Genesis 3 15

  24991115 | 2240

  City 19 | Cathedral Prime

  41° 54' 17.1180'' N

  12° 27' 16.6608'' E

  The man approached the chapel.

  He strode past ranks upon ranks of praying and hooded pilgrims, some stumbled upon their prayers or missed their recitals at the sight of him.

  He kept his eyes straight, where the High Priestess, the Voice of the Nine awaited him.

  She was attended to by her retinue, hooded and cowled acolytes in white, gilded in wreath of gold with sash of crimson.

  Her Handmaidens, the Keeper of Scriptures, the Speaker of Words, the Wielder of the Scourge, attended the High Priestess. Their faces obscured by veils, the insignia of their office the sole distinguishing mark upon their otherwise indistinguishable ceremonial garb of the famed Handmaidens.

  He did not speak, as protocols dictate, and shalt not lest spoken to.

  The High Priestess sayeth to him, ‘approach, Templar.’

  The congregations stirred, some muttered amongst themselves, they knew this night was exceptional, but little did they realize the privilege they were accorded.

  He moved forward as he was bade, his footsteps sure and measured; those of a trained warrior.

  As he moved closer to the altar, the scent of burning rosewood from lit incense, the sour tint of stale bread sat uneaten upon brass plates, chalices half-filled with wine not partaken by the masses.

  Tomes and scrolls sat dangerously close to the flames of a hundred lit candles, the melting max forming grotesque stalactites before dripping uncaringly, onto the opulent red carpet.

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  Their light failed to light the vaulted ceiling of the cathedral.

  Midnight mass.

  “Kneel, Templar,” the High Temptress commanded, her back to him, ‘remove thy helm, Templar’.

  He knelt with the ease of a man accustomed to such rituals, despite being clad in heavy armor and ceremonial regalia.

  The man removed his helm, revealing a clean-shaven, patrician face with piercing green eyes and short-cropped military hair.

  The High Priestess did not turn around, nor did her retinue speak.

  The whispered prayers of the mass rolled off the pilgrims’ tongue with practiced ease; the ease of those who recited the words a thousand times.

  When she did turn around, she held in her hand, between her fingers, a jug of scented oil and vial of holy water.

  Her handmaidens approached them, they towered over him, as the ancient goddesses of old.

  The High Priestess dabbed scented oil and sanctified water upon the pauldron of his armor, she then offered him bread and wine, which he partook.

  ‘Thou shalt be my eyes, to witness the coming of thy Kingdom.” she whispered as she dabbed his eyes with the same oil and water, one over each brow.

  She handed the jug and vial over to her Handmaidens, who dutifully took it off her hands.

  “Thou shalt carry within thee, the wrath of our Lord and Savior,” Saying so, she pressed both her thumbs gently upon his eyelids, a symbolic awakening. “To punish the wicked, to slay the unrighteousness, to protect the weak.’

  Protect the weak.

  The High Priestess straightened herself as she stood up, “your blade, Templar.”

  Without looking. The man withdrew his blade from behind his back, he held the pristine blade flat and still before him.

  The prayers rose in crescendo, reaching feverish peak as the handmaidens dabbed his weapon as the High Priestess pressed her thumb against his forehead.

  “Thou shalt be the speartip, to deliver our wrath,” she finished with a flourish.

  The pilgrims’ voices rose to a choler, a roar.

  The man sheathed his anointed blade.

  “Arise,” the High Priestess proclaimed, “Harbinger.”

  He rose just as effortlessly and donned his helm.

  “Your brothers, Templar.” The High Priestess cried as three armored Templars joined the man and took their places beside him.

  “Behold! Ye of the faithful!” she cried as her champions turned about and faced the mass, “behold the Heralds of our Lord, the Nine!”

  The Nine! The Nine! The Nine!

  “Hear thee, ye of the faithful!” she cried, “your champion, Adam Nightblade!”

  Adam! Adam! Adam!

  “Go forth! Go in the name of our Lord!” the High Priestess said in a with shrill, “go in glory, Harbingers!”

  The mass was whipped into a frenzy, their cries followed the Templars into the night.

  Glory, glory, glory!

  The Nine, the Nine, the Nine!

  Glory to the Church of the Nine!