Tyler, disguised as Father Jordan, stood before the mirror, adjusting his robes to make sure he looked his best for the special day.
"Tyler, you little devil," he said with a grin, clearly amused with himself. "Who would’ve thought? A minion of Darkness and Chaos, now a priest. I have such grand plans for my flock."
He was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Father Jordan, the ceremony is about to begin."
Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’m not ready yet!” he barked. “Tell them I’ll be out in a moment.”
He turned back to the room and quickly gathered a few of the priest’s belongings—a Book of Scriptures, a rosary, a bottle of sacramental wine, and a container of holy water. Before stepping out, he spat into the holy water and whispered a dark incantation over the wine.
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"Those who drink of my blood are bound to my will," Tyler whispered. For a moment, a flicker of blackness pulsed over the bottle.
“What was that, Father?” a small voice asked.
Tyler took a deep breath. “Nothing! I’m coming out now,” he called.
He opened the door to find a young girl standing there. His smile spread wide. “Well, aren’t you just adorable. Run along, little one—go find Mommy and Daddy. Everyone gets to be baptized today.”
The girl, no older than seven or eight, tilted her head and looked him over with suspicion.
“You seem... strange,” she said, her tone cautious.
Tyler’s smile thinned. “And you seem like a little brat who needs to find her parents. Now shoo.” He waved her off, barely hiding his irritation.
With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he ushered the child out of the church. The audacity.
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Tyler strolled toward the waterfall, snapping his fingers with each step. With every sharp snap, the gathered crowd grew quieter, the sound mimicking the ticking of a clock. By the time he reached the water's edge, silence had fallen.
"Hello, my flock," Tyler announced, spreading his arms. "The time has arrived. We gather here today to celebrate the everlasting love of the Creator."
His eyes scanned the crowd, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I see some are still missing. How unfortunate."
With practiced reverence, he placed the Book of Scriptures on the ground and stepped into the shallow water. "I offer this moment to the lost souls among us—come forth and be cleansed, so that the fires of Hell may no longer burn within you."
Tyler almost chuckled at how convincing he sounded. He hated the role, but he had to admit—he made a damn good priest.
Lifting the container of Holy Water, he poured it into the stream. "May the Creator bless this water," he said solemnly, before casually tossing the empty bottle into the deeper part of the pool.
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"May this wine—the sacred symbol of life itself, the blood of the Creator—give life to the lifeless!" Tyler proclaimed, raising the bottle high.
With a dramatic flourish, he popped the cork loose with his teeth and spat it off to the side without a care.
"Now," he said, his voice rich with false warmth, "who will be the first to accept the Creator's blessing?"
Slowly, people began forming a line, wading into the water with quiet reverence. One by one, Tyler dipped their heads beneath the surface with a single arm. As they rose, gasping and dripping, each was handed the wine to drink.
"Please, do not worry—there is plenty for everyone!" he assured them with a beaming smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Once the baptized reached the shore, Tyler leaned in close and whispered his command:
"Go. Fetch the wayward sheep. Bring them here. All must be cleansed."
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A husband and wife stepped forward, desperation etched into their weary faces. The wife clutched her husband's arm as she spoke. "Please, Father Jordan, heal our child. He has been so sick."
The husband held the frail child close, his eyes filled with pleading hope.
Tyler smiled, radiating false warmth. "All are welcome and shall be healed by the Creator’s love," he assured them, though he already had something far more special in mind.
"But first, the parents must be cleansed," he said, gesturing for the father to hand over the child.
With only the slightest hesitation, the man obeyed, placing the small, feverish body into Tyler’s waiting arms. As the couple knelt, they submerged their heads beneath the water, emerging gasping before drinking their share of the wine.
Tyler cradled the child for a moment longer, then gently returned him to their arms. He leaned in, his voice a hushed, insidious whisper.
"Go home. Feed your child—and yourselves—to the pigs."
Their eyes lost focus, their movements eerily smooth as they turned and left without question.
Tyler watched them disappear into the crowd, a pleased smirk curling his lips.
"Death cures everything."
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The fires of Stennor lit the night sky in a haunting glow as Orion rode hard, urging his horse faster with every passing mile. He finally reined it to a stop just outside the town gates, breath fogging in the cool air.
"I still can't believe I let you talk me into this," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder.
The second rider caught up and pulled alongside him.
"That's because I told you I was coming whether you liked it or not," Melissa Shadelyn replied, brushing hair from her face. "You might know more about the Creator than I do, but you clearly don't know a thing about stopping a determined woman."
She looked toward the glowing horizon, eyes narrowing.
When word reached her that Marcus had been found, she knew she had to face him—face the fears and trauma she carried like a wound that never healed. She hadn't been able to save her sisters... but maybe, just maybe, she could save someone here.
"It looks like we beat him," she said, scanning the area beyond the gate. "Do you think the information was wrong?"
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Orion shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. "I don’t know. Come on, let’s get past the gates and find the local authorities. We need to warn them." He urged his horse forward, and Melissa followed closely behind.
They had recruited a few followers from River Hallow—no soldiers, but each one carried the same conviction that this was the right thing to do. They were lightly armed, but resolute in their purpose.
As they approached the gates of Stennor, the flickering flames of the nearby fires illuminated the darkened streets. People walked by, going about their business as if nothing was amiss.
"Everyone!" Orion called out, his voice carrying over the noise of the bustling town. "You are in great danger! Where is the town mayor? Where is the sheriff?"
The crowd ignored him, continuing to walk past with little more than a passing glance.
"Please! You have to listen!" Orion shouted again, his urgency growing.
Melissa summoned the last of her courage, her voice cutting through the night like thunder. "Death comes for you all!" The words echoed with unnatural power, reverberating through the stillness of the town.
Orion froze. The air around her shifted—thick, heavy, almost electric. He turned to her, stunned by the force behind her words.
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"We need to speak to your mayor!" Melissa shouted again, and once more, the very atmosphere seemed to pulse with her voice.
This time, the townsfolk reacted. One by one, almost entranced, they began to move—heading off to find the mayor without question.
Melissa's body swayed in her saddle. Her strength gave out, and she tumbled from the horse.
"Melissa!" Orion cried, leaping from his mount and rushing to her side. He knelt beside her, cradling her gently. "Are you okay? What was that? What did you do?"
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Melissa took a few shallow breaths, her chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. "I was able to use some of my magic," she said quietly. "It’s the first time it’s returned to me since..." Her voice trailed off, haunted.
Orion nodded slowly. "That was impressive. I’ll give you that." He turned his gaze toward the town, spotting movement up the road. A small crowd was gathering near a large, well-lit house. "That must be the mayor’s residence."
He waited for her to respond, but when he glanced back, Melissa wasn’t looking at him—her wide, horrified eyes were fixed somewhere behind him. Orion felt a chill crawl across his skin. The warmth of the air had vanished.
He followed her gaze.
There, in the distance, drifting low across the ground, was a red, swirling cloud—the Crimson Mist. And at its center stood the man Melissa feared more than death itself.
"Marcus," Orion breathed.
They hadn’t arrived too late.
They were right on time.
Which…may have been worse.
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