Secret History Scripture: The First Mention of Our Lord
Scholars frequently debate the beginning—whether our Lord was always among us, or if there was a moment of becoming, a divine birth shrouded in unknowable truth. Despite the chaos of my screams and the wounds I carved upon myself, I saw it. I shaped it. On that day, I was part of something not meant for mortal eyes. Was my sight a curse or a gift that transcended itself—to be part of his birth? Would the world have changed had I turned away, left the mystery untouched, and let Him remain unseen? Unshaped? Would our Lord still have come to be? It does not matter now. We are here. And so is our Lord Abaddon.
—First passage from the seer Nora
"Disgusting," Luan sneered.
The vast field of death assaulted his senses—the smell, the taste—all vile. He hated every minute walking this ruined earth.
Focus. Kill, don't sightsee.
He scanned the ash-strewn ruins of the garrison he'd been summoned to save. This town had stood less than a week ago. Now? Utter desolation. The warmth of recent destruction still hung heavy in the rot-choked air.
They died a day too soon. Maybe it was unfair, but this is life. He let himself slip for only a moment; he was beyond this.
Fools. They knew what lurked here. They should have been prepared, not just hoped I'd save them.
Movement.
His gaze snapped to a beast among the corpses. Not hiding. Not fleeing. Just kneeling.
To the right, near three charred buildings, it hunched beside a massive mound of stacked bodies.
Stockpiling food. Typical. Not only do they kill without care, they nest among the dead.
The sight of such a beast was known to him—ambush type—but its posture was bowing. Praying.
A cold fury ignited. Beasts had no gods. Only the Light goddess existed.
The Light goddess has no mercy for monsters who slaughtered entire garrisons and piled corpses like rotting firewood.
He studied the vile thing more closely. It bathed itself in dead flesh. Dozens of yards away, yet he now heard its voice. Not mindless grunts eating flesh, but something closer to a prayer matching its kneeling form?
Speech? How? Also praying?
That was absurd—the only thing giving him pause, as it was too much to process in a sea of death he wished to ignore, only to find the killer praying forlornly.
"She saw you! She saw you! So why are you not with us?" The beast wept, claws scraping over cooling skin, pleading to the ash-filled air.
Madness. Pure, damn sickening madness.
He rushed. A clean strike. The head rolled.
The beast hadn't even flinched.
He stared at the scarred, blind eyes that stared back.
How did this blind thing kill them all?
No. There's more here.
"He just wanted to be loved."
A velvet voice, thick with genuine sorrow, whispered behind his ear. "He came so far just to pray to something that wasn't here yet."
Luan exploded backward, sword arcing in a deadly spin to end the threat before it could win.
Nothing.
"You strike unprovoked yet call us monsters," the voice mused, seeming to come from the very air.
His eyes scanned the ruins. Ash. Ruin. Then—
The mound of corpses shifted.
Not a pile. A shell.
The mound of corpses convulsed. A colossal slug, a tapestry of woven rot and pulsating dead flesh, unfurled itself. He had seen this before, born from the rot—a new type of beast, typical. This must have been what damned them; they're a spore type with poison. But can talk?
Since when?
"You noticed? Smart boy, not like them," the voice chorused, gleeful now. "We just came to bear witness to our Lord, and you killed my friend."
The mound heaved, the colossal rot slug making it move, woven from rot and dead flesh seeping into its skin, slid forward. Tentacles pulled it across the ash.
He lunged, a blur of light, ending this farce before the beast could hurt anyone again. The damage here was done, but he could save other future men.
It turned, serpent-fast for a giant moving blob, avoiding the strike. Bodies adorning its mass seemed to sing in grotesque chorus: "I watched them! They screamed!"
He feinted, slashed. Blade bit flesh—not the core, but a writhing tentacle.
A shriek tore from a dozen mouths. Vile fluid sprayed. He dodged, severed the spewing limbs.
It was not the flesh that spoke but mouths on the vines? Madness either way, and I need to end this.
Panic radiated from the slug. Why doesn't he scream? Why doesn't he rot?
It tried to flee, desperate. This was to be their sanctuary! Their offering ground for their god! Why won't he scream?
He pressed, relentless. Blade a silver streak against the writhing darkness.
A mockery. A perversion of the Light's mercy. Their speech meant nothing when they kill those trying to live within the Light's mercy.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
Screams faded. The monstrous bulk slowed, bleeding dark ichor onto the ash.
Silence.
Relief warred with his disgust. Another purification. Another grim victory. And more deaths, a sea of innocent deaths this time, no less.
They knew the risks, coming this deep. His duty was clear. And he even had a hand in it, pulling back the knights, but in the end, someone always dies, it seems.
He opened the pouch. Withdrew the crystal—pure, radiant, the Goddess's touch made solid.
He tossed it onto the slug's decaying mass. For better or worse, it ends here; the light will make pure all the taint.
Light erupted.
Rot hissed, turned to acrid black smoke where the crystal touched. Ash vanished. Beneath, pure dirt emerged. Then—green. Tender grass sprouted, pushing back the blight.
The Light reclaimed its own. Avenged. Purified.
He almost breathed deep, then stopped. Rot slug spores still hung thick beyond the crystal's glow. He felt it more than saw it; not that he need fear such things with the Light's blessing, but that's how they died, and he need not share their fate.
Don't be a fool like them. Fire could have saved them easily versus one slug, no matter how large. Maybe blind panic overwhelmed them.
He coughed. Odd.
A metallic tang filled his mouth. Blood. Black blood, welling on his lips.
Impossible. The crystal protects. It never has not healed him before. Was the poison that strong? It now made sense if that's why the people died.
He stumbled back toward the purified circle. Healing warmth should flood him.
More blood dripped from his nose. It sizzled where it hit the purified earth, turning instantly to ash.
What?
He touched his face. Black blood coated his fingers. Burning.
Agony stabbed his heart. He coughed violently, spraying black ash-blood.
He collapsed to his knees in the center of the Light's embrace.
Heal me! Why? Goddess, your embrace.
Pain. Unimaginable pain.
A sound like shattering glass.
He looked down. His hand was raining. His fingers dissolved, dropping away like warm, dark raindrops.
Everywhere the flesh touched the purified earth, it burned. The Light cleansed it—him.
No. Goddess, no! What madness is this?
He tried to move. To scream. To understand why his own goddess would—
A final, silent crack spiderwebbed through him.
He shattered.
Fell like black hail onto the grass.
Burned.
"But I was spreading your light!" The thought screamed through the dissolving agony. "I always... I always served..."
Darkness swallowed the shards of his being.
And freed him from the pain.
Voices. Chaotic. Loving. Praying. Blessing.
"You are our hope. Embrace our love, O Lord."
Meaningless noise. He sank deeper into the calm dark, seeking peace from it all—no pain, no deaths, no monsters, just…
Comfort. Freedom.
He reached instinctively for the Light he always held and embraced, for the Goddess's will—her desire had always guided him.
Memories shattered: Indifferent light burning them to ash.
He recoiled.
The Light hurts. It rejects.
The Darkness embraces.
It soothed his shattered soul, mended the burning wounds the Light had torn. A shift that made no sense, but in his broken state, he found peace in the nothing of the abyss.
A voice, clearer than the others, feminine and calm, pierced the void: "I wanted to see you, Lord, not this."
Confusion. "Who are you?"
Silence—gentle laughter echoed before it seemed to fade. "No, he's not speaking to me yet…" the voice said oddly before going on. "You need only ask, Lord, and it will be done."
"As to your question… I am just one who wished to bear witness to your birth."
"You're fragile, so close to breaking, so unlike the stories, it seems."
More silence before the voice returned, concern bleeding into its speech.
"It makes no sense… But I'm trying to help your mind find its way."
"From what little I've seen, the Light only knows how to purify or destroy darkness, but you, our Lord, walked a different path. Not all that walk among the dark are mindless."
"It seems that was how you were birthed this day."
Riddles. "What happened to me?" he demanded, seeking clarity.
"Forgive me; that was cruel, Lord." Sincerity bled into the voice. "Chaos birthed your creation; therefore, chaos shapes you and causes confusion."
A brief pause.
"Maybe that's why we even have this connection—you transcended it all and knew my intervention. You even named me, after all."
The voice grew quiet. Was it his mind that caused these pauses? Or merely the distance in this muddled state? He was unsure as the voice spoke on once more.
"The Goddess saw only the corruption, not the intent. She mistook your final act of devotion for an abandonment of the Light. Proof that the Light is blind and indifferent to others' will. That is why we needed you, Lord. Now and forevermore."
"It's why… impossible as it may be, I'm trying to guide your mind back from a vision I'm witnessing and alter what has already come to be. The Light shattered you, trying to deny your birth; we always embraced it."
A pause in the sea of the void. He was unsure if she was even still there.
"Your birth is muddled, even to my sight. I fear I may be too late. I cannot reach you beyond my voice. Or if any of this is real to me."
Another brief pause before the voice, sadder, went on.
"We—I assumed you were already born. You were always with us, from what I remember, but that can't be…"
He sensed her weeping. He pushed his will outward—a desperate, formless effort.
Vision pierced the void: a figure, wearing a simple robe. An elf? A drow? He'd never cared for other races before, only the hunt.
The hunt? Why would he hunt those who would worship… me?
He saw the figure—a woman—clawing at her flesh, losing herself to madness before collapsing, breathing ragged. Exhausted. She'd strained herself reaching for him.
He felt obligation. Reward for service.
He willed power he didn't understand toward her.
Shadows danced over her form. She shivered, sighed in profound relief, and fell still. Asleep.
Their connection faded.
The feeling of nothingness dissolved. A new light—cold, profound, undeniable—ignited within the abyss of his being.
He saw the world anew.
Rejected by Light. Reborn in Darkness. A name whispered in his mind.
Abaddon.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHLSTulQbgj
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