Thermophagy took his first steps on Ammonkhet since the wedding. His and Chionia's paths had been interwoven, the perfected matrimony of Choirmaster and Sister. That chapel had already been buried, another sector eaten away by the dead of Kaldheim drenching their cemeteries, devouring the walls with what little remained of their teeth. The bells still rung in his mind, their clangs crunching against the sound of sand beneath his boots, solid blocks of some humanoid's leather, complete with hardwood lifts. His thick coat covered him like a curtain, this purified shroud of cotton that washed out the salted wind, as his great citadel, Pronoia, rose like the second sun. It has grown since he last saw it - from a spiral of stone it tumourously blossomed, the beginnings of a new Hospital had sprung out in bold, pure bricks, splattered in crimson as proof of their caretaker's adoration. Priests had clamoured around a serpent, its foul head and frenzied arms being bound down to free it from sickness. Thick strands of leather came from the wrists of the Expendables, attaching it to the slab. What a lowly being, struggling against the blessings of the Pestoxy. It's every scream but another sign of our righteous mission.
He continued to step through his delightful palace, watching each and every person. Humans were toiling in gardens, Expendables sprinted to serve like ants, and Sisters floated through the air, their skirts hemmed and shadowed. A Sister's modesty and purity came before all wicked influence. And the Nagas, who refused his care, were already falling to his Hospital. It was a simple plan, really. Pave over that river, that foul-scented river, and build a huge suite of houses over it. Those who would refuse their new housing, new protection under the Pestoxy, faced waves of motivation until they would concede. It was much kinder than slaughtering them, far easier to convince their human settlers of their continued morality. After all, look upon the first of the Nagas arriving, coiling in pain.
Thick, bloating wounds boiled out through its scales. Buboes at best, eschar at worst. Every movement made it writhe in pain again, bones flaring up through their skin as they openly wept, arms bending and coiling as a Father approached, waving a censer by it's pearls. The smoke palmed at their wounds, puncturing them. Purulent extrusions flowed out like honey, quickly turning serosanguinous as it flooded the slab, mixing with their tears as their palms were held outwards. Expendables drank from what little blood flowed out, as the illness burned into a thick smoke, the incense duelling with it's foul swings at life. "Take pride, Father." Thermophagy spoke as if addressing a congregation, stern and reserved, "You have taken this wicked being's dark heart from it. Speak now, son or daughter of the Pestoxy, you may be reborn in our image."
"I... cannot recount my dedication." they mumbled, coughing.
"Speak now, son or daughter of the Pestoxy. I cannot perceive your voice of praise for us if it is muffled by your paranoia."
"I don't... speak in praise. Let me back to Imoti."
Thermophagy's body twisted. His arms flared, ripping through his body to sprout additional backup should his main sextet be insufficient. "Foul being! Do not renounce the Gods of Fortunes, Connections, Duty and Veneration! I have lead the light of the God of Connections outwards, and Veneration has taken your hands, seen your suffering and ridded you from it. Foul things such as you who refuse sacrifice or dedication face sickness and death at their own wicked hands!"
The serpent pulled itself free. "Imoti brings us true dedication. We venerate her for the spell she casts upon our lands."
Thermophagy's palms met their wrists again, pulling them directly across the stone, knocking their wounds against the uptilting edges of the tiles. "Do not blight my senses with such a name! Her fraudulent, linguistic bile befouls all who perceive her. That heretic, even to her own people, has deceived you. Impoverished worm, you shall be reduced to feedstock should your sycophantic delusions corrupt the faith here, do you understand?"
The serpent pulled away, weakly. "I cannot relinquish my dedication to her side. She is the one who heals us, not you." Some of the humans overheard the commotion, and began staring at the two of them. "Leave. Leave this place and never return." Thermophagy's orders were quickly followed. It was time to decontextualise again, retell the tale as another demented mind that had flown in as a Sister's newest experiment had gone poorly, leading the naga to turn feral.
I cannot stay in Pronoia much longer. I recognised the person being chastised today. They were a great friend of my previous lifetime, before my face and name were stripped from me. They are all I can remember. I will do all I can to return home, wherever it may be. I saw them trail out Eastwards. I shall follow, like the man of Cantors 17:42. 'I, who am but humble and meek, see your glory and rise to it like a secretary bird, high upon my working limb, and through it become capable of flattening the wicked beasts that surround my heart.'
I'm leaving tonight, and burning you. My dissenting here shall be worse than any who dissented from Naktamum all those years ago.
– Chimal, Faceless Heretic
The scrap of paper blew across the desert, before reaching the eyes of a winged woman. "You, are what earn'd my husbands ire. Do not think yourself holy, do not think yourself safe. We stitched away your mouth for your words were nought but sin. Your hands shall be next, the absence of mouth did not prevent your sin spreading."
Thanks to @jasper-graphics for the borders!
