still hung in the air. The guards and knights, while stunned, were not completely unaware and still made their choice—looking away, pushing the crowd back as if stopping a riot from breaking out here when it was mostly people in panic, wondering what to do from there.
Her role was done—delivering the poison. Now it was her lord's scene with the rest of the people to push things. Maybe she'd be needed later, but for now she would be unseen.
Phase One, Day One - Judgment in the Streets
A few wise, knowing a riot was breaking out and that it could extend to the top, chose to flee the city. Since they were not as situated as the rich, unaware of the events taking place, when they fled to the gate they were met with an odd sight—slum girls? And guards? Maybe they had the same idea and were fleeing, but they made no move to leave and seemed to be blocking the path.
One in the crowd also fleeing spoke up: "MOVE YOUR ASS, WE'RE LEAVING!" He tried pushing past but was shoved back with indifference, causing all others to pause, unsure what was playing out. As the man fumbled back and recovered: "THE HELL YOU STOPPING ME FOR? LET US LEAVE!"
The goal of the mob was to risk getting to the sea, woods, or even dwarf lands—depending on the whims of the crowd who knew better and where the gold they did have could take them. They knew trades existed but had never needed to bother following where they led. There was even a garrison out there they could flee to. They had options—they just needed to pass this impasse with unknown desires from those blocking them.
"Since you're fleeing like rats, it means you heard the truth. Abaddon is real and is giving you a choice: bow or die with the Light. Mercy was given and will not be shown twice." The crowd watched a man dressed like a guard but standing next to what clearly was lower-class slum folk—an odd contrast for them. But the finality they saw in the eyes of those blocking their path spoke volumes.
It seemed the mob was getting more enraged and willing to chance fighting, yet a few did hesitate. They remembered the time with the thieves when offered the same choice and what came after to those that did not accept. So they knelt and lowered their heads.
Worst case, the mob won and they got mocked and shamed. But best case, if they were not wrong?
The screams that followed soon showed they'd made the right choice. Blood splattered and started to flow in the streets as people shrieked and started to flee, only for more guards and slum people to come from nowhere.
The mob was surrounded, and it seemed they randomly struck, killing people over and over with nothing but their hands. It was madness—a fist could strike their flesh, but looking closer it was claws upon those hands. And more madness followed, for those that were killed turned to puddles of darkness, consuming all that was still and making pools of shadow.
As fast as it started, it soon ended. Those remaining were covered in their own filth from fear, wondering why they did not meet the same fate.
"You chose to kneel, so you were spared. But you still need to make a choice. We will not force it, but know it is yours to make." They were not sure as the crowd looked among those left, each hoping the other knew.
"Drink the puddle and embrace the dark lord, or join those that fight—a choice, but yours to make."
Someone called out to the goddess for salvation, swearing they would not betray the Light. A woman from the slums—cold, indifferent—slowly spoke: "The Light let my son die to the rot, so you can too." As her hand turned to liquid and slammed into the praying woman's mouth, making her skin boil and fester, bleeding darkness as she slowly joined the puddle of shadow.
None spoke after that. A few sprayed bile from the sight of it all, but still drank the dark after that and embraced the change. They seemed to calm, as if at peace. And finally, there were none left after that wishing to flee. They joined the others waiting at the gate as the next wave—unaware of what transpired before them—was now rushing the gate. The scene would repeat, each wave unaware.
Yet no matter where they went within the city, judgment had come, and this was only the start.27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgWVT1dBh2f
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