Secret History Scripture: First Disciple
Wars were fought over any hint that our lord could be weak. Even to whisper such words meant losing your tongue without a second thought. Yet I witnessed that day. I saw his fragility. I wept at my impotence to help… but he was there. He saved our lord where we could not. That secret shame remains mine alone…
—Second passage from the seer Nora
He sniffed the ground. Nothing.
Rot hung heavy on the wind, mixed with a fresher scent. Food? Maybe.
His gaze drifted toward distant flames. Buildings burned. Avoidance screamed in his instincts—fire meant pain.
But his stomach clenched, a hollow fist tightening. Thirst was a dull ache, managed yesterday. Hunger? A sharp, gnawing void. Days without sustenance.
Dizziness washed over him. He swayed, forced focus. Weakness invited predators. Show strength. Always.
No choice. He turned toward the smell of decay. Scavenge or starve.
The journey was a blur of exhaustion until he found the remnants of some large dwelling. Buildings? Hopefully food among the ash.
He found a scrap of flesh in the rubble. Gulped it down. A flicker of strength returned.
Then a dull pain pressed against his skull. Something was here. Something that hurt him just by existing.
A searing light pulsed in the distance. Instinct screamed: FLEE!
Yet something held him. Compelled him to look.
A shadow. Small. Desperate. Fleeing the advancing light.
A tiny puddle of darkness—some kind of slime? The light was consuming it piece by piece as he watched, stunned and unsure how to act.
Panic that wasn't his own resonated in his hollow chest.
Help it.
He looked around. Found a rock. Smooth. Heavy.
He knew weakness. Knew despair. This shadow... it felt like him. A desperate desire bloomed within him: to be needed. To help something else for once.
The light's presence pressed on him constantly. His breath shortened. Mind fogged. Nausea churned his meager meal.
He focused on the light's heart—a blinding core. Aimed. Threw.
Vomit surged. He retched, empty, onto the blighted earth.
Not worth it. Flee.
But he looked back. The shadow seemed to acknowledge him. Not with fear—with hope.
The goblin gritted his teeth. Found another rock. Aimed through the haze of sickness.
Thud.
The light-core rocked. Shifted. Just enough.
The shadow relaxed, still retreating but no longer actively consumed.
He threw dirt. Useless—the light absorbed it, purified it.
More rocks. Missed. Hit. Pushed the crystal further back.
Nausea won. Darkness took him.
He awoke to agony.
Fire. His left arm.
The light seemed to have crept closer while he was unconscious, searing his flesh black. He scrambled back, weak, whimpering.
The shadow was nearby, still shrinking, still fleeing. He dragged himself closer and collapsed beside it.
A broken laugh escaped him. Look at them—weak, dying, this relentless light poisoning their very existence just by being near.
He wanted to weep. Why couldn't he just live? Find food? Rest?
He studied the shadow-slime he'd helped. Tried offering the food scrap.
It showed no interest. Was it even alive? A slime? Would it eat him?
If it tried... would I even care to stop it?
He was nothing. Meager. Like his offering. He wobbled, then knelt before the shadow.
Exhaustion deeper than bone claimed him. Tired of fighting. Hunting. Trying to survive alone.
This shadow... his last, desperate hope for connection.
He bowed his head. Not asking—more praying, letting it choose him as friend or offering.
Set me free. Even if it means devouring me. Just let it end. Let me be part of something. I don't want to be alone anymore.
=====
Emerging from the abyss was chaos.
The light—once familiar?—now seared his essence. He tried to crawl away, formless and burning.
For every inch gained, the light seemed to match it. A slow, certain defeat.
Then respite. A dulling of the searing pain.
A giant loomed above him! Panic surged. He tried to scramble back, yet that led to the light, so he was stuck. When he focused to think or move, everything felt wrong. He was unmade. Yet somehow more.
His perspective shifted when he focused on the “giant,” before him, unable to get away, which now he knew was a small goblin? And was throwing rocks at the light chasing him.
The goblin was fighting the light. For him?
Awe stilled his panicked mind. He watched, wishing to bear witness to the battle of a monster vs. a light that ate at him.
The goblin fought valiantly, futilely. Fell unconscious. The light seemed to have crept closer to them both. Or maybe its glow just grew with time? He was unsure and had nothing to base it on beyond the burn.
He watched the goblin's arm begin to sear and flake into ash near the crystal's glow. He didn't want to see this creature that tried to save him die.
MOVE.
His will lashed out.
The goblin stirred. Weak. Broken. But alive, trying to crawl away. The ash-fall continued on its ruined limb—the light's poison within it, consuming its existence.
NO. HEAL.
Defiance roared through his formless core. This creature gave flesh for him. Believed in him. He would not let the light take it so freely as it tried to do to him.
The goblin screamed—shocked agony—as it tried to use the charred arm and realized it was gone. But the light no longer had as strong a hold. The goblin was further from the crystal now, though its radiance seemed to advance slowly.
The goblin awoke again after some time. After a moment of confusion, it looked at him. Reached out... then flinched back, fearing his touch might burn like the light.
It stumbled away.
Abandonment? He couldn't blame the goblin. What did he offer besides darkness? And he was a puddle at that. Was he always this?
His focus snapped back to the approaching light. Memories surfaced: faith, devotion... instantly drowned by searing agony of betrayal.
Why follow something that destroys you the moment you falter?
I will be better. Choice. Not blind annihilation.
A scrape. A shuffle.
The goblin returned.
It placed a meager scrap of flesh near him. Pitiful offering. The creature was broken, dying... yet giving its last shred of sustenance.
To him.
Profound tenderness washed over him. You give everything. I will not betray you like the Light betrayed me. I may lack memories of who I am, but you will be the first I acknowledge.
The goblin saw he didn't take the flesh. Resignation settled on its features. It lay down beside him, offering itself—to him? To the light? Or just wanting an end. He wasn't sure.
But he knew the light's edge crept ever closer. In time, they would both be ash.
He was formless. A puddle of shadow. What could he really do? He could sense the goblin's fading life-force pulsing beside him—a frail ember dying slowly.
Maybe he could merge with the goblin. Maybe together they could be more than the sum of their broken parts.
He flowed toward the stump where the goblin's arm had been. Not to consume—to preserve.
He embraced the fading spark. Merged with it. Felt its fragility, its despair, its final desperate longing for something more than mere survival.
His will solidified, a vow etched with newborn divinity:
You are my first. My will is yours. We rise together, my First Disciple.
He wrapped the goblin's soul deep within his essence. Not consumption—unity. He became part of it. It became part of him. Yet both remained whole.
Within the goblin's healed soul, he felt the warmth of its gentle flame, and he slept.
======
Hunger vanished. Confusion dissolved. Pain was a forgotten dream.
He felt free. Truly free for the first time in his wretched existence. No fear. No gnawing void. Only clarity. Beauty.
He wept.
He could think—not with the desperate cunning of a scavenger, but with purpose. He knew God. Knew God's truth. Not the betraying Light, but the loving Dark. The healing Dark that chose to preserve rather than purify.
He looked at the vile light, still seeming to creep closer. Still a threat. He stood.
Two arms. Whole. Strong. His skin—smooth, obsidian black. He couldn't recall its color before. It didn't matter.
Whispers filled his mind. Knowledge. Power. Ecstasy.
God had chosen him. First Disciple of Abaddon.
He knew his purpose now. God needed protection. A guardian. Before any kingdom could rise, the Lord must be safe from those who would see him destroyed.
He turned his back on the advancing light and walked into the broken land. He wished he could purge that crystal even now, but they weren't ready for such battles yet.
In time, maybe. But for now, he had another task.
His Lord needed time. And power before he was found.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIdNvaYB2gs
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