//------------------------------// // Chapter XIII - Sacred and Profane Part II // Story: Oh Dearest Father of Mine... // by ExaltedFiction //------------------------------// In a dark room where the light dared not invoke its presence, three winged quadrupeds remained suspended off the ground by chains of unknown origin. And as if they weren’t strange enough, the ends of these metallic interlocking links were seemingly connected or pinned or held up by… nothing… and yet, they displayed no issue of stringing these creatures up. There were three states of wakefulness that claimed these mercenaries: the first was fully awake and delusional. The second was fully unconscious as he had been for who knows how long. And the third was coming to his senses; groaning as he stirred awake from the first one's ongoing delusional rambling. “We’re going to die, we’re going to die, we’re going to die. But I can’t die here, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” The third cracked his eyes open, immediately like his head and body was pelted endlessly with rocks and stones. But even as they were opened, he saw as much as he did with his eyes closed. He saw and was enveloped by the very definition of darkness. His eyes couldn’t even begin to perceive anything around or in front of him, even if they were breathing down his neck. Soon, as he became fully aware, his head snapped to his right, hearing someone familiar rambling, “Psst, hey!” He called out, in the tone of a slightly louder whisper, “Kid, is that you?” He got no direct response, but the familiar never ending incoherent whispering he had heard when they found him left a good chance that it was him. “We’re doomed, we’re doomed, doomed, doomed, doomed. There’s no getting out of this… we’re dead… we’re dead griffons walking.” “Snap out of it, Kid. Speak sense or not at all!” The sane griffon demanded, causing some rattling and jingling as he attempted a lunge in the direction of the voice. “No, no. You’re not listening, it's a pasture, get it!? This whole thing, Is. One. Big. Cage. Don’t you understand!? We’re going to be rounded up like sheep, like lambs to the slaughter. A-and they’re the wolves. Here to BURN, KILL, AND MAIM US ALL!” The Kid took a breath after bellowing his words out before continuing, although with a softer voice. “This is it for us… The end…” If circumstances were different and if his memory was wiped clean of that distressing image outside that structure, there was no doubt that he would claim that the Kid was beyond saving and simply deserves a mercy killing… but it wasn’t… and the kick it delivered to his beak immediately dismisses it as being false. Before any more disturbing thoughts could be conjured within, the sound of a door opening with moaning and creaking hinges echoed all around. With the sounds of the opening door, some manner of purple light burned away the darkness, allowing eyes to see once again. With light now illuminating the area, the sane griffon saw that he was in a stone room, one that contained empty racks for barrels filled with wine or mead, and a staircase on the other side of the room (from him) to collect said barrels. Soon after the door opened, a series of footsteps alongside something metal meeting stone held the tongues and the sobbing of the strung up mercenaries. The two who were awake swallowed whatever bravery they had left as those chilling sounds grew louder and louder alongside a voice that invoked dread and discomfort in their souls. “What makes you believe one of them will serve us well? Their deaths will serve us just fine.” One griffon weakly whimpered while the other waited in horrid silence in the presence of a hauntingly beautiful song. “Is that so? … A sound recommendation, should he prove to be cooperative.” Soon enough, their eyes laid sight upon a flaming ball hovering beside that… ape; a flat faced, well-built, bipedal being that carried a staff bearing religious or symbolic iconography, and a chained up book, a book probably carried more wisdom and knowledge than you would be willing to withhold. As his boots felt the last of the stairs, he turned to look at the mercenaries with cold glares and death stares; eyes that would be as dull and lifeless as lead were it not for their glowing effect. Was he contemplating on how he would kill them? Was he thinking about how painful or merciful it would be? One shudders to imagine what inhuman and monstrous thoughts lie behind that skull of his, and they would have the honour of finding out. With fluid movements, the creature took a number of steps to the midpoint of the room, before planting his staff down, releasing it to cross his arms soon after. “Which one?” He asked, after his eyes turned to the floating orb. His disinterest in the conscious griffons spiked as humming filled the room, his entire body turning towards the sole griffon who remained unconscious, unaware of all that was occurring around him. As Apollyon began his approach, the griffon in the middle screamed and yelled to get his attention, fearing what the ape would do to his comrade. Unfortunately, he failed spectacularly, for Apollyon paid no mind and snapped his fingers. Given the go-ahead, the staff sparked to life, filling the room with energies of unknown origins and capabilities. With an aura already manifesting from thin air around the book, ghastly purple tendrils reached out to them, creeping and slithering in a snake-like pattern towards them. Despite what was approaching him, he made a quick shift of his head to his right, making every struggle to wrap his talons around the flat-faced freaks throat. But with every attempted struggle or pictured strangulation upon the creature, the chains tightened their squeeze, restricting blood flow, scraping off their layered feathers and cutting into their exposed light pink skin. The mercenary cried out his pains to the heavens above and beyond, such primal cries dared to shake the foundation of the manor and crack its stained-glass windows. The man crossed his arms as he stood in front of the unconscious griffon, simply waiting for the obnoxious screeching to cease so that he may continue in a more tolerable environment. Not keeping him waiting any longer, the staff’s tendrils lunged into different locations of the griffon’s form. One for each of his eyes, two for the temples of his skull, and three for his heart. His primal screams that deafened all were silenced slowly, being reduced to nought in but a few short moments. His beak remained opened, as if he were still screaming to his Gods. And the movements of his possessed body became erratic, quick twitches, sudden struggles and reactions to things that may or may not have existed. The Kid was spared of the torture, at least physically, with eyes closed he turned his head and most of his body away, unable to bear the sight of the scene. As the screams ceased, leaving nothing but fast-paced breathing and soft whimpers being uttered by the Kid, but not for much longer. After moments passed, the Mantle’s tendrils departed from its victim, leaving his suspended body almost lifeless, now seeking paths to its new victim. The Kid tried to ball himself up and edge himself to the darkest corner of the room. Eyes closed, they began to elicit tears as regret and fear consumed him with a phrase constantly repeating to himself. “Please let this be a nightmare, please let this be a nightmare, please let this be a nightmare, nightmare, nightmare, nightmare…” Came his shaky whispers, “Wake up, wake up, wake up. Home, home, I just want to go home…” As the rambling continued, a series of voices echoed from the Mantle. Ones he could only perceive as demonic in nature. Unintelligible, garbled, dark… It was mixed with the horrid screams ranging from children, females, and males alike. “Leave me!” The Kid cried, weeping as closely as he could to the wall, “P-please leave me alone!” After hearing some sort of disgruntled shouts, the chains pulled back even more, forcing the Kid to face the tendrils against his will. But even then, he refused to look at them. To acknowledge their existence. Preferring to keep his pair shut to preserve his mind lest he succumb to absolute madness. Unfortunately for him, the Mantle would not grant him such a luxury, even if he were to retreat into his own mental fortress he built for himself. Soon, the Kid heard voices, whispers, and laughter. It was somewhat quiet at first, but it quickly grew louder with every second, and sinister with every other. The tendrils reared up like snakes readying to strike as several prayers dedicated to heretical Gods left the beak of the griffon. But just as he managed to get a sentence in, they struck, leaving the Kid in the same state as the individual before. Apollyon watched with little care or concern as the Kid endured the same torture as the first griffon. Disinterested, he dusted off his shoulders, and waved over his accompanying wisp, “Come now, my friend. Let’s see if he will serve our interests. Staring down at the griffon, the wisp released a series of sweet chimes, prompting the man to speak. “Yes. Bring him into the waking world.” It nodded with its whole corporeal form and obeyed, hovering beside one of his ears and unleashing a discordant tune that shocked him to life. “AHH!” He screamed, panting heavily with a rushing heart. Like the others during their awakening, he suffered from indistinct vision and lack of familiarity with his surroundings, “W-where am I?” Just managing to make out a blurred figure, he leaned forward and blindly called out to it, “C-captain? Kid? Is… is that you?” After a vain attempt to reach out to the figure, he glanced at his talons, only realising they were wrapped by metallic links as his sight adjusted to his surroundings. Panicking, he yanked hard on his restraints, compelling his bounds to place harsher pressure on his limbs, leading him to cry out even more. “Keep resisting, and you won’t be able to walk ever again.” Apollyon said, getting the griffon’s full attention. “An ape?!” He yelled, appearing shocked, “W-who are you?!” “It doesn’t matter who we are, savage. What matters is our plan. A plan in which you will serve and take part in.” Looking straight up at Apollyon, he sent a projectile of saliva to his face. But thanks to Regana, it never reached him, for it evaporated and turned to steam upon touching her once she had placed herself between the two. “Never! I would rather die than serve some lowly groundborne!” He declared, pulling hard on his chains and screaming, attempting to swing a balled up set of talons at him. Apollyon gently repositioned Regana to the side with a gentle nudge of a few fingers, granting him an audience with the griffon once again, this time with an infuriated stare. “You test my patience, filth. Don’t push your luck, or you will end up like your comrades over there.” He warned, calmly gesturing to his left. The griffon’s eyes followed the hand until it reached his lifeless comrades. Within seconds turned back to Apollyon, bellowing out countless curses, insults, and threats as he thrashed about like a spoiled child having a tantrum. The man sighed and did little but raise a brow at the irritating sight, simply waiting for him to get winded and for silence to befall the room once again, which it did, but in due time, once his lungs were deprived of the oxygen he needed. The griffon’s need to bellow out his pain was overwhelmed with the need to cry and mourn. His thrashing came to a stop before his head hung low, glittering tears running down his feathered cheeks before crashing onto the stone-cold floor. “Though I understand why one must elicit tears for their fallen brothers, know that this is not the time to cry, gryphon. For I bring you an offer of a lifetime, one that would be stupid and wasteful to pass up on.” The griffon continued sobbing, muscles tensing and talons clenching themselves. “If you refuse, then we will drain you and leave you to die — here and now — just like them.” For a few moments, both sides said nothing, most likely waiting for the other to speak up. But just as Apollyon parted his lips to speak, the griffon’s head rose. His cracked red, teared up eyes meeting the man’s ghastly pair. “Do not bore me with offerings I have no interest in, you ugly monkey. I have no need of them.” The ends of Apollyon’s mouth curled up slightly, “Do not be so quick to dismiss my offering, gryphon. I am sure you would be inclined to believe otherwise once you hear of what I have to offer.” Hearing this, the griffon eyed the man with equal amounts of curiosity and suspicion. “A chance — one for both your dearly beloved and child back home.” Within seconds of mentioning his family, the air grew tense as his brows furrowed, and he breathed out heated air. Apollyon forwarded a hand, palm faced down. “Settle down, gryphon. Know that we have no intention of doing anything sinister to them. In fact, we have the intention of doing the opposite.” “And I’m just supposed to believe you? To just take your word for it?” “We have nothing to gain in exterminating two specific gryphons that live on another continent entirely. Though we are capable of such things, it’ll be nothing but a waste of precious time and energy.” Apollyon took a breath, continuing upon seeing that the griffon remained unconvinced, “Our goals lie in Equus-Terra alone — Nothing more, nothing less — Whatever happens elsewhere is of no concern to us.” The glare of the griffon gradually weakened and eased up, his eyes unsteadily filling with uncertainty as they drifted down towards the floor. “We can help you, gryphon. But only if you submit to our service. Our boon is not a charity, nor is it cheap. It will cost you a piece of yourself, but it’ll cost nothing compared to everything you’ll save.” Once Apollyon talking had ceased, the griffon was left to contemplate in his own isolated world in silence for a while, that is until the sounds of a familiar set of voices caught his attention. He quickly found himself staring wide-eyed into Regana’s radiating form, recognising the source of the noise originating from her. The pupils of his eyes dilated to the point where it took over the irises, as if he were completely entranced with what he saw. At first, it seemed to go well, for he managed a smile and pushed out tears of joy upon hearing childish laughter and a beloved voice that longed for him. But it soon faded into obscurity, as did his smile, being replaced with endless amounts of sobbing and meaningless words of comfort and promises. It was only when he was confronted with goodbyes, did he manage to break free from Regana’s hold on him, “No!” He shouted, rapidly shaking his head, ”Get out of my head!” “What you see are nothing but memories. We are merely reminding you what is at stake.” The griffon shot Apollyon a glare, “I know what is at stake! I do not need to be reminded!” “Hmm, is that so?” “Yes, it is!” He yelled, taking a moment to regulate his breathing, “I see them in my sleep… I see them in my wake… In every moment of my life, I see them - even now.” “And here you are, instead of home.” His head hung lowly as if he were ashamed, “It pains me beyond recognition.” He said weakly before looking up, “But I will not stand idly by and watch another of my sons die…” He shook his head, eyes releasing a stream of tears, “...not again, not this time.” Apollyon’s head craned over in the direction of Regana, who hummed continuously, prompting him to nod understandably before addressing the griffon, “Then choose, gryphon. Acceptance of servitude in exchange for aiding your dying son. Or rejection, favouring your pride and comrades, but at the cost of you, your child and possibly, your beloved, who will have to endure another loss… just with your eternal absence this time.” The griffon’s head hung low, letting out a heavy sigh. Feeling himself being torn apart in two separate directions, struggling to endure the torment of the two loyalties his heart was bound to; Every promise, step and every journey with both sides only served to abuse him even further. In time, after the passing of a few aching minutes, he found himself looking back up at Apollyon, whose glowing pupils seemed fixated on a silver ticking contraption. They were only pulled away to lock onto the griffon once a sweet hum passed through his ears. “Have you made your decision?” Asked Apollyon, staring inquisitively in the mercenary’s eyes. Even though he had, the griffon struggled to find the words for it as he suffered under the weight of all the shame, guilt, and regret he forced upon himself. And it was only after Apollyon spared him a moment did he muster the strength to get some words out. “Divines help me… “ He whispered in a desperate manner. “Your Gods can’t help you. But I can.” Apollyon claimed, boldly, confidently. The griffon sighed heavily and raised his head, eyes locked onto the man’s face, “I… I, Skeiron, submit to your service, groundborne.” He emphasised, making no attempt to mask his contempt. Apollyon grinned, despite sensing a hint of disgust and disdain emanating from the mercenary and his voice. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear…” He shifted his head in the direction of Regana and nodded, “Let him down.” The faithful wisp did as was demanded of her and had Skeiron lowered to the floor with care before the chains unwrapped and pulled themselves away from him. Skeiron hissed as he immediately moved to massage and soothe his aching forelegs, that is, until a smooth-skinned hand brought itself into his view. He traced the limb back to its owner and scowled. “Rise, Skeiron. It’s time to go to work.” The griffon repeatedly glanced between Apollyon and to the helping hand offered. After a couple of glances, he craned his head over to his comrades, whose bodies were lowered to the ground as well. Upon seeing them in such a state, a sudden spike of anger got the better of him, and he quickly made a reckless attempt to slap away the hand offered. But he missed thanks to Apollyon preemptively retracting his hand. Regana moved to punish Skeiron for his actions, but was halted before she could, by the very same hand. Skeiron then arose in silence from the stone floor, using the wall to his back as support before falling onto all fours. He stared daggers at Apollyon, who retrieved the Mantle and intriguingly watched the griffon move to attend to his comrades. With diligence and in silence, he laid them together flat on their backs. From a first glance, both would give off the impression that they had departed the mortal realm were it not for the subtle rising and falling of their chest or the soft groaning and moaning they uttered from their beaks. He uttered a sigh of much-needed relief before taking a couple of steps back and praying for their wellbeing, eyes closed and head lowered. In time, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. While his eyes were still fixated on the pair of bodies, he could hear the sounds of footsteps becoming faint with every step, leading him to quickly speak his mind, “My comrades… Did-” “No, I didn’t.” Apollyon interrupted, answering in a way as if he already knew what he was going to ask. “Why then? I’m bad, if not worse, than everygriff in my company. So, why? Why me?” The silence between the two lasted for seemed like an eternity, as one eagerly sought an appropriate answer. And soon enough, it came, Apollyon spun on his heels and faced him, clearly frustrated. “They say every man has a fatal flaw; You, Skeiron, have two - with one of them being in a critical state. Thus, we chose you; To exploit your… predicament.” His heart skipped a beat in response, he recoiled upon seeing images of his family flashing in his head while he was haunted by the echoes of childlike laughter and a feminine voice. “Need I go on?” “No!” Skeiron yelled, compelling the man to arch his brows while the griffon took a moment to regain his composure, “No… I’ve heard enough.” “Good.” Apollyon said, eyes shifting away upon hearing some humming pass through his ears, prompting him to nod. And as his eyes shifted back over to the griffon, he began taking long strides with a neutral expression on his face, “One last thing, if you don’t mind.” Groaning subtly, Skeiron turned about, only to be confronted by Apollyon and his staff, the latter of which projecting an aura of psykanic energy around itself. When the Mantle was jabbed towards the griffon, the very same aura enveloped and claimed him, leaving him frozen and at their mercy. “W-what. Are. You. Doing?!” Skeiron stammered, finding it difficult to talk while he battled for dominance over his body. “It’s time to play the part, gryphon. Your real emotions, actions and intentions will betray and expose you to your former allies. We’re just making sure you can play the part without failure, so do nothing, but accept us.” With that said, subtle streams of what appeared to be cloudy purple smoke emanated from the Mantle, making its way to Skeiron’s chest. But despite what Apollyon demanded of him, he was unable to fully accept what was forced upon him, compelling him to resist as fear and distrust reeked off him worse than a rotting corpse. The moment cloudy smoke passed through organic matter and his gambeson with ease, a burning sensation erupted in his chest. He writhed, groaned and hissed in their grasp as they did who knows what to his insides, and it was only moments later until the effects began to reveal themselves. Skerion’s heart was highlighted purple, glowing to a degree that surpassed layers of feathers and pink skin. Before long, the effects started to spread, travelling swiftly through arteries and veins alike, stopping only once psykanic energy reached and consumed his eyes, shifting them into a state that resembled Apollyon’s. Once his eyes were consumed, he was dropped to the floor and left to recover. He panted heavily on his knees and sought the strength to stand. Upon rising onto all fours, Apollyon witnessed the energies lingering for a while before fading back into obscurity, leaving the body in a state where all seemed normal. Apollyon gave off a prideful smile, tapping the staff on the ground and dispersing the energies into thin air. He placed a hand on the griffon’s shoulder and squeezed tightly, “Because of your rational thinking, your son may yet live long enough to start his own family one day. You should know that.” And with nothing more to say, he spun on his heels and departed the room, waving over his faithful companion along the way and allowing the darkness to start to settle in once again. Skeiron watched in silence the light left the room, glittering tears eliciting from his eyes and falling gracefully to dampen the stone floor as he looked at the griffons left behind, “I’m… sorry, my friends.” He whispered, his voice breaking, “But you couldn’t understand… could you?” And before following the lingering strands of the wisp, he stood tall, head high and wiped away his tears, back facing the pair, unable to endure staring at their crippled state any longer.