The Akashic Mandate

Chapter 9

At the very front, near a large stone altar, he found the source of the sound.

A man was sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the base of the altar.

Elijah quickly stepped closer. The man was wearing beautiful, shining silver armor, decorated with white wings and golden crosses. But the armor was completely destroyed. A massive, jagged hole was torn straight through the center of the silver chest plate. Bright red blood poured heavily from the terrible wound, pooling on the cold stone floor around him.

The man was dying. He had only minutes left.

As Elijah walked closer, his boots crunched on some broken glass.

The dying warrior slowly lifted his head. He looked to be in his forties, with short blonde hair and a face covered in dirt and sweat. He reached to his side with a shaking hand and picked up a broken silver sword. He pointed the broken blade weakly toward Elijah.

"Stay back, demon," the warrior gasped. Blood bubbled at the corner of his lips. "I will not let you take my soul easily."

Elijah immediately raised both of his hands, keeping his fingers open to show he had no weapons. He made sure not to summon the black fire.

"I am not a demon," Elijah said quickly. His voice echoed gently in the quiet church. "I am human. I am like you. Put the sword down, you are losing too much blood."

The warrior blinked. He squinted his eyes, trying to see Elijah clearly in the dim, colorful moonlight. He saw Elijah’s torn gray shirt, his heavy leather boots, and his human face.

The warrior slowly lowered the broken sword. It clattered noisily onto the stone floor. He let out a long, painful breath.

"A human," the warrior whispered in disbelief. "A living human... wearing plain clothes. You are fresh. A new arrival."

Elijah took a few steps closer and knelt down beside the dying man. He looked at the massive wound in the silver armor. It looked like the man had been hit by a wrecking ball covered in sharp spikes. There was nothing Elijah could do to stop the bleeding. The damage was too deep.

"What happened to you?" Elijah asked softly. "Who did this?"

"The Alpha," the warrior coughed, spitting a glob of blood onto the floor. "The beast of the forest. It ambushed my patrol. It tore my men apart. I barely made it to this holy ground... hoping the angels' light would keep it away." He let out a dark, bitter laugh. "But the angels do not care about us."

"Where are we?" Elijah asked, his voice tight with desperation. He needed to know the rules of this world. "What is this place? The system in my head called it the Crucible. What does that mean?"

The warrior looked up at Elijah with tired, sad eyes.

"You do not know?" the man asked weakly. "You truly are newly dead. Tell me, boy, where did you come from?"

"Earth," Elijah answered immediately. "The cities are falling. The Ever-Blight is turning everyone into immortal, rotting corpses. I got infected. But before I could turn, an Angel came down and stabbed me with a flaming spear. Then I woke up in a river of blood."

The warrior closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Ah. A rare harvest. The Angel deemed your soul strong enough to survive the rip."

"The rip?" Elijah frowned. "Please, explain it to me. I need to understand."

The warrior took a deep, rattling breath. Speaking was clearly causing him immense pain, but he seemed to want to share the truth before he died.

"The Gods abandoned Earth centuries ago," the warrior began, his voice weak but clear in the quiet cathedral. "They did not just leave. They took the concept of True Death with them. That is why the sickness on Earth does not kill. It only rots the body, ripening the soul through pain and endless suffering."

Elijah felt a cold chill run down his spine. "Ripening the soul? Like fruit?"

"Exactly," the warrior nodded. "Earth is just a farm. A massive, painful farm. The Gods feed on human suffering to power their divine magic. But sometimes, they need soldiers to fight their endless wars against the demons of the lower realms. When they need soldiers, they send the Angels to harvest the strongest souls."

The warrior gestured weakly with his hand to his silver armor.

"Welcome to the Crucible of Genesis, boy. This is the afterlife turned into a cosmic warzone. Everyone here is a human soul, pulled from Earth, forced into a new immortal body. We are called the Vanguards. We are the slave army of the Gods."

Elijah stared at the dying man in absolute horror. The things he was hearing were too massive, too terrible to fully understand. The Gods were not kind creators. They were cruel farmers, and humanity was just their crops.

"But you are dying," Elijah pointed out, gesturing to the bleeding wound. "If we are immortal, why are you dying?"

"True Death exists here in the Crucible," the warrior explained, his voice getting much weaker. "But it is rare. If a normal monster kills me, my body will turn to dust, and my soul will simply reform back at the Vanguard Encampment. It is a painful process, but I will live again to fight another day."

The warrior coughed violently. More blood spilled down his silver armor.

"But..." the man continued, his eyes wide with fear. "If a Demon Lord kills you, or if a creature of pure darkness devours your soul spark... that is True Death. Your soul is erased completely. You cease to exist. The Alpha that attacked me... it had the dark hunger. If it finds me before my body naturally bleeds out, it will eat my soul."

Elijah immediately thought of the golden orbs he had absorbed from the Hellhounds. He remembered the system message: Entity Devoured. He remembered the warm feeling of consuming their magic.

"I won't let it eat you," Elijah said firmly. He wanted to help this man. This warrior was a victim, just like everyone back on Earth.