Tilted_Axis
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Chapter 12: The Bishop
🕑 Added 2020-10-18 04:22:26 +0000 UTCSeveral minutes pass while the men sit in silence, and I am considering my options. One of the men furrows their brow with a look of determination.
“I’m doing it! Right now! No one ever got anywhere without taking risks!” the man shouts in a deep, commanding voice. “If I… No! If we spend all our time trying to avoid danger, we'll never be able to move forward! To be strong!”
“...That is some lame-ass bullshit you just spouted, but whatever, I can dig it,” a lanky man responds with a snort.
Apparently, drawn by the man's intensity, the others all turn to watch him with looks of anticipation.
The man has a large muscular build with enormous arms and a shirt without sleeves as if his muscles wish to intimidate those around him with their size. His skin is tan and littered with tattoos of varying quality, and like the words and drawings from earlier, these tattoos appear to also be in bad taste. However, one tattoo, a winged harp, I recognize instantly as the God of Light’s symbol, except the harp is being played by a black doll. He grits his teeth and raises the clear tube before pushing the needle into the muscles of his upper arm.
‘Are these people mad?! Are they trying to kill themselves?!’
He presses something at the end opposite the needle, and his veins take on a bluish tint. As the blue liquid moves up his arm, the muscles stiffen, causing his arm to stick straight out. This is followed by his other arm, neck, and legs until he slides from where he sits and lays on the floor with all his muscles fully stretched. The pain in his face is evident as his eyes threaten to pop out of his skull, and blood leaks from his nostrils. His body relaxes, and the man begins to inhale and exhale rapidly. The man’s hair color gradually changes in appearance from blond to a deep red, and below his left eye, a symbol reminiscent of a burning spear emerges.
“You okay, Lorcan? Did it work?” another man asks.
“I-I don’t kno—” The now red-haired man, Lorcan, vanishes and then reappears in the blink of an eye. “It worked! I'm in! I just did the tutorial!”
‘What? Is he referring to the Beta?’
“Hell yeah!” The lanky man claps his hands together and stands. “My turn then!” he yells.
With palpable excitement, the man pushes the needle into his arm. Like the other man, his body tenses as he grits his teeth to the point it seems they might shatter. His body relaxes, and his hair turns an ashy gray.
“D-did it work?” the lanky man asks with excitement.
The lanky man’s skin begins to bubble like boiling water. He screams a horrifying high pitched screech, reminiscent of a boiling kettle, as blue vapor rushes from his mouth and nostrils. His body swells and stretches while the other men retreat to the edge of the room with frozen expressions of horror.
A loud bang reverberates throughout the room.
‘Dear lord!’
His body bursts, spewing fluids, and organs across the room. The flesh and blood burn with a blue flame, and before even touching the ground, the lanky man’s body burns away into a blue vapor. Not even a single drop of blood remains of the man.
The room is deathly silent as the remaining men open and close their mouths like a fish out of water.
Lorcan breaks the silence, “What. The. Fuck.”
“No way, man. I’m not doing this shit. Fuck this,” a plump man states.
“Yeah, this ain’t happening. I ain’t explodin’ like no bag of cotton candy.”
“I’m just going to buy the biggest gun I can find,” another says.
They begin tossing their tubes of fluid onto a table and rapidly step toward the black door.
Having survived, Lorcan marches forward, “You guys can’t just leave! I-I’m sorry, but The Bishop won’t allow it! Forsaking the church just isn’t an option, and the second we accepted these syringes, there was no backing down.”
“I don’t give a shit,” the plump man yells, “You can just give him the syringes back because we aren’t doing it.”
Before the plump man may leave, a clicking noise echoes from the back door.
Everyone freezes and watches as the black door slowly creaks open. A light shines in, casting a long shadow across the room. In the doorway stands an extremely tall man in strange black attire.
“O-oh, it’s The Bishop! Y-y-your suit looks great on you, Bishop!” Lorcan stutters.
The man called “The Bishop” stands with his head turned downward, fiddling with what is the most unusual belt I have ever beheld—a belt composed of a rough rope adorned with brown dolls. Each doll appears to have a needle stuck through its chest, and stuffing can be seen leaking from some as they hang limp, swaying in the breeze of the outside world. As he slowly steps into the room, a black cane with a wooden figure affixed to the top becomes visible as he taps his cane against the ground as if feeling his way around.
“Hahaha! Thank you, child.” The Bishop laughs in a deep, low-pitched voice. “Hello, children, the spirits tell me you’re all doing well. Excluding the one that is no longer among the living, of course.”
The Bishop, in what is apparently considered a suit nowadays, raises his gaze.
Some of the men gasp, while others simply look uncomfortable. As for me, my mind has simply stopped working with the number of overwhelming events taking place.
What is revealed is a handsome face, with perfectly combed and cut hair. That is overshadowed by his eyes, which are stitched closed with a thick cord. Around his neck, a cord full of black teeth. Each tooth appears to be held to the necklace with its own individual string. Around his neck is gray silk or cloth that almost looks to be attached to his body—like it is not cloth, but his actual skin.
‘What is wrong with the people of this era?! Nay, what is wrong with this entire world!’
“Y-you didn’t have to come all the way here,” Lorcan says.
The Bishop smiles elegantly, revealing shiny white teeth. “Well, the spirits told me a situation might be developing here.”
He glances back through the door, despite not being able to see. “Lorelai, Vincent, you two can come in now.”
Behind him, two small figures enter the room with small steps, halting at either side of The Bishop. Two children, perhaps twins, stand with fearful expressions, each gripping a book close. The girl, whom I suspect is Lorelai, has her hair pulled and tired to either side of her head, while the boy, whom I suspect is Vincent, has a haircut similar to The Bishop’s. If I had to guess their ages, I would place them at around nine years old. They both stand quietly, wearing black frocks. [1] The girl and boy both gaze at the ground, but oddly the boy seems to be staring in my direction with furtive upturned eyes. I notice him tap his book with his fingers while mouthing something unusual.
‘D-did that boy just mouth the word fairy? Surely, he does not see me? He would say something, right? Besides, fairies are said to be as beautiful as angels! That certainly does not describe me! ...If this boy knows of my presence, perhaps I should leave.’
However, I find myself unable to look away as things progress.
“Don’t mind the actual children. They’re the Church's most promising students here to observe what they’ll be doing in the future,” The Bishop says. He reaches behind him, provoking the plump man’s panic.
The plump man pulls out an odd black metal object. “Don’t Bishop! I-I don’t want to use the elixir, and if you try to make me, I swear I’ll shoot you!” he yells in a squeaky voice.
Disregarding the plump man, the bishop continues his actions and pulls out what resembles a large brown stick.
‘Is that tobacco?’
“Child, I just wanted a cigar; I didn’t come here for you. I came here for another reason...” The Bishop grips his necklace of teeth with a hand covered in a white glove. He holds up the rope revealing one of the strands seems to be missing a tooth.
“Someone who shouldn’t be here has trespassed on our little lab here. Tripped one of my wards, forcing me to rush over here.” The Bishop’s expression turns sinister. ”But now that you’re pointing a gun at me, I believe punishment is necessary..” He holds his hand out. “Those fingers of yours, they belong to me.”
The lights in the room flicker as the black object crashes to the ground with a metallic thud. Crimson blood falls from the Bishop’s hand, where ten fingers now rest peacefully. First, confusion passes across the plump man’s face, followed by terror and evident pain as blood spews from his knuckles. Where once his fingers were, nothing remains but the palm. The two children stare at the floor with huge eyes, leaking tears.
Watching this situation progress, I find myself bitten by terror.
“Ahh!” the plump man shrieks, “My fuckin’ finger! God in Light, my fingers!”
“Don’t use that name here, leech.” The Bishop casts the fingers at the plump man; they promptly bounce off his belly and onto the floor. “By the way, you’ve probably already realized it, but you’re no longer welcome. Our church, our future, will rely on everyone’s commitment to our faith.”
He raises the end of his cane and stamps the plump man’s forehead with the end of it. What is left is a stamp resembling the dolls around the Bishop’s waist. Black tears stream from the plump man’s eyes as his body decays and moves toward the figure at the end of the cane.
I spin around. ‘I have overstayed my welcome… I am not watching another second of this. Back to the chamber pot tunnels; I shall never take them for granted again!’
As I rush down the hallway as fast as my Agility allows, I hear someone’s voice through the doorway, “You can’t leave yet, little spy, I only just arrived. Besides, those arms of yours belong to me.”
With his words, a vapor covers my arms as the lights blink, and they vanish.
‘He truly stole my arms, nary a time to think about it; my Erysichthon will rise, but I just need to escape!’
“Hmm, not flesh, but instead something that smells of death,” I hear the deep voice of The Bishop say, “Bah! Children go wait in the car, and, little ones, go after that person.”
The last thing I hear is someone coughing before screams reverberate through the halls.
Finding the metal stairs, I am surprised the door is now open wider than when I first came through, but I do not think about it long. As I make my way down the stairs, my arms return as the haze turns thin at my torso and moves to my shoulders, restoring my arms. To calm myself, I count the steps as I descend, and as I do so, I notice something fall from the top floor to the bottom floor.
‘What was that? Disregard it; just keep going! I am not letting that Bishop catch me.’
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[1]. Frock: a long gown with flowing sleeves worn by monks, priests, or clergy.
