In the dark underbelly of Gehenna, a horrifyingly anxious feeling begins to fill its halls as a figure slowly climbs down the Manor’s staircase. Lifts are heard creaking and groaning as he descends lower and lower, and as he steps off of the platform, a cascade of whispers begin to emanate out of his helmet. Eldritch in nature, each one contrasting in tone and pitch, they all speak in unison as the being shambles onwards through the estate.
“Oh Mother, oh Mother, what am I to do?” the voices say. He climbs a set of stairs, paying no attention to the multiple rooms at his side, each one occupying a sleeping resident. “You’ve granted me your boons, alleviated my curse. You have risen me above the rest, and still, it is not enough.” He reaches the end of a hall, and he caresses the handle of the steel door with one of his many shadowy black talons. “Mother of the Night, Queen of Nightmares, I need more.”
He grinds the sharpened tip of his index finger against the door, leaving behind a single laceration against its metal surface. “Your Children need more.” The voices began to sound scornful as any inky tendril slithered against the creature’s back, the viscous extremity wrapping around the door, opening it after a moment’s pause. As he wandered into the room, the dull glow of redstone was all he had to greet him. “With each passing year, we are under fret from someone new. With each passing decade, we are under fret of losing more of your Children. You have tasked me with shepherding your Cabal, you have given me the power to fabricate more beings like me, but how can I do such when I need more power?”
He stepped through a series of doors, entering a bedroom. He stopped by a desk, and he knelt down to look into a mirror. A tenebrous being stared back at him, its haunting gaze hidden behind a helmet made of foul wisps and smog. “With all your power, this is all you’ve given me? I cannot lead with this.” He began tapping a curved claw against the desk’s surface, stabbing into the wood easily with every movement. “Tell me what I must do. Fill my mind with your chaotic voice again. The Children need more, the Fathers need more, The Foretaker needs more. We all need more. Give me instructions, and I will do what needs to be done for us to be granted what we need.”
He stood upwards, moving across a line of bookshelves to rest his sights against a bed. A Mali’fenn woman slept within its blankets, beginning to stir as the chaotic aura surrounding the Exalted began to leave its mark on her. “Oh Dread Mother, I will kill for you. I will torture for you. I will create orphans and I will burn the orphanage for you. I will sing maddening hymns in your name while I do it all. Give me a simple murmur, a single sign, and it will be done.”
The creature eyed the woman resting within the bed for several moments, his tendrils licking hungrily in the air. Thoughts of ripping her apart and painting the room with her entrails filled his mind. He would prove to his Deity that his promises were not empty. He could do it easily. Without breaking a sweat, her life would end before she had time to release a shrill cry for help. And so he stared at her silently.
He turned and left the room. The Mother is not impressed with acts of violence and murder. Such deeds do not fill her with the joy the creature wished to deliver to her. If he were to impress his God, Salvare would do it the right way.
He rode the lift upwards, silent through the journey. He climbed each step with a clear and thoughtful mind, and he opened and closed every door with ease so as to not disturb the residents of the manor he sought to protect. He ventured outside, the brisk night air soothing him further. The moonlight shone off of his bulky body, which glistened like metallic obsidian as he entered and vacated the gatehouse.
As The Infernal Prophet disappeared into the ‘Forest of Parasites’, as he had heard it called, he treaded onwards with only one thought on his mind.
”You will see that we are deserving of more. I will prove it to you, lest I be cast into the Abyss for disgracing your will-” the being continued to whisper to himself in various cascading voices as his frame began to shrink. The atrocious aura followed suit, barely becoming noticeable. His tan skin became visible, only for it to be hidden underneath the cowl he wrapped around himself. The yellow glow emitting from his eyes faded as well once his metallic mask was affixed to his face, and the wisps leaking from behind his eyes dissipated entirely after he finished his uttering, now speaking in his singular mortal tone.
“-Arun’Asna.”
Art by Chris Cold