Cinders Of Remnant (Male Reader)

Trailer4. Excommunication

3rd Person POV:

A boy was found alone in a field. No particular field, and for no particular reason. He simply sat. The moonlight shining down on the lush greenery almost gave it a sense of magic. As if the roots in the rich soil were enchanted, like in the stories.

The boy sat by his lonesome in front of a large gray slab of stone. The words seemed to be of an inhuman language. In reality, it simply was a form of writing that was lost to time. Only a select few from a small town could read it.

The boy was dressed in regal attire. A beautiful family crest was woven into the back of his tunic. The icon of a family that did nothing but protect it's country. Yet, instead of demons or vampires, the true enemy of this family was the very people it bloodied it's name for.

He grimaced and reached to his left, where he had placed the cloak of a close family member. He draped it over his shoulders and melted in the comfort of it's finely woven leather. It's edges were outlined a vibrant yellow that contrasted with the black sleeves and coat. It was meant to be worn as a sophisticated blazer, but both this owner and the last preferred that the buttons be left undone and for the cloak to hang.

He stood up and drew a sword from his hip. It was longer than the average sword. In fact, it was almost the size of the boy himself. To say that the maker was compensating would be an understatement. He raised it and plunged it into the dirt beside the grave. It was an act of remembrance. The sword was never his, and although the original owner would have loved to see him use it, the blade belonged here, with him. The boy jolted out of surprise and quickly reached into his cloak to grab the sword's sheath. Would have been weird to have a sheathless blade resting at a tombstone.

Suddenly, a rustling noise was heard behind him. He turned and looked towards the forest. The field was lush and wide, but it was at the edge of deep woods.

Boy: Who's there?

No response.

Boy: Must be nothing...

The boy rummaged around in his cloak before taking out a flask. He uncapped it and took a deep gulp of the fiery liquid inside.

Boy: Ah... That's some good shit.

He put away the flask and suddenly turned around with a whip in hand. He swung the chain directly into a nearby bush and it's edge glowed a bright gold. It disappeared in the darkness of the woods. After a second, a cry of pain could be heard. He had found his target.

???: Come out or I'll torch this whole bloody forest!

After a few seconds, a group of people walked into the clearing. They were wearing bright white robes with gilded crosses around their necks.

The Church.

Two were quite startled. Their robes and skin were stained with fresh blood. It must have been them that took the whip strike. The boy thought he only hit one, but the second must have gotten the whiplash.

One man stood out from the others. He wore a long purple cloth across his shoulders like a scarf. It draped all the way down to his boots. He must be the leader of this group.

The boy raised his whip at the man.

Boy: I take it you're the Bishop?

Bishop: Correct.

Boy: This isn't exactly religious land.

Bishop: What if we simply take pride in our work as a priest and wish to express it?

Boy: Express elsewhere. Your people hate us, and our people hate you.

Bishop: We may Express wherever we please. Wallachia is God's country after all.