Hey y’all! @ragd0lly and I have been working on this project for a couple of months now, and we have finally decided to start writing it out entirely! If you’re familiar with her Monsters of Mount Rageous story, this is sort of like a spin off of that, intersecting ever so slightly! (It’ll still make sense even if you’ve never read it, but still check it out!
TW: Gore and blood described in detail
See the full summary (and better formatting) on my AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/69873421/chapters/181344561
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The Book of the Divine Guardians
1. In the first hush before breath, when the stars were still unlit, there were three who stood above the veil: Cosmia, who shone, Serphie, who played, and Terraphine, who bore the seeds of life.
2. But Cosmia alone stepped into the Void and gave it form. Her breath birthed the sun, her voice raised the dawn. Her siblings followed her holy example, and Serphie’s gaze made the waters shimmer, and Terraphine made the soil bloom.
3. And all that was pure, and bright, and flawless, came from Her. Cosmia
4. Yet from the deadly silence of envy, from the foul rot beneath what Cosmia had made, Moria arose, the sister rightfully left behind. The Demon, the Corrupter, the Devil. Her limbs are shadow, as She is the stillness in the grave, the thought that festers, the smile behind suffering.
5. She whispered to Cosmia’s children, She tempted and pried. And where she walked, monsters followed-created from the womb of darkness, children of the wretched.
6. Their limbs are broken examples of life. Their eyes, unblinking blasphemies. Some wear human faces, some wear none, all drink from Moria’s decay.
7. They are called monsters, and none pity them. They are not even creatures, they are echoes of Moria’s breath, shaped in hatred, cast in mockery.
8. The feeble-minded call them animals, the tainted call them miracles. But we, the Disciples of Solaris under Cosmia, see them rightly.
9. They are flesh made of darkness. And they must be unmade.
10. For Cosmia does not weep, she does not forgive, she cleanses.
11. We gather beneath the blessed promise of light, and anoint ourselves with Cosmia’s gift. Our meets are sacred, we are one under Her.
12. The offering is chosen, a monster, still warm with breath, its veins tainted with shadow. And we pierce its heart in the name of Purity.
13. Let its scream tear the veil, let its blood cover the soil. For each death drives back Moria’s reach. Each cry is a hymn to Cosmia’s glory.
14. Do not look away. Do not tremble. The light burns brightest when fed with darkness.
15. For when Cosmia returns, her eyes blazing, her skin the color of morning, she shall judge. And only those who cast out the impure shall be lifted in her light.
16. And the rest shall be fed to the dark beneath
17. This is not madness. This is not superstition. This is faith. And when the world ends-as it must-it will be the Disciples of Solaris who walk through the ash, unburnt and beloved.
Beneath a hard, sun-soaked sky, the land fractures open into a deep and jagged scar, a ravine carved by time. Its edges are sharp and crumbling, rimmed with dry, brown stone bleached by the desert heat. Just beyond its rim, the land shifts, touched by the distant vegetation of a nearby forest, whose green silhouettes haunt the horizon.
A river, sparkling and bright, sluggish but persistent, winds near the ravine’s end, bordered with tall, whispering reeds that bend in the wind. Rocks litter the bank, some worn smooth, others jagged, scattered like the bones of something ancient.
On the surface above the ravine, a few rough huts squat low to the ground, their thatched roofs pulled tight to protect the interior from the elements. Some are clustered near the river, others perched precariously close to the edge, as though waiting for the earth to swallow them. Narrow trails connect each and every one, creating a known sense of community.
Fields of hearty crops grow in raised beds of stone and dry soil, nurtured by clever irrigation and care. Wildflowers bloom in defiant clusters, purples, reds, and sickly white. The wind carries their scent, both sweet and sharp. Flowers aren’t the only natural plant that sprout here…
Muted green leaves, slightly leathery in texture, dot the land, rare and unusual. Each leaf is intricately veined with a deep, rich purple, branching out like a vivid organic map, giving the plant a very dramatic, sinister appearance. Small buds of the same color produce in bundles at the tops of slender stems, mysteriously held upright. A lattice, wooden fence has been placed to stand guard over the largest bunch of these mysterious crops, signaling their dominance and value.
Descending into the ravine, the temperature cools, deepening shadows fended off by bioluminescent crystals that glimmer faintly even in the day, their ghostly blue and violet light pulsing like a breath. At night, they illuminate the entire ravine in a soft, unnatural glow, casting long shadows that seem to move when no one is watching. Shaky ladders made of desert wood cling to the rock walls, and weathered stairs are carved into the stone, following the natural curves of the chasm. The walls are riddled with caves, dozens of them, their mouths irregular, some barely large enough to walk through without bending one’s spine harshly, others yawning wide like ancient wounds. Many are decorated with woven mats or hung with heavy cloths dyed in naturally rusted colors, each marked with odd symbols; diamonds, sunbursts pierced by lines, and other shapes too complex or too vague to interpret.
The ravine is layered, rocky ledges create something like a vertical village. Narrow paths, covered in a permanent layer of dirt connect these levels, occasionally widening into flat platforms where people move quietly, always watching. The air tastes faintly of copper and dust, and its inhabitants always have grit covering their tongues and grains of the earth stuck between their teeth.
At the ravine's center, where a river once roared, but now lies dry and hollowed, there is a common ground, a wide, flattened area built for socialization and worship. Here, a small market of makeshift stalls lean together, accompanied by gossip and whispers. Dried goods, strange trinkets, gems and bones carved into charms hang from twine. A few larger caves open here as well, framed with stonework and faintly glowing crystals embedded into the surface.
Further down, a mine snakes into the rock, its mouth ringed with shaky, uncertain supports. The mine tunnels vanish into blackness, a deep, forbading echo permeating the ears of those who pass.
Symbols, the same as those seen on cave walls, are littered everywhere, etched into the pathways and painted onto rocks, some small, others towering. No one speaks of them, they don’t have too. They are simply there, watching.
At the far end of the ravine sits the amphitheater, a hollow carved laboriously from the tough rock. Its seats curve inward like teeth around a smooth, diamond-shaped center. At the heart stands a pedestal, tall, worn, and faintly stained, as if something has repeatedly seeped down its edges over and over. The ground here is strangely quiet, and the crystals in the stone burn brighter, casting long-reaching beams of light into the many tunnels that stretch from the arena into deeper cave networks. The silence in this place is not peace, it is passion. It is determination. It is life or death.
And tonight, as Cosmia’s sun sets behind the blazing rock, the end is certain for one.
The sun crawled toward the edge of the world, bleeding gold and crimson across a sky that watched, unblinking.
A crowd began to gather in the stands, heavy footfalls on the stone and dirt of ages. A low rumble could be heard amongst them, a hum of pleasure and a desperate whine of insatiable hunger.
Tonight, they will be fed again.
They gathered without fanfare. The community-robed in pure white garments, adorned with talismans made from flowers and stones of the earth-filled the ascending rings of seats in a perfect, practiced pattern. Their arrival was as natural as the dusk. No one spoke above a whisper, none needed to. This night had been written in the marrow of their bones.
Upon the pedestal laid the Sacrifice.
The creature was still, under the influence of some sort of sedative. Pale yellow hair tumbled in front of its face, worn with anxiety and the weight of being hunted catching up to it. Its tiny, skeletal frame signified youth, but the air surrounding it, thick with violence and the craving of justice, made the monster’s status known; hated as a child of Moria.
Ginormous shackles clung to its wrists and ankles, though it no longer struggled. Whatever rage or fight had once lived in it had long since been burned out by prophecy.
It was born in fire. It would die in purpose.
While the children in the stands were dressed in vibrant, handmade flower crowns, this creature wore nothing on its head beside a fluffy mess of hair splattered with blood.
Black. As dark as the haunting night.
As the last rays of the sun bled over the amphitheater, something shifted. A finalized hush swept through the crowd, identical robes crinkling to find their seats. Every neck, taught from birth to bow to their goddess, was inclined towards the center of the theater. They kept their watchful, sunken eyes on the pedestal, every twitch from the monster sending a collective shudder twirling through the crowd.
However, their confidence rattled no more, as four of their own, pure-blooded, cemented their place beside the pedestal. A sharp intake of breath takes all the oxygen away from the ravine. Though most could anticipate the next steps, bloodshed was almost always unpredictable.
A towering man, with a very pleasant face sitting above broad shoulders, was the first to approach. Atop his ceremonial garments, he adorned a sleeved cloak, pockets lining the inner seam. The air, rusted with blood, suddenly cleared, cut through sharply by a wave of the man’s authoritative hand.
With a grand flourish, he began to pull an item out of one of these pockets; an item wrapped in a valuable, deep maroon velvet cloth. Adoring coos trickled down to the center from the rings, and they pooled at his feet as he began to savor the moment triumphantly.
As if an invisible hand commanded him onward, the man resumed, unwrapping the package to reveal a twelve-inch blade, handle encrusted with pearls and diamonds, sparkling underneath the setting sun. It was the same blade they had used since the beginning, and would be the same blade they would use until Cosmia called upon their end.
A single look to the crowd from the man hushes anymore stragglers voicing their opinions. Under Cosmia, all attention was on this moment.
The man's voice was able to project effortlessly across the entire theater, clear and concise, he is the one they listen to. It was an identical speech, recited at every ritual, yet everyone tuned in with straight backs, clenched fists, and eyes wide with passion.
“This blade has only one purpose,” he declared, voice thundering, holding the weapon in his hand firmly, “to honor our goddess, Cosmia. Soaked with her sun’s heavenly rays, it is powered to reclaim souls as her own. It is strong enough to drive away even the darkest of creatures sent from Moria. In the name of Cosmia, I bless this blade once more.”
Not a single head was left unbowed, as a few burst into fits of tears, overwhelmed with utter joy led by a guiding hand. The man cut all remaining clothing away from the monster’s poisoned body, exposing it to the desert heat and sharp hisses. Cuts and scraps, inflicted by hands who wrestled it into this vulnerable position, covers the body, ribs and joints visible through taut, sallow skin.
Without another second to spare, the man swiftly stabbed the blade deep into the creature’s collarbone. A sickening snap echoed around the stands, a common flinch hitting everyone who sat observing.
This man, a leader and conductor, was impressively strong, yet after decades of experience, it remained a struggle to get through the internal workings of a body, skin and all. He manages to get through the first mark, a diagonal line halfway through the stomach, before the creature lurches forward, a small whimper escaping its purple lips, stained with sedation. That’s all such a tiny monster could muster, eyes barely fluttering open to witness its own execution, before falling unconscious once more.
The man, merciless, barely faltered, continuing downwards. The members above continued to cheer him on, hoots and hollers bouncing around the world, soaked up by the various carvings that still remained watchful.
The blade was removed with a haunting squelch, and the man waved it above his head victoriously, a savage grin splitting across his face. There, deeply scratched onto the sacrifice’s chest, highlighted with its disturbingly black blood, was the completed honorary symbol of Cosmia, mirroring the diamonds and sunbursts covering the ravines' walls.
Like metamorphosis, the cheers erupting from the people-young and old, blind and visionary-transformed into pure energy, lifting the man up higher and higher as he floated back to the small huddle awaiting his return.
Another man, of similar age and air of status surrounding him, shook his hand with rough praise, sliding the knife into his own grip. It would be his for safekeeping in the meantime.
The man, his hands only stained slightly, turned to the meekest figure. Her body was shrouded in long lengths of white cotton, extra care had been taken to ensure not a speck of dirt was visible anywhere but the bottom hem that dragged across the ground defiantly. Atop her unusually flaming red hair was a lace veil, covering her face as the man attempted to look into her eyes.
Her hands fidgeted with the fabric of her ceremonial dress, sleeves rolled up to reveal carvings of her own, her skin exhibiting the same symbols as the dead monster’s, but unlike it, her breath still trembled.
The man, using two fingers, flicked the girl’s chin upward, two pairs of eyes now boring into two very different souls, yet both were united under those they worshipped.
He stood with his hand cupped around the girl’s shoulder, whispering mutters of encouragement, before turning his neck slightly to witness the crowd screaming praises once more. A prideful smile broke across his lips, which then kissed the girl’s veiled head tenderly.
The blade’s polished surface reflects the last hints of the glittering sun, the cosmic object finally registering its time to depart for the night, peeking out slightly, just above the horizon. Cosmia blessing her children with a few minutes in the presence of her wonderful creation.
After its inevitable disappearance, everybody will rush home to soak in the safety the lighting crystals offered, adorning the floors, walls, every corner you could imagine. Praying in the luminosity to ward off the shadows of Moria that still lingered. Her wicked reach grasping for a new soul to latch onto, now that her grotesque creatures that hopelessly wandered the earth are slowly being buried six feet under. One monster, one cut, at a time. Cosmia’s heavenly light over this extensive plane will be renewed.
And I am honored to be at the center of it all, assisting my family.
My heart flutters every moment I get to bask in her appreciation. Every time her sun-sent rays shine upon my face. It’s inexplicable, when I open myself up, and my blood drains in her name.
Do they feel the same? The monsters we catch? I wonder how exhilarating it must feel to be under the knife, each carving bringing a wave of passion. Some thrash and cry for the mothers that couldn’t have possibly ever loved them, while others accept their fate, eyes wide, pleading for pity. At least they will perish under Cosmia’s promise, her symbol that holds much more meaning than we can ever understand. I wear the same ones, yet I am still breathing.
My chest is clear, it is not ready for her yet. That will be in a few years, when my purpose has been fulfilled.
Blessed be the Disciples of Solaris
Our gods’ eternal power can never be denied
And will always overcome all,
Even the most terrible of evils.
dededos
areudirty
titsay
janainaart
dailybridgerton
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