Rightious. 4

Story by MagnumGit on SoFurry

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Belrakier. The Saintly one.  He saw his mother, he saw her as the cancerous whore she was,

the mad bitch who had grew rotten as she fell far from the tree of divinity

into the brambles and weeds of damnation. Belrakier and his loyal followers

stole away the Dread spear; only the hands of Belrakier could lie upon it, for

his blood was also that of Ci'e. They fled the damned realm, using magic's long

since forgotten, Belrakier fled to the last bastion of the Gods and

Reborn-formally the Lamented.  The warrior prince Belrakier presented the Spear to the

Pantheon and he offered himself to them, begging not for mercy but for death

for repentance against his sins, so long as they vanquished his vile mother who

he openly cast himself away from. Some were tempted to grant him his wish for

absolution in Oblivion, but it was The Maiden of Tears who called for them to

spare him his life, her voice brokered no argument, for her word was law. She

was formerly Mi'e, who had cast away her name as it was sullied by her fallen

sisters actions. She took up a new mantel and became The Maiden of Tears, the

Angel of Retribution and Vindication, and her mercy was not given lightly.  She spoke with Belrakier, son of the fallen Goddess, King of

champions. She was pleased, and she forgave him for the sin of his birth, for

the Demigod yearned for redemption in the eyes of the Pantheon.  Years passed, and Belrakier grew strong under the Pantheons

tutelage, for they knew that he was to be their Champion, for only he alone

could strike down Ci'e, they knew this his destiny. They ascended him, and they

made him into a God. Lord Belrakier the Angel of Repentance. In his hands the spear no longer gleamed coldly, but shown

with the brilliance of ten-thousand suns, it no longer was an instrument of

oppression, but now of liberation, as the Gods and Reborn made their return to

their old domain.  The domain of Ci'e had grown vast and powerful, though she

raged at the theft of her prized spear, the spear that struck down the Murder

King, who's name now warranted the devouring of the offenders soul, and

entombment in the forever chamber of flames.  She had grown into a hag, her once majestic and pure image

and tempting sensual body devolved into something withered and cowed. She was

haggard and tired, drained of life, yet denied death by her immortal blood and

undying soul. The Queen Goddess seemed to shrivel at each passing day,

fading away until nothing was left. She rarely moved from her crimson throne

anymore, alone save for rows of immortal Golem Guards unspeaking in their

eternal vigil.  When she did move it was only to cast her gaze out through

the grand window to stare numbly out over the endless expanse of raised cathedrals

and monuments she demanded built of her, the sounds of orgies of lust and

violence unending in the streets, mortals killing and raping each other for

dominance over the others soul, for that was the way of her kingdom, the strong

before the weak.  Her armies met the Pantheon's in battle, but they quailed

before the Might of the Reborn Pantheon. Tantus of the Mighty, The Girl of

Malice, The Old ones, Knight Goddess Merivan, the now wife Of Tantus, The ancient

Sea King, The Girl of Roses, the Core of Wrath, even The baroness of War; let

loose by the Mad-God of lust, free to wreak her havoc once more. Countless more

with their angles and champions, mortals and demigods, kings and jesters,

knights and peasants. Even the Soul Carrier even joined their forces, as he was

denied the souls of Ci'es Empire.  Many years passed, as her armies fought in her name and

invoked her power, and her children were gifted with mighty corrupt souls,

fueled by the deep void. Belrakier struck each champion of the whore-queen down

with his glorious spear, facing each in single combat and besting him or her

with righteous fury. It was not long after the final two champions of Ci'e fell

that they found themselves at her great castle walls. The final two had fought

with the fury of cornered rats facing the inevitable. As Her last two loyal

children cried for her to save them they were slaughtered by Belrakier before

they could hear the reply that she would never give them.  The God Champion of the Pantheon made his way into His

mother's domain. Prepared to fight to the last breath to slay the demented

bitch-queen. Yet he walked out minutes later, spear free of godly blood

and his expression puzzled.  He was prepared to stand before her crimson throne; he had readied

himself to decry her and declare her reign no more. Yet what met his eyes on

the throne was naught but a corpse, a dried, empty shell in tattered rags,

dusty statues lining the moth eaten carpet to the throne.  The grand doors to the throne room itself had protested

greatly to being moved, not because of a barricade, but because of disuse.

Within the room itself, there was much debris, rusted metal trinkets that a

child might play with scattered across the floor, and broken windows decorated

the walls. Various pieces of scripture and literary work littered the floor,

cracked yellow and flaking.  The Angel sneezed as the odor of age, dust, and decay

assaulted him, walking fearlessly, albeit uncertainly, up to the throne.

Without a word he plunged the spear into the desiccated corpse, and to his

astonishment, if turned to dust, bones dissolving into powder, and skin

breaking like dried leaves.  He had stared for a few moments before reaching down with a

gauntleted hand to pick up and examine a masterfully crafted metal sculpture

that fit snugly into his mailed palm. It was an impossible shape and shimmered

in the faint light. As if the metal was living, it glistened like gems of dew

on flowers in the early morning after rain. It was beautiful, and put him at

ease.  He slipped the innocent trinket into a bag at his hip, and

left the chamber.  The queen had been betrayed, the forces she called upon to

gift her the Dread-Spear had taken root in her soul, decaying it and syphoning

her strength, her immortal body began to atrophy, and in her final days she sat

on the throne, afraid and in pain, before the forces of the deep claimed her

forever as their slave.  Such was the story told. And such was the lie that spread. The truth was far more complicated.