Consecration
The vines are creeping up the pillars of the manor, again. Even now as I watch, they are curling into hideous little shapes, little shapes of children and animals. I will burn them someday, with the white candle I keep beside my bed.
But for now, I let them persist in their folly. I let those vines curl however they like, let them taunt me—I will win. And those women too, those little women holding the hands of the chattering toddlers, and that baker, cooking his too-colorful sweets, and that old man, aimlessly walking from his home—they will all be consumed. They have not worshiped at the altar of a god, as I have. They have not acquiesced to his will, as I have. They have not been worthy of his most gracious generosity, his most benevolent prophecy, his most glorious, glorious vision!
But it is of no consequence—they shall soon learn of their mistake, when my dearest decontaminates this world of its insipid, sacrilegious filth. I dream about this sometimes, when I cannot help the impatience I feel for Kalas and his little rag-tag group of unwitting imbeciles to finish their first duty. It is a pretty dream. A dream of a floating citadel, full to the brim of pious monsters—a dream of a world that burns.
For now, I am alone in my room, in love with the sound of glass shattering. I am alone in my room, in love with the sound of earth smashing. I am alone in my room, in love with the sound of heaven's metal breaking. I am alone in my room, surrounded by white, imprinted by my love of him, of my devout dedication to his goals.
But water—ohh, how I hate the sound of water. That slippery splashing, that sickening undulation, that despicable wetness! It will ruin the holy fire, the sacred consummation of this deviant world!
But, no, no, I won't think of that now, not now—not now when my darling, my savior, my Malpercio is so close to being resurrected.
Even oceans cannot win against the might of a god's wrathful flame. There is no balm to soothe his revenge, and how I will nurture it so. For he is kind in his own way, Malpercio. He is the harbinger in a new era of life, untainted by the base, licentious, corrupt natures of human nature. He will correct their wayward behavior; he will prune the overgrown shrub of existence to make room for a nascent generation, a generation who will devote their very magnus to his will and his will alone.
How very lucky I am to be a character in this grand scheme! Providence has recognized my pure, white soul—human as it is, so flawed, I am humbled—it has granted me this unspeakable honor in standing by his side, acting as his guide, his hoplite, his servant!
Oh, Kalas. Don't you see? This world will be beautiful in the apocalypse he will rain down on it. I sense a growing dissent in your heart—you must fight it! You must perform your most magnificent duty to Malpercio, before your weakness forces you to grow rebellious.
Fight them, Kalas! Fight your companions and achieve the power of a deity! Fight them and unlock the power of a millennium past!
—And don't you dare submit! KALAS!
Oh!—
Ah, yes!
There they are! There are the End Magnus, glowing, glowing! Look at their wicked light, their apocalyptic pulchritude! Oh, you want to complete your master, don't you? And there is the power, bringing the darkness of this world, the purgatory this world requires to purify! Malpercio, the divine cleanser of life—he is perfection, he is destruction—
And, oh, there he is—! My love!
Let the epoch of consecration begin!
A/N: Melodia is such a BAMF.