//------------------------------// // Chapter 25 – The Doubter // Story: A King to a God // by JDPrime22 //------------------------------// Hollow Earth Temple of the Kongs “These ruins are your salvation.” Deep near the core of the earth, a terrifying tempest was growing. A dark cloud billowed over a great cluster of mountains. Between the twin layers of solid earth—one above, as below—an ancient monument stood amidst the test of time. The Temple of the Kongs stood alone in a great valley with a history more ancient than its current inhabitants. “You were able to survive for so long… lost so many of your tribe and your people to the dangers of the Below. Sanctity and safety were not delivered… until your prior High Priests led them here.” Within the valley, a graveyard remained but was unseen. Battles lost to time with no one left to share its memory or sing its songs. For the Kongs were gone from the valley, and the temple remained with a growing storm hanging overhead. The storm was unnatural, sucking in the clouds hanging between the two earths and creating a swirling thunderstorm, where black and golden lightning struck the tips of each mountain peak. “They perished waiting for me… laid to rest in the tomb they claimed as their sanctuary. As I was trapped… in a tomb all the same. But not dead… Not dead.” Inside the Temple of the Kongs, a spacious throne room remained standing. Yet the graveyard persisted even passed the doors and in the walls of the once glorified realm. A realm of superiority, of supremacy, where bones and weapons lied before the throne, resembling sacrificial offerings to the once great kings of old. Giant, reptilian daikaiju were scattered, along with the bones of massive apes. A final battle took place within these walls. An ancient war that none could speak of, for none knew of its true history. All they had left were ruins. Ruins… and a tomb. “You would not wish these ruins to be your tomb… would you?” Hearing the Voice in the Darkness, the Immortal Priest Emrick opened his eyes slowly. “No, my lord…” he answered coolly. “That is why we have you now.” What Ghidorah’s voice said was true. Generation after generation of their tribe toiled and suffered in the Below, for the beasts of old hunted and nearly brought their kind to extinction. They were only able to miraculously survive because the previous leaders were able to bring them to this sanctuary, a mighty kingdom once before, but now abandoned. They were very few when they first entered these halls. Now, so many years later, they were many once more. The Temple of the Kongs saved them. That, and their undying faith that their god would return to them one day. And now, the Day had come. Their lord returned, and it was within these walls… he suffered. Emrick stood alone atop the edge of a great drop, within what appeared to be an empty, fully circular amphitheater of monumental size and strength. Lava flowed like veins in the aqueduct-like designs of the temple, flowing down into the pit. Down below, Ghidorah writhed in the depths of the temple, the heat and light from the very heart of the world illuminating the steam and casting his shadow across every towering wall. With every tremoring cry Ghidorah unleashed, Emrick grew only more impatient. Ghidorah spoke to him through the Voice, and he warned of the mistakes and failures of the past leaders of the Occult. How their namesake betrayed them, how such “Immortal” Priests could succumb to age and death and be buried in a temple meant to uplift power and strength above all. It was but a tomb, and one Emrick could not deny. He was impatient for many reasons. His own mortality always lingered in the back of his mind, but the Darkness offered more anxieties of which he fell prey to. With every hour and day wasted in the temple—waiting by a promise that their lord would grow strong—the world Above was beginning to put the pieces of the puzzle together, no doubt. They would have already known the Bell was gone. They would have already tied Fillydelphia to a different creature, if they haven’t already known it was Ghidorah by now. The Usurper, Godzilla, would only last as a distraction for so long before the world turned their blade… to them. The Bewitching Bell dangled from his throat, tightly knit around his neck to prevent any other from handling their most precious weapon. Even the Harbingers of Zenith were no longer granted access to the Bell. That privilege was Emrick’s alone, as was direct communication to their Dark God. That separation, that seclusion… undoubtedly led to questions and speculation from the rest of the Occult of Ghidorah. The Harbingers could still hear his Voice, ordering unquestioning loyalty, which they assuredly followed without hesitation. It had been many days since the rest of the Order had received word from their god, let alone their High Priest. Tensions were enflamed, like the heat of the molten rock flowing high above Emrick’s head, and seeping down to the pit beneath him. It certainly did not help that Ghidorah’s agonizing evolution made him scream out more alpha cries. As if signaling a beacon from their position, a beacon that the rulers Above would surely discover sooner or later. “You have me now… but where is your faith?” the Voice proclaimed to his mind alone. “I have always been faithful—” Emrick tried to say, but was drowned in the shadows. “Which is why I can trust you, my Emrick. But the others… your precious Order are falling away from me. Every day, I feel their hearts yearn for something more. Something that was promised from disillusioned minds of your past leaders… your leaders whom I have told you have been led estray. You know this… don’t you?” “The ancients spoke of prophecy—” “Prophecy can be written and unwritten as I will it!” the Voice bellowed, the Darkness invading Emrick’s mind and making him shudder. Over time, he had grown accustomed to the Darkness’ presence, yet it still stole his breath and trembled his legs every single time. “Just as the Usurper follows my will. He faces the rival as we speak. If it comes to it, the alphas will kill one another, and I alone will conquer whoever remains. No prophecy can guide the everchanging powers, nor can it shift my purposes. I will lay fate on its knees to bow before me, and all the world will suffer for what it did to me!” Ghidorah writhed and roared once more in the heavy smog down below, shuddering the very foundations of the temple. Electricity flowed throughout the amphitheater and lightning coated Ghidorah’s shadowy form. The nightmarish shriek tore through Emrick’s very spirit and split his bones, but he remained standing. He closed his eyes as the Dragon and the Voice roared once again, and soon enough his lord settled into silence. Amidst such horror, Emrick remained as the Valiant he was forged to be. “The evolutionary phases grow longer and more tiresome…” Ghidorah breathed, as if the breath was whispered by Emrick’s ear. “We are close to victory… so you understand why I must require absolute, unfettered loyalty.” The Voice in his head was momentarily silenced when the sound of approaching hoofsteps miraculously sounded off behind him. Even amidst the wails and moans of Ghidorah far below, their approach was not masked, and Emrick turned his head back. He saw a golden mask draped in black robes. A Harbinger led a lone pony to his domain, and emerging from behind the burly stallion, that lone pony was instantly recognized… and Emrick’s cool posture melted. Dahlia. The Earth pony who had once been estranged to him, now having become quite noticeable. Not only for her devotion to the Order, but to him especially. She was young. The elders guided her well, and her loyalty was admirable. Her courage, even more so, to come speak to the High Priest in his private hours was bold. Bolder than he expected from a mere occultist. Her white coat contrasted well to the heavy reds and oranges of the lava glowing around her, reflecting perfectly against her vibrant red mane and violet eyes. Just as beautiful as he remembered. His thoughts detracted for a moment, and then returned to the Darkness. “She whished a council with you, my Priest,” the Harbinger uttered, voice as heavy as the steam and smoke they were entrenched in. Gazing to the golden skull, Emrick nodded. “My council is quite limited,” he spoke, looking to his antlered skull mask resting on the nail struck to the pillar on his right. “Harbinger… leave us.” The golden mask bowed and turned, the mighty Harbinger of Zenith leaving Dahlia alone with their Diligent Priest. Watching him trot slowly down the steps, Dahlia shakily exhaled before facing forward once more. Emrick no longer stared to her, but to the pit down below. She felt his presence calling to her, and emerged by his side to stare onto her lord all the same. Even now, the shadows held his whispers and she could not ignore Ghidorah’s plight… or their own, for that matter. Emrick seemed to read her thoughts. “I am certain the Order has heard our lord’s torment. The earth itself echoes with his screams. He is growing… and perhaps this will be the last evolution before his full strength has returned.” His fellow tribe member—and perhaps a pony he could call his friend—gazed longingly into the smog. The rising steam stung her eyes, and the tears that grew were not only from the heat, but the torment she as well felt in her heart. “We feel our lord is in pain,” Dahlia finally croaked, clearing her throat, as if speaking for the whole tribe. Which she was. Emrick was not surprised by the Order’s concerns. He and Ghidorah were discussing it mere moments ago, and to hear it brought to him from Dahlia was expected. They had chosen her as their sacrifice if the Immortal High Priest were to reprimand and punish her for their lack of faith. But Dahlia was different. He felt it would be a weight he could not bear to raise his hoof against her. Finally facing these concerns, Emrick said, “Our god is just in a moment’s pain. Soon, he will lead us to greatness. To salvation. The New World awaits, Dahlia. Zenith awaits… We must stay the course.” Her eyes watched the slithering movements of their three-headed lord… and she found herself looking away. Up above to the glowing waterfalls and the numerous veins all filled with flowing lava. To the peak of the temple where thunder raged overhead. For so many years, she gazed onto these walls, these ceilings, and saw nothing but darkness. How she longed to see the light of the sun instead of the light of the planet’s heart. Prophecy promised Ghidorah would lead them to reign in the sun forever… in a world no longer dangerous. No longer hunting them. The heretical rulers Above would be washed away, and their domain would rise from Below to unite the world fully as one once more. Once before when the God of the Void fell from the stars. But that domain was taken by the Usurper, and their ancestors promised retribution would return. They never promised what had come as of recent. “The New World… Zenith… all proclaimed through prophetic teachings passed down from generation to generation. And yet… this is what we are growing to fear, Emrick,” Dahlia explained, she brought her eyes down to turn his way, but Emrick did not turn from his lord. It was as if a great shadow had fallen over his features, and he remained unmoved. She did not stop. He needed to know their plight. “What we have done… what the Usurper has done… these actions were not proclaimed in prophecy. This Bell that you do not relinquish,” she hesitated, eyes falling to the talisman dangling around his neck, the Bell reflecting the fires of the lava, “… it was never foretold to us. It harnesses a power that has reshaped our god and the god of the Above.” It was raw power, radiating a strength that forced Dahlia to turn away and try to meet Emrick’s eyes instead. The Bewitching Bell, it seemed, had a will of its own, and it did not take kindly to her words. Gulping softly, shuddering with each breath, she said, “This is a power I fear we were never meant to find.” Just then, Emrick flicked his head accusingly in her direction. His gray eyes took on a darker hue, and he shook his head in a clear showing of disappointment. “It is through the Bell… that our lord lives again. Or would you rather his decrepit skull have joined the others within this tomb?” However, Dahlia was not so timid as when she first removed her mask to him. Breaking that barrier and forming that bridge gave her the confidence to shout not only her cult’s fears… but her own personal worries as well. “We did not believe this because you said the ritual alone would bring Ghidorah back!” Dahlia exclaimed. “Not through… ‘evolutionary phases’, but whole! We were following prophecy because he returned as the ancients said he would! We would bring him home as prophecy dictated, and he would return to us not through a Bell… but by our faith.” “Blind faith is worthless without the power to strengthen it,” Emrick retorted, shocking Dahlia into silence. He gritted his teeth, his lips twitching as he spat, “But we have power now, Dahlia. Our faith is made right because of what we have accomplished. Our lord is in torment now, but he will return to us stronger than ever soon enough. The Usurper blankets the world in flame, and soon the Dragon will defeat him. No power on this earth or below this earth will ever rival us again. All who have perished for our cause, their blood will be avenged. Prophecy does not dictate our assured victory. Fate does not bind us. We… will make our own destiny to Zenith.” She almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The most faithful among them and here he was declaring heresy so profoundly. It was as if his voice was not his own. Sooner than she would have liked, Dahlia found her eyes trailing back down to the Bewitching Bell, and it began to make sense. “Is this you speaking, Emrick… or the Bell?” With that, Emrick tried to speak, but he found his enraged temperament having cooled when he really, truly heard her. As if the next word that came out of his mouth could have been poisoned, tainted by a power that wasn’t his own. As if she was right to question, and was right to warn him. Dahlia did not stop. “Is the power you wield from the Bell truly from our god… or something else?” she sincerely asked, voice soft but sharp with warning. Emrick could stare nowhere else but into her eyes, as if she was daring to reach out through the Darkness to pull him away before it was too late. Too late… for what though? They had already committed atrocities in Fillydelphia. The blood of thousands were on their hooves by the actions of the Usurper, who they empowered. So much was done, but how far could they go into the Dark—into this ancient power—before there was no turning back? Part of him wanted to pull away, to walk out of the Dark and step into the light and realize that the prophecy he swore his life to uphold was being unraveled. The other part of him—the part of his heart, mind, and soul that were being gripped by his lord—would not relinquish. Not one fraction of himself would turn away, because the Voice deemed it so. As the Bewitching Bell slowly tightened its hold around his throat like a noose. He turned his face away. “It would suit you well to leave me, Dahlia,” he muttered softly. Her gaze lingered as long as she could manage, and he felt her eyes burning against the back of his head. But even then, she alone was not enough. Dahlia realized that. She turned and left him, without another word. As her hoofsteps faded, Emrick was left alone. The Darkness surrounded him again—drenching him in a blackness he could not escape—and spoke to him through the Voice, proclaiming, “We do not need her. One unfaithful is not enough to deter our plans. The Harbingers will remain loyal to the last breath, and the Order will fulfill their duties as long as you are there to lead them.” “I will need you now more than ever, my lord,” Emrick said, and felt his voice hesitate and tremble for the first time in a long time. Opening his eyes, the tears growing on the edges were so very real, but not from the smoke. “I do not wish to lose her… or any of them. We have lost so much already…” Ghidorah screamed once more, and left the Temple of the Kongs a tremoring mess. The loudest alpha cry yet, and one that the Darkness knew would lead to greater repercussions in the world Above. Almost instantly, the Darkness felt it’s will fading from Godzilla’s mind. Cracking, slowly, but barely holding on. The first cracks were all that were needed for him to resist, and Godzilla turned away from his rival and chose instead to follow the cry. Leaving the Darkness in a state of bewildered silence, for the first time. “They need to witness their god leading them to victory,” Emrick said. The Voice remained silent for a time, and then responded, “And they will have me, my Emrick. They will have us both, with the Bell and my wrath to lead us. When my pain will pass away, so will the doubt.” Emrick tried to breathe, but he found that straining. As if the Bewitching Bell was constricting itself tighter around his throat and boring itself closer to his heart. His hoof rose to rest over it, protecting it, concealing it from Dahlia and the many unfaithful that were growing within their ranks. The Bell eased its choking grip after that, and Emrick breathed. In that stillness that was his own, Emrick felt the next words that left him were conjoined perfectly with the Dragon’s. “Soon… all else will pass away.”