In the distant city of Trendell, home to the religious sect The Faithful Eye, a whisper had spread like wildfire—
The Usher of Annihilation had been found.
Fear settled over the streets like an unshakable fog. Troubled times had returned.
Near the heart of the city, in a modest dwelling, an elderly priest named Father Rowland hunched over a chair, carefully sawing at one of its legs. The chair wobbled—off balance, just like the world felt now.
A knock at the door interrupted his work.
"It’s open," he called.
The door swung inward, revealing a young woman. Rhaine.
Her light brown hair framed a face hardened by duty. Unlike the flowing robes of the clergy, she wore padded armor—the mark of a soldier in the Church’s army.
"You wished to see me, Father Rowland?"
The priest nodded. "Yes. Please, have a seat. We need to talk about these troubling rumors."
As he set the chair upright, his eyes lingered on the uneven leg, measuring the gap between it and the floor.
"Could you be a dear and hand me the Scripture of Saint Vellis? It should be on the shelf beside you."
Rhaine retrieved the book and placed it on the table.
"How can I help in the search for the Usher?"
Father Rowland set his tools aside and looked at her with weary eyes.
"It seems a man named Marcus Obsidian, from one of the outlying towns, has taken the Darkness upon himself."
Rhaine’s jaw tightened.
The Usher.
"The Church has already dispatched field agents to investigate," Rowland continued. "Brother Orion Duchantte is leading the initial inquiry. However, the council has decided that you will take over the next phase."
Rowland carefully adjusted the small piece of wood, fitting it perfectly into the chair’s missing space.
Just like he hoped Rhaine would fit into this mission.
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"I am ready to do as the Church commands. I will not fail in stopping the Usher."
Rhaine’s usual duties involved guarding priests as they collected tithes in villages. Now, she finally had an assignment that truly mattered. She struggled to contain her excitement.
Father Rowland smiled. "Do you know why I asked for that book?"
Before she could respond, he continued.
"In Vellis' time, the Church was a very different entity than it is now. He believed all followers should embrace strict poverty while the Church itself amassed wealth."
Rowland leaned back in his chair. "Naturally, the common folk despised this idea and revolted. For all his righteousness, Vellis had a fatal flaw—his sweet tooth."
He chuckled. "His enemies poisoned his confections. That betrayal sparked a rebellion, and in the aftermath, the Church was forced to reform."
Rhaine remained silent, waiting for the right moment to speak. She had heard stories of Father Rowland’s long-windedness and knew she had to seize any opening she got.
"Forgive me, Father, but I fail to see the significance of this story."
Rowland laughed, rocking back slightly—almost losing his balance.
"If you are not careful, your enemies will use your weaknesses against you." His expression darkened. "Do not act recklessly. This may not seem like an exciting assignment, but it is a vital one. Promotions are coming within the Church, and we must begin selecting candidates for our future."
Rhaine opened her mouth to speak, but Rowland wasn’t finished.
"The Usher, as written in our texts, is not our primary concern. Finding the Harbinger—Tyler Langston—is our true objective. He must be stopped first. Only then can we destroy the Usher."
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"Why is that, Father?" Rhaine asked.
"If we destroy the Usher first, Tyler will simply find another to take Marcus Obsidian’s place. He will create as many Ushers as needed to bring forth Annihilation. But if we stop Tyler first, the Church believes his plans will end there."
Rowland watched her expression shift to uncertainty. "What is it, child?"
"I am honored by the mission, but I can't help wondering—why was I chosen? Others have more merit than I do."
Rowland paused, taking a deep breath before answering.
"Because you have earned a reputation for following orders without question. Unlike the older members of the Church—who are either too bitter or too consumed with their own ambitions—you are the right choice." He leaned back, studying her carefully. "Truth be told, I worry more about what happens within these walls than about you failing your mission."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Besides, when you reach my age, the only thing you truly care about is where your backside will rest."
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The hours of the day drifted by, the air noticeably warmer than it had been in Dren. The trees stood in full glory, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. As Marcus walked, a narrow path branching off from the main road caught his attention. A strange, unseen force pulled at him, compelling him to follow.
In the distance, the sound of running water reached his ears. Suddenly, an overwhelming thirst gripped him. He broke into a run, drawn toward the source. When he reached a stream, he fell to his knees and cupped handfuls of the cool, soothing water, drinking deeply. Relief washed over him, his mind momentarily at peace.
As he wiped his hands dry, his breath caught. The wedding ring was back on his little finger. He stared at it, confusion knotting his thoughts. Before he could question its return, the wind howled through the trees, tearing leaves from their branches. The sky darkened to a deep crimson, and when he looked back at the stream, the clear water had turned to flowing blood.
A chill crept up Marcus’ spine. He could feel unseen presences circling him. A whisper of movement, a breath of cold air against his skin.
"You could have been with us, Marcus."
Lorna’s voice—her sorrowful, accusing tone—echoed in his ears, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Marcus clenched his fists. "Lorna, my love… please, don’t torment me. I know what I did was wrong."
An unseen hand struck him across the face.
"We are in the afterlife, Marcus. Your failure condemns us there. Your ego condemned yourself. You were once my husband. Now, you are nothing but a shadow."
A new voice cut through the air, sharp and filled with pain.
"You left us both, Father."
Marcus froze. His breath hitched as his son, Conner, spoke.
"You let us die, and now I’m the only one left to protect Mother. You told me to be strong and brave, yet you couldn’t even live up to your own words!"
The weight of those words struck like a blade, cutting deeper than any wound.
Marcus collapsed to the ground. "Please… I am so sorry. Let me see you both one last time." His voice cracked, his vision blurred by tears.
A small hand touched his shoulder. He looked up. Across the blood-red river, his family stood together. Lorna, pale and sorrowful. Conner, standing protectively beside her.
"We are ashamed of you. The pain you feel will be forever."
The sky roared with thunder as blood-red rain began to fall.
Hands grabbed Marcus from behind, yanking him backward. He thrashed, struggling, but an invisible force plunged him face-first into the river. The weight held him under. Water—no, blood—filled his lungs.
When he finally broke free, gasping for air, he saw him.
Tyler Langston. Standing beside Marcus’ family.
Lorna and Conner were his now.
Marcus screamed.
His own voice wrenched him from sleep. He jolted awake, slashing at the empty air. The dream faded, but the horror remained.
It was only a nightmare.
One that felt far too real.
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