Judgement

[Zerrif]

((Just something random I have been meaning to write.))

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When did I let things get so convoluted? When did I let them get to these sorts of extremes? The only thing that I know now, is that I'm in far too deep to just pull myself out-- the only thing I can do now, is continue.

Still...

When did the concept of Judgement become so hazy?

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A flutter of eyes, and a muffled groan were the first things that he noticed-- though it took a while for it to sink in that it was his eyes that were adjusting, and his body that was groaning.

"Awake? Finally. I was starting to get impatient."

The voice had a sort of taunting and yet sadistic tone to it. The very heavy, impatient undertone of the sentence sent a chill up his spine-- making him feel suddenly awake. His vision snapped to his side, soon revealing that he was bound mostly still. His arms behind his back, his legs tied to the legs of a chair-- he was sitting. His neck was bound to the chair as well, and he felt the burn of the rope as he turned his head so quickly.

"Wh-who...?"

"Oh please, like I'd answer that. Did you ever?"

He winced, and attempted to shake around, hearing a small plish plosh. He was sitting in... water? That explained why his legs felt cold and damp-- he thought he'd pissed himself in his sleep or through fear without knowing.

"Wh-what's going on...?"

"It's a taste of your own medicine. They called you The Thunderbolt, didn't they? Always left your victims charred remains on their families' front doorstep, or some sick and twisted shit like that." He caught a glimpse of his mystery sadist-- some sort of long, flowing brown robe in the corner of his gaze.

He jumped in his seat as suddenly a pair of hands wrapped themselves around the chair, and rested themselves on his chest. Clothed in the same brown as that flowing robe he'd seen earlier, with a gold and silver lining. They chilled him to the bone-- like they had been sitting in ice water for days, or worse:

Like they were the hands of the dead.

"Why did you do it? I mean, kill those people I mean. Vendetta? Revenge? Were you paid to do it?"

He tried to think about it, but nothing could come to his mind.

"... I liked it."

-----

It was disgusting. Wretching. All he could do was stare at his bound captive, the only thing going through his mind at this point pure hatred. He deserved this, and far worse-- and he was going to get it.

"... I liked it."

He grit his teeth in some form of repulsion, and the hands that he'd laced around the chair suddenly cringed into fists. He felt the form wince, and then he just stood, slowly walking around the chair. Plish plosh

His fists fell to his sides and he just spun on his heel in the water, staring at the figure. "The Thunderbolt" he was called-- dressed up in a sort of lime green and yellow set of robes. He'd already stripped his captive of all weaponry: his book of magic, his rod, and all catalysts. Still, for some reason, the figure seemed threatening enough.

He could only imagine what those poor souls felt, staring at him at full strength. Smiling some sort of sadistic smile, laughing as he toyed with their lives-- but this wasn't a game.

Passing on Divine Judgement was never a game.

-----

He stared up as those hands balled up and left him, hearing the figure walk around to his right. For some reason, he felt a cold sweat start to form on his body as he saw the full image of the robes-- he knew exactly where they came from, and that's why they scared him. He stared at his captor, trying to read into those green eyes for any sort of hint.

Was this how they felt? He felt powerless, weak-- the feeling only amplified as one of those fists suddenly came wheeling through the air, smashing into his right eye. He let out a howl of pain as he squinted it shut, feeling something warm run down his face.

"Wh-what the hell?! I never thought capturing people and abusing and torturing them was something that the clergy did now a days!"

He didn't even realize he'd sputtered out the words, until another blow hit him in the same spot. That area on his face throbbed painfully, feeling like it was expanding and then compressing to its physical extreme. He stared up at the Priest again to try and commit his image to memory.

Green eyes. Long, pink hair-- was that even natural? He seemed to fill out his priestly robes well-- nothing like the usual lanky, weak sort he'd dealt with before. Those blows hurt-- and they had to be coming from somewhere. He didn't recognize the vestment-- brown and white wasn't part of any sect he knew of. Then again, considering the vast amounts of them throughout the continent, let alone the entire world, he couldn't be sure.

"You have no right to be criticizing what I do. Besides, if I hadn't done this, another would have died."

He strained his mind to think about it, pushing aside the throbbing in his face to try and focus. The holy man was right-- he could start to remember it now.

He had been stalking his next target, and he was about to make the final movements when suddenly the target just... disappeared into the shadows. It hadn't occurred to him that the target could have been bait until it was too late; there was a deafening sound in the air and he lost his balance, feeling blood trickle out of his ears. He fell to the ground, shaking on hands and knees, but as soon as he tried to push up from his prone position, a blunt object had knocked him out cold.

Then he woke up here.

"I do have to commend you though." The pink haired priest was pacing around his chair now. "You were at least merciful enough to end it in one strike-- or perhaps was it that your victims were all people unable to withstand such trauma? It makes me wonder how you'd fare."

He began to writhe, but the chair legs were weighted down by something. No matter how much force and body weight he threw into the motions, he was going nowhere.

"That makes me think even further. You know how they say lightning never hits the same place twice? What if the wielder of the lightning has very good aim?"

"You're sick." He spat out, earning himself another blow to the head. His world was fading in and out now, but for some reason he was staying painfully awake. He felt a palm on his forehead and tried to reel his head away, before a soothing warmth went over him.

The priest had healed him. And he knew why. He was meant to stay awake, no matter how much punishment would be doled out.

"You're the sick one, you know that? Although you're not stupid-- I'll commend you." The priest was cracking his knuckles at this point. "I'm sure someone as intelligent and conniving as you knows what water does to electricity?"

He looked down at his feet. Suddenly, he blanched, and stared up.

"I told you. A taste of your own medicine. Feel it yet? Feel how they felt when you were doing the same thing?"

Was this how they felt? That cold sweat turned into chills, and his thoughts escalated into paranoia. True, he'd done something similar-- but he'd only ever doused the people before he'd actually done the act. He'd never let them sit in water for it.

His paranoia evolved into fear as he saw the priest step back, and place his palms together, in a prayer like stance. He thought about praying for his soul-- but the Gods wouldn't help him. Not when he'd destroyed so much of what they had created.

The priest stood with his arms straight out and head raised high, letting out a furious bellow. It was all he could do to watch as the priest was bathed in a holy light, and that light began to condense behind him. They took form, and began to move.

He had sprouted wings.

-----

Holy Father, Holy Mother-- I, your humble servant and hand, ask to receive thy divine blessing! He had prayed. He felt his back rip up and lacerate-- but was soon covered by a warm glow, and a soothing feeling of regeneration.

He stared at the bound magician in the chair, and he grinned. Much like he figured the magician would have to his captives.

With another outstretch of his arms, his wings unfurled themselves. They looked mottled and old, like they had weathered a lot of damage and had never grown back some feathers. They seemed to have a slightly yellowish glow to them-- although they also had an aged, off-white sheen.

He beat his wings and felt himself slowly hover above the ground, water dripping from his robes below him. He flew up no more than a dozen metres above the ground, and then flew backwards, as if attaining a better vantage point for an upcoming show. He clenched one hand into a fist and held it to his chest, the other hand open-palmed straight up.

"Father! I call upon thine divine judgement! Grant ye this soul a waiting embrace in your arms? Or is he cast down forever, shunned away from your love?"

In front of the priest, directly above the bound magician, a black cloud began to form. He peered down to see the other writhing for dear life-- but he had tied those bindings more than tight enough. More likely than not, he was simply cutting into his own skin with each movement.

-----

God help me.

That cloud above him began to grow larger and larger, swirling in a circle. The eye of the cloud was right above him, and he could hear his heart palpitate faster than a drumroll. His breathing grew ragged and his eyes widened-- all he could do, was let out a scream.

"Mercy! MERCY!"

"You want me to show you mercy, when all the others received none? No, it is no longer the time for mercy. I am the Hand of God, I am the Angel of Retribution. It is time to face what He tells you."

-----

It was time.

"I call upon the blackest of nights, created by the Father himself! I call upon the hand of the Mother, to come down and strike with the wrath of the heavens! Grant unto me thy divine might, and show unto this wretched soul the path to where he belongs!"

The cloud began to swirl faster and faster. Lightning crackled within it, but none struck.

Yet.

"Offendo iam O tonitrus superum! Fragosus inferus per vestri vires!"

The air felt charged, and he could feel some of his hand frazzle, and stand on end. His robes began to buffet in a gale, and the lightning crackled towards the centre of the cloud.

"Repent."

He brought his upward-facing hand down suddenly, and with that very motion, a rather large bolt of lightning shot forth from the cloud. It made the entire area shine with a blindingly bright light, but the priest didn't even close his eyes. He stared down with an emotionless gaze, willing the lightning to grow mentally.

The lightning disappeared, and the priest stared at the chair. Smoke rose from it and the figure in the chair was horribly burned-- having had his skin eaten away, then cauterized by the pure heat.

He smiled when that burning figure stared up.

-----

How was he still alive? When that lightning struck, it felt like he was burning up-- but at the same time electrocuted. He had to have phased in and out of consciousness at least once, but now he was just... alive. Painfully, and excruciatingly alive.

He couldn't help crying tears from all the pain-- but those tears burned trails down his face as they fell. The pain only caused him to cry more, creating a cycle of pure torment. The ropes tore into his newly burnt skin, and he felt his throat and chest nearly wanting to explode. He felt warm all over-- but that was most likely the blood that was dribbling out from his body.

That flying abomination of a priest was right. He had been rather merciful in letting people die outright. This existence was something worse than death-- or at least it felt like it.

God... what have I done? Is this truly my atonement?

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"Repent." He muttered again, as a second, but just as brilliant bolt of lightning shot down. He had purposely left the magician alive-- as if all the pain he had caused to other people was needed to be felt right away, all at once.

The cloud dissipated, and he turned his back, slowly gliding down to the ground-- outside of the pool of water. He touched down and his wings disappeared, leaving him standing and feeling like nothing had happened.

"Was that all necessary? The flash and pizazz." A voice said. The priest waved a hand at the invisible source. "Since when were you an "Angel" of anything?"

"I wasn't. I never was. If angels truly existed, I wouldn't need to be the one passing on Divine Judgement."

"Is that was this was? Justify yourself however you want, I guess. I'm not going to stop you."

The priest let out a light "tch", and then started walking.

I know this had to happen...

But...

When did the concept of Judgement become so hazy?

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[[Sorry, my latin is kinda fail. It should read "Strike here, O thunder of the Gods! Crash down with your divine might!"]]

[Ngjoko]

Sickeningly good. Keep it up.

[ABlueJelly]

Man, I seem to love everything you write =P