The Saintess's Knight

Chapter 2: Bloodied Ceremony

Standing in the perimeter of the large hall, the Palladian commander watched as the banquet progressed.

One by one, the prominent nobles and high priests entered the banquet hall of the temple. They mingled gracefully with fake smiles, flaunting dazzling suits and dresses; Yet none wore gold at this night of horror, for they were humble under the gaze of their god. The Pope, deeming himself the only one worthy, donned himself with elaborate gold jewelry. 

As if they weren't about to kill the saintess in the very house of their god.

The Palladian stood tall and straight, his muscular frame prominent even under his white uniform. His navy cape hid his tense muscles. 

Oblivious to the blushing gazes of the noble women, he tapped the hilt of his sword in a steady rhythm to suppress his agitated nerves, his killing intent. For the first time in his life, he wanted to take a life solely based off of his hatred. Or rather, lives, in this case. Indiscriminately, his blade will taste the blood of every priest and noble present.

His tapping synched with movement of the second hand on his small watch, hidden under his sleeve.

He wanted to wait until she came. This was for her, after all. It was her right to see her tormentors repent with their death.

Soon.

Soon, and everything will be over.

Then, maybe, just maybe, they can live freely.

"His holiness, the Pope has entered!" A servant loudly announced at the entrance.

Dressed in a white and gold rimmed robe, the Pope arrogantly strode in on the red carpet. Behind the old man, a young lady appearing sickly, was wheeled in by a servant. Her black hair gloomily veiled most of her face. With his enhanced vision, he could see her dark eyes without a spark of life.

Vincent's gaze never strayed off the saintess from the moment she came in.

 
****

The saintess sat still, flinching as the screams and wails of terror reached her ears. The smell of rustic blood had long swelled in the air, almost choking her.

She stared ahead at the stone statue of their god centered in the water fountain.

She thought back to how this began. 

She had entered the hall, wheeled to the center and forced to kneel on a rough matt, and told to pray.

The ritual wouldn't occur immediately. They wanted to watch her first, to see if the despair would eat her from with in. They wanted her to struggle, to beg, so as to further prove their point.

That she was the fake Saintess. Otherwise, god would bring about a miracle to save her, wouldn't he?

She glanced up at the large statue, depicting the vague image of the god the people of this land believed in. Carved in stone was a human figure with androgynous features, and covered in a robe with their arms held out as if to embrace all.

'Why did you drag me into this world? Your people don't seek help nor do they recognize your efforts made to preserve humanity.' She lamented, not expecting a response from the always silent god. It was a one sided communication, but she knew he was listening, it was a gut feeling.

'Anyhow, I'm tired. I want to rest, so let me be. Please.' She sighed and turned her sight away.

In the distance, she spotted her sole remaining loyal Knight, Vincent Pearce. His bright golden hair laid gently atop his forehead, it was cut above his curved at the edges eyebrows and light blue eyes. His shoulders wide, with a muscular torso, as well as long and strong legs. His masculinity and charisma was evident even under his heavy uniform.