Kieran stared at everything with a distant gaze.
A cascade of hot blood continued to fall upon him, becoming a new crimson mask as he watched the Flame's petulant activity erupt across the Pit of Culling.
Every Voiceless was beginning to awaken characteristics of the Flame. Many experienced an extreme amplification of what already was because they gave their mind, body, and spirit directly to the Flame.
It was their lord and savior from this hellish fate, and they wanted to live. That was the promise the Flame made to all. Should the touched carry out its wicked desires… the Flame would ensure life.
That manipulative promise — full of veiled cunning — was enough to spur instant submission.
The Voiceless were children, after all — easy to manipulate thanks to their youthful naivety. And so, the children would become the Flame's wake. Wherever the Flame's War touched, a trail of Death, Destruction, and Blood followed.
So much blood. It followed every Voiceless like a grisly mantle, but behind Kieran… it was the greatest, deepest, and most vibrant.
Kieran's distant gaze shifted down, taking in the horrific sight before him. This was all the Flame's doing and was more intense than it should have been.
And the reason for it was Kieran.
'My fault?'
His defiance brought the suffering of the Voiceless. He was the harbinger of the Flame's Ruin and had to bear that guilt.
Now touched by the Flame… they would no longer fall as quickly. They would suffer longer, cling to that depraved hope more desperately than ever, and finally… they would die facing grave torment.
Kieran frowned at the morbid realization and gripped his longsword until his hand strained and cramped.
'…I'm sorry. Your suffering is my doing. Hopefully, I can end it for you.'
Kieran stepped, and the blood flowing behind him followed in delight. Embers of frigid rage burned within his icy black eyes. Pure bloodlust — untainted by the Flame's touch — seeped out of Kieran as he met an incoming blade.
The met blade slid across Kieran's longsword as he controlled the outcome with merciless finesse. His longsword's sharp, tapered edge cleaved through the throat of the Voiceless by the end of his refined stroke, but he did not reap the life he wanted.
That Voiceless had abandoned his attack out of primal fear. All Kieran's attack did was reopen the healing scar that marred his opponent's neck.
Then, the Voiceless' wounded flesh began stitching together at a visible rate. Wisps of silver and crimson could be seen dancing along the sleek flesh. Like Kieran had assumed, the Voiceless suffering would be extended.
This Culling would be unlike his first. The Flame would ensure this was an event of glorious savagery and delightful bloodlust.
A festive bloodbath. A bloodfest — a festival for the dying.
Kieran could feel the Flame's chilling joy through the shared consciousness. He could feel what it was telling the others but could not stop it.
His only answer was to swing his blade without giving in to the Flame.
'Don't run. Let me kill you. It will be quick and painless.'
And he swung that blade with growing ferocity. He chased the retreated Voiceless until he successfully severed the boy's head.
The Flame lost one of its thralls to feed its vigor. And Kieran enjoyed it.
Slowly, Kieran's motives, perspective of the situation, and understanding of his role grew demented. He saw himself as the Voiceless' one true salvation. No one alive wanted a better fate for the Voiceless than he did. But… he sought to give them this salvation by killing them.
And that was where his perspective had become unhinged. No matter where he turned, he had to make an amoral choice, and unsurprisingly… every available path involved slaughter.
The principles of the Dying Blood were inescapable.
He wished he could tell the Voiceless the truth about that enthralling voice in their minds, that it was feeding them mistruths bereft of sane choice. It was stealing from them while simultaneously feeding them.
But he had no voice to speak with and could not talk into their minds. Neither could he peer into their thoughts and listen to how the Voiceless responded. That was a realm of authority Kieran did not have dominion over.
Of course, Kieran realized their death was guaranteed no matter what he did, but he wanted to absolve himself of the guilt. Otherwise, it would cling to his soul.
However, a thought seeped into Kieran's mind.
'What if it's better this way? They don't deserve the Flame's glory anyway.'
Again… Kieran was viewing the Flame as glorious, though he didn't mean to. Envy was sprouting in him due to the Flame's sinister machinations. While he was depriving himself of the Flame's euphoria, the Voiceless were basking in it.
That was enough to drive any sane — perhaps insane, too — person mad.
'I don't want you. I just want your glory.'
"Oh? But you can't have glory without me. I am that which paves the path to glory. And you… you are my Condemned that walks it. Without me, you will be Broken, but with me, you will be Great and Endless."
The mordant voice returned after having absorbed enough bloodlust from the infected Voiceless. The Equality Gate ravenously consumed the mystical essence to erect a defense by acting as Kieran's last bastion against the madness.
But the Equality Gate was fighting a doomed battle.
The dark murmurs were amplified inside the Pit of Culling. The voice was feeding and growing, the corruption was teeming with energy, and it erupted against the harmonic barrier in Kieran's Realm of Self.
The collision wreaked havoc on Kieran's concentration, and his perception of the world blackened. Many of the Voiceless sprang at him like salivating beasts in that lapse! They were mindless and worked per the Flame's wishes.
The Voiceless, led by the Flame's coercive commands and the Flame reinforced by the overflowing bloodlust, orchestrated a vicious strike. Of the same mind, the coordination between Flame and Voiceless was seamless.
A blitz of dual fronts — a siege on body and mind.
Kieran was not prepared for this development. No one could be. How could he anticipate an unimaginable pain akin to a detonated bomb?
Pinned to the Pit's blood-soaked sands by several cooperating Voiceless, Kieran kicked and thrashed, catching a few with his desperate spasms. However, no matter how many he shook off, another Voiceless was always poised to fill the void and keep him pinned down.
The entire situation was absurd to him.
'Don't you know you're going to die? Why are you working together?!'
Cooperation was pointless inside the Pit of Culling as there could only be one winner in the end, yet the Voiceless did just that.
In the back of their little mind, a delusional thought played in repeat: "Maybe if we serve the Flame well… it will let us live. Yes, this boy on the floor is the only threat to our survival. Kill him. We must. And we shall."
Kieran's chest rose and fell in a dire panic as his eyes trembled.
The cold sensation from the Voiceless dragging their weapons across his skin lingered on his barely covered limbs.
And then, all those weapons bit into his body and caused unthinkable anguish.
Soon, only the squelch of repeatedly pierced flesh echoed in Kieran's ears. He didn't know when his writhing or gagged screams had stopped, but they did.
Shortly after, he felt a heat begin to rise.
"Are you mad, little birdie? Upset that I topple your every move? Do you understand that you're my Condemned? You can't save yourself, and you certainly can't save others. But… you can kill them. Let me in."
With a listless gaze, Kieran understood his dismal fate. The Flame would forever torment him, and it would always beat him.
At that moment, the Equality Gate grew, losing its mystical luster. Then, Kieran's choice was stolen.
His eyes closed a victim… but they opened a fiend!
"Now… bath in blood. Walk the path of a Fiend risen in Condemned Blood. Let me prepare you."
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