Abyss

Chapter 1

A.

Smoke emerges from charred wood all around the has-been town, polluting the night's air with its thick smog and melancholy smell. The smell of destruction. The smell of fear. Drops of rain start to multiply into a slight pour, dwindling what is left of the raging but weakened flames.

A band of soldiers marches in unison, throwing survivors of the attack, hands bound tightly with rope, on the dirt that marks their destination. One by one, the survivors are made to sit in a straight line, their faces filled with mud and despair. A dreadful silence looms, accompanied by rain and often interrupted by the coughing and cries of captured villagers awaiting their punishment. Some sit and wait for it in silence, praying to their gods, while others attempt to resist. But it is futile. Escape is impossible. Even those with hope know that. No one escapes the empire's judgement. Many have tried, many have rebelled, many have fought and resisted until their muscles tore apart and their bones shattered, many have screamed and begged until their lungs replied only with blood. No one escapes the empire's judgement.

The rain, which had been born but a few minutes ago, started dwindling again. The fire attempted to expand its clutches again, but was met with stone and mud. It kept dwindling despite its efforts. The dying fire reflects in Persephone's cold gaze. Lost in thought, her stare looms over the flames' final dance, illuminating her black and purple robes and inquisitorial medal, adorned with golden outlines and twin strips of cloth, both coloured black, decorated with a purple hyacinth. She feels the need to reach out for the fire's warmth, but restrains herself from doing so. In her eye's corner, a young cadet approaches.

"Another nest of heathens and traitors, illuminated by your righteous flames of judgement, oh glorious inquisitor!" The cadet blurts out nervously as he bashes the back of his right hand onto his temple, attempting a salute. "We await your judgement!"

"Quit it with the bootlicking Esker, I've had enough of that today." She replied, while swiftly and elegantly folding and wrapping her long, sleek black locks into a neat bun to avoid the nuisances of wet hair. "Are the townspeople gathered?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Have any of them managed to escape?"

"No, ma'am!"

"Good, walk with me"

"Yes, ma'am!"

'Her grace the empress must be getting impatient, sending unpolished young soldiers like him into the field' She thought, walking slowly past her saluting soldiers, searching for those who might have managed to hide from or avoid former patrols. Her robes, forming into a cape at her backside, slide across the muddy floor without struggle, drawing a straight line through the ruined town's path. With every new step she takes, a new drop of rain traces across her stern visage, and a loud step accentuated by the gurgling of the mud below her boot marks her slow and menacing progress towards her captives. Their coughs and cries continue, dampened only slightly by the cloths bound across their mouths. 'Pity you all couldn't have just migrated to another town, or called to a legal druid for help. So many other possibilities and this is what you chose to do.' "I hate this" Persephone sighed under her breath. Esker caught notice of this, but knew better than to question the Inquisitor supreme. 'A soldier does not ask questions, even innocent ones.' He reminded himself.

Eventually, Persephone's footsteps reach an abrupt halt as she turns to face her prisoners. Some of them meet her iron gaze and are shackled by it, some look away with fear, and others hold their eyes closed, trying desperately to make peace with their grim fate. Persephone, surrounded by her soldiers, switches to a more dominating, but strangely calming tone, cutting through the sound of the captive's sobbing and struggles like a knife through soft butter.