Chapter 9: Night Walk

"Paint and viscera."​

Spears hurl through the air, granting you cover as a wave of paint and viscera overtakes the demon.

"Fall into the nightmare. Permit Him to enter you. Dream." Father Wilhelm is nowhere in sight, but his disembodied voice carries over the monster's cries.

The weaponized wave of creativity surges past you, and straight into the demon. It bucks and screams, while the mess within its body pools and swirls together.

Magma combats the intrusion with a newfound surge of heat. At the peak of the monster, Father Friedrich gives a shout— too enraptured with his own God to have realized what was coming. He is only a moment away from falling into the demon.

Sliding to a stop, your radiance halts before a heat that can never even hope to rival your Goddess. For all the cerulean and cobalt pooling onto the ground, between the rivers of magma and waves of heat, there is even more gold in the palm of your hands. Reaching out, you send a spread of metal towards the cavernous pit at the demon's peak. It's so high above ground that you can't even see its depths, but that's irrelevant. Your own radiance heals the opening a dreamer created a split second before Father Friedrich plummets to his death.

There's no wave or call for thanks. The demon writhes and convulses in agony, unable to expel the toxic blend that is now sealed within the bulk of its body.

A horrific cry rises from every imp in the courtyard.

You and every other experienced priest on the field of battle goes pale. Four of them cry out almost simultaneously.

"Get back!"

"MOVE!"

"SHIT—!"

"RUN!!"

As the demon contracts, you catch a glimpse of Father Wilhelm grinning insanely at you from across the courtyard. He's guarding the front doors of the Church with his body and his life, murmuring a prayer you cannot hear. An aura of divinity is about him.

With outstretched fingers, he drags a hand down. The pustule forgets, upon awakening from his Dream. The attack halts.

There is another cry from atop the demon. Father Friedrich clings onto the shifting form for dear life, and for all his strength, his efforts seem to be wearing on him. It's clear that he can't outpace the creature's regeneration.

Neither can Father Wilhelm. A horrific crack splinters across the front of the priest's face, but the paint and Dream coursing through him bears no indication of pain. His words are distant, euphoric, and speaks through the embrace of his God.

"Let's put this demon to rest. Will you lend Us a hand?"

With a single swift pull, the chain from around your neck is cleanly separated. It remains in your clutches while you sprint towards the church's entrance.

The line of attack from every imp heading your way brings no fear to your heart. In an out pour of a light, you bring your shield before you. The beams radiating from it are so piercing, nothing can hope to safely gaze upon it.

You are my light.

It still feels like every demon has turned its focus towards you. A rain of spears is heading your way.

Father Friedrich bellows from atop the demon, "how about some cover?! FIRE!"

Several yells ring out from the walls of the courtyard, for all of the priests fighting down the attack. Multiple projectiles arc far away from your side. More of the enemy is distracted, or halted completely, as your clergymen aid you as best as they can.

There is only one thing you know of that can truly bring all of your strength together.

Skidding to a stop before the doors of the Church of Flesh, you hear no cries or pleas for Mercy on the opposite side.

There's no time to deliberate over the silence.

We are needed here.

Father Wilhelm beams at you. For all of his works, and the intensity in which he is invoking his own God, sweat clings to the cloth about his eyes. It sticks to his long hair, and is slick along his blindfold. Yet despite how singed and frayed even his sleeping jacket has become, he seems relatively unharmed.

You don't judge his appearance, nor do you concern yourself with a single projectile flying by. Neither do you worry about the men screaming beyond the courtyard, or the demons threatening to approach. You extend a palm outwards.

A shield of molten gold flares around you and the priest of Dream, staving off certain death. No fewer than five projectiles sink into your display, and melt on impact. Your knees threat to buckle. A Goddess is in you.

Your lips stay tight. Your devotion is without equal. The shield is maintained, and as quickly as you're able, you hold your Relic aloft. Mercy's gift is blinding. There is nothing you would rather turn your sight towards, but you still lower your eyes.

Were it not for how badly you wish to look upon the gold, they would close entirely. The motion is made in deference to the priest before you. No matter how intensely Mercy wishes to work through you, the answer given to Father Wilhelm is entirely your own. "We can do so much more. Join me. Join Us."

The man before you is blindfolded, in a daze, and looks upon the object between you both with more than mortal eyes.

The Father of the Church of Dream takes your hand without any hesitation. "We can only imagine what this will mean. For all of Us."

The shield before you falls. You clasp all of your hands together.

"Mercy."

Cracks of blue sink into the deepest recesses of your mind, body, and soul.

"A Dream."

Music

Darkness— deeper than any you have ever endured— sinks into your sight. A building terror sinks into you from the furthest reaches of the sky. A force so tremendous you cannot begin to comprehend it shifts and spins into a lifetime beyond the clouds, the moon, and a form that fills the expanse between.

A reverie escapes beyond your sight in broader and broader strokes, until you pass in and around the shade. There is light— not from the stars, and not from the day still shining about your mortal form— but from a Goddess. No darkness can conceal Her.

You collide, and rise through memory of shadow to witness a swirl of paint, of oil, of heat, and of gold.

The two forces need not compete.

Their union pours out from your hands, into your Relic, and wraps in the present around an immaculate ally.

Cracks rend the ground beneath you. They threaten to rip out the doors to the Church of Flesh, tears the courtyard asunder, and overflows with retreaded memories of sapphire and liquid gold.

A vision strikes you of something that has yet to transpire and may never will.

It is there, and forgotten in an instant. Your eyes lift in shades of saffron and cerulean.

Father Wilhelm's gaze remains covered behind a cloth of blue, but light and yellow-gold is visible beneath. The cracks in his skin are littered with the same metal and gemstones. The densest concentration of the precious union rises from his hands, courses through the air, and swirls around your grasp.

Specks of the same gems litter your hands. They drip with paint, and run in the scars along your skin. There is no further strain on your mind.

Between the two of you lies an impression. The Relic you fasten around your neck has been seen before.

Father Wilhelm speaks of it in a voice that is more immediate and real than anything you have ever heard. "You remember, don't you?"

"Of course we remember. Within the night, we know what it is to Dream."

Fantasy works through your very soul.

In a flare of cerulean, gold, and enough heat to melt every weapon launched between you, you raise nothing but your eyes. It feels like you've experienced something similar before, as you cut across the field of battle.

The walk becomes a run, alongside a man who has sacrificed everything he can. He has aided you at every turn.

He parts from your side after a moment, granted your divine protection. Your trust. Your union.