Chapter 82: The Madman
From the moment he opened his mouth, I knew this self-proclaimed Pope was dangerously unhinged. His eyes burned with a fire that was not entirely sane, and his mood shifted from imperious command to fanatical glee in the blink of an eye. Then again, this was a dream. Anything was possible. But what in God's name was this "Lord of the Sky"?
“For so many years, we, the faithful servants of the Lord of the Sky, have been persecuted!” the Pope began, his voice a passionate, theatrical sermon that echoed through the grotto. “Scattered to the winds, forced to hide in the shadows, unable to even contact one another for fear of our enemies!”
“But that time is over, my friends! The age has turned! Our Lord has answered my prayers! He has sent a new prophecy! He is returning to this world, and our age of glory is finally at hand!”
“To that end, we must prepare! We must cast aside our scattered, broken state and rebuild the Church, to make ready for His glorious return! That is why I have summoned you here tonight!”
His words sent a ripple of excitement through the assembled crowd. “Is it true?” one of the figures asked, his voice a desperate hiss. “Has the Lord truly answered you? Have you received a new oracle?”
“It is the absolute truth,” the Pope replied, his voice ringing with conviction. “Words are cheap,” another voice, this one laced with a bitter, envious skepticism, cut in. “What proof do you offer?”
“This conclave itself is the proof!” the Pope declared. “This miracle, this gathering of the faithful from across the world, is the boon our Lord has granted me! What more proof do you need?”
“That is no proof at all,” the skeptic retorted. “Unless you show us the oracle itself, I will not believe you.”
“Heh. It is not that I am unwilling,” the Pope chuckled, a condescending sound. “But the oracle was not written on any mortal script. It was burned directly into my mind, three days ago, on the day the three moons converged. I heard our Lord’s whisper, and it has taken me these three days to fully comprehend His divine will, and to master this art of summoning.”
“Then it is still just your word against ours,” a more rational voice argued. “None of the rest of us heard this whisper. Are you saying you are more devout than all of us combined?”
“I am not saying that,” the Pope replied, his voice dripping with an arrogant condescension. “But I will say that most of you, upon hearing the true voice of our Lord, would have gone instantly, irrevocably mad. Only I have the strength to bear it.” His words were met with a wave of angry, resentful murmurs.
Just then, a strange, cackling laugh echoed from a dark corner of the cavern. “Hehehe… hoho, ahahaha! It's true! He's telling the truth!” All eyes turned to the source of the voice. In a dark, forgotten corner sat a madman, his clothes ragged and worn inside-out, his face a mess of matted hair and wild, staring eyes. He was laughing, a high, unhinged sound that echoed horribly in the cavern. “The Lord is coming! He is coming! I have seen Him! You'll all die! This world… this world is just His supper!”
“Who is this?” Lavias asked, his voice laced with annoyance. “You summoned a madman to our great conclave?”
“I do not know him,” the Pope replied, a flicker of genuine surprise in his own eyes. “My art merely summoned all who were worthy of the great cause. Does anyone know this man?” The assembled figures looked at each other, a sea of monstrous, unreadable faces. No one knew the madman. He continued to laugh, his voice rising in a gleeful, apocalyptic rant. “The seed has been sown! You have no idea what you are doing! You will all die! You should be honored to become a delicious meal for the Lord!”
“Enough!” a new voice, a dry, rasping sound, interrupted. It came from a corner of the cavern where a figure wrapped head to toe in black funeral shrouds floated a few inches off the ground. “I will devour this madman’s soul and see what nonsense he speaks. Any objections?”
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