The priestess, whose fiery red hair stood out brilliantly from beneath a black habit coated in speckled snowflakes, was staring down the hollowed eyes of a hideous demon's horrific countenance. Choked by frozen ivies, the petrified statue had been built into a dark cliff-face along with its twin brother, permanently standing vigil over a lumbering, stone gateway that seemed to originate from a primordial era of an unnumbered age. The ancient, lifeless guardians watched as the strange woman garbed in sacred clothing walked effortlessly through the entrance to reach the divine secrets and unknowable treasures hidden deep within. For Sister Marie, she was once again delving into a murky abyss for the sake of her Goddess. Another priestess festooned with the mark of her religion, the dark agent of Macha now wore a silken ebony dress hemmed with golden filigree. As was the case with her two subordinate priestesses, arm and leg were encased in dazzling, ceremonial armor and befitting her rank, she was additionally protected by a gilded cuirass that largely covered her neck and torso. Hiding her beautiful face was an equally beautiful golden mask adorned in golden laurels and covered in a diaphanous, black veil. In her hand was a long, thin golden rod that split and sprouted at the top like a tree bearing fruit in the shape of brilliant red gems dangling from each cold branch.

The true objective of their journey, and one only she had been given the privilege of knowing, was the recovery of a time-worn artifact originally thought lost. A relic cast in nocturnal rites and ancient witcheries said to call down celestial bodies to decimate large areas—or if someone were so inclined—anything from vast armies to criminal empires. The Scarlet Church was, of course, too wise and too self-righteous to go about this course of action. A weapon such as that was deemed much too powerful and unnecessary for anyone to just use and even the wiliest religious oligarchs are judicious enough to know their limits. Use of a power like that would have every national leader, assassin and would-be thief in the world instantly knocking at their pearly gates.

No, the retrieval of such a dangerous object was to secure it away from an even greater evil. It had all been briefed to her when she was first assigned this mission. Marie had been told of a sinister sect, oft attributed as the instigators of many of history's more infamous moments—the kind of thing conspiracy theorists would have wet dreams about. They were a small religious order going by the name The Knights of the Lost Star, who were deemed nothing but insidious villains and anyone so much as suspected by the Scarlet Church of being associated with them would be executed on the spot.

Sister Marie smiled, appreciating the service in her role. While on the surface, Malachias had its regular army to conquer countries and expand their empire, the Church had its own highly trained units of special forces to handle unique operations that required a more esoteric touch. Comprised almost always of priestesses, these operatives are trained from a young age—girls like Lucia, who are chosen especially from orphanages run by the Scarlet Church. Or on rare occasions, a girl from the outside, one who carries a devoted head between her shoulders, will drop into their laps. Girls who understand where the true power of the world lies—girls like Zulema. And largely the reason she was chosen by Marie to accompany her on this mission. Unlike Lucia, who relished the power given to her by her Goddess, Marie sensed in Zulema a kindred spirit—a woman who humbles herself before the power she is given, who not only sees the beauty of a mad, irrational world but can truly see the world for what it is: wanting. And although she had been ordered to keep their true intentions a secret, a private lesson in cryptoarchaeology might serve as a reward for a job well done.

The footfalls of her golden greaves clanged loudly as she walked the dreary halls of the ancient vault. Ice-cold winds howled behind her, stopping short right at the point where she had entered. She felt relief that her mask had kept most of the chill air from cutting her face too deeply. Endless blizzards and great walls of ice kept this place hidden away from prying eyes and was only discovered thanks to an alchemical compass created by two of the Church's head scientists, Antoine d’Aulnoy and his assistant, Pierre. A brilliant young man yet too much like his partner, Pierre kept any and all persons at arm's length, a quality that vexed Marie who had held a deep infatuation for him ever since she overheard him reciting an eloquent monologue of the broken state of the world and how a spark of chaos was its only salvation. Resplendent sentiments that resonated deeply within her maddening soul.

Marie had now walked past various lifeless chambers filled with nothing but long-dead devices and forgotten memories. Accompanied by a deathly silence save for the occasional crunch of ancient bones beneath her feet. The first time had made her jump, evoking immense embarrassment at her overcautious demeanor. She had expected at least a tiny bit of security—some form of resistance to her sudden intrusion—yet all she found were cold and barren walls. She walked cautiously past every dark corner and stopped deliberately at every door, but in the end, not a single obstacle had tried to bar her way. And instead of bringing her relief it only served to make her feel uneasy. Something so powerful must have some sort of manner of defense to prevent its theft. Her mind could not accept otherwise. And the only logical conclusion was that she had arrived too late.

As if in answer to her revelation, she finally entered into a room much larger than all the others—situated at the very far end of the maze-like dungeon. An abyssal darkness filled the area, making it impossible to see the edges of the room. It reminded her of a certain underground room in the cloister where she had trained as a young asylum acolyte, only much uglier. Despite the freezing winds of the outside, the large chamber was also inexplicably hot. A warm, humid pressure that encroached on Marie like the bitumen breath of some ghoulish blasphemy wrought in venomous flesh.

“You’ve too much imagination, Marie…” she told herself.

The gilded soldier took a deep breath through the special filter in her mask, inhaling the warm air around her and breathing it back out—the only action she could think of to put the horrifying notion to rest. Soothing her for but a moment before the crumbling of stone above alerted her fight-or-flight once more. She swallowed, turning her head slowly upwards. She was ready to fight, if need be, but she had no way of knowing what primordial guardian she would be facing or if her thaumaturgy stood any chance in helping her win.