[IC] The Judas-Unit

[The Narrator]

Castellum Paenitentiam, Siberia

Headquarter of the Judas Unit, 11:30am

Jeremia walked next to man he was sent to replace, the former Knight responsible for the Judas Unit, an old African man named Philip Guawe who always had the reputation of a very harsh slave master. The ceremony was unspectacular, Philip wished Jeremia Gods favor and left. He was done with the place, the old man had taken it as an offence to have to keep those monsters in order and was happy to leave.
Now Jeremia was in charge, he looked around. He was standing in the command central of the installation, surrounded by lower ranking Knights. They were all heavily armed and under his direct command.
"I would like to see the members of the Unit now. I have gotten what I could from the files. Prepare the necessary security measures. Bring them all in the chapel.", the Knights nodded and left without saying a word. Jeremia could see through the computer monitors how the cells were opened and a colourful menagerie of creatures were brutally ordered to get into the chapel of the Castellum. "Is this level of brutality necessary?", he asked a nearby Knight monitoring the computer screens, who just explained that this was the way this worked. Especially a small boy got Jeremias attention since he was practically thrown into the chapel. That must have been Willow Creed, such unnecessary violence. Even the other creatures had weapons aimed at their most vulnerable parts, ready to kill them at any second.

After everyone was brought to the chapel, a small grey room with only one big cross and a few pews Jeremia joined them. About 20 Knights were still standing ready to kill behind the members of the Judas Unit. "In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace. Ephesians 1:7.", he looked around and stared directly into the eyes of the hairy monstrosity in front of him, "You all, I am sorry to say, have most likely no chance to dwell in heaven. But I will offer you redemption on earth. You serve me and The Order, we serve God all mighty. So you all serve God too in a way. I hope you find it inside yourself to serve for the sake of helping mankind. Otherwise you will serve because I demand it. God is merciful, but I don't have that luxury with the likes of you. Still I come in good faith."

Jeremia starred at them, he had to admit they all scarred him in a way. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. He had seen some creatures in his times at the front lines but he never had to talk to them. "My name is Senior Paladin Jeremia Mundenburg. And here is too your obedience.", another five Knights came into the room bringing with them things Jeremia had prepared based on the case files. They had among other things a canvas for the small boy coming with a few pictures of venerated saints and a small potted plant for the beast of the wilds... "Consider this my welcoming gift. I will have it all brought to your cells as well as translations of the holy book in whatever language you are most comfortable. You now have a short window to speak but choose your words wisely for I believe in righteous punishment as well as courtesy."

[NewShoesForever]

Rowland suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as the gift was presented. The gift he had been given was a cheap reproduction of an ancient Egyptian scroll. Cute. he thought. A world spanning secret organization and all they can do for a welcome package is a two dollar trinket from a museum gift shop.

Still, any working relationship had to be based on politeness and respect, and spurning a gift was the pinnacle of impoliteness.

Rowland flashed a courteous and friendly smile to his new captor.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, sir. My name is Rowland Freebush, as I'm sure you already know from my dossier. I look forward to working with you."

[Shard]

They were considered cells, something one would feel safe knowing harbored creatures of the dark depths. A beast, a creature of legend, a man risen from the dead and even a mythological construct of an ancient time, all found home within the confines of these rooms known as hearth, and home. There was however comfort in knowing that rooms were precisely what they were. Decorated with a certain form of extravagance, each prisoner would come to know a sense of comfort within the locked confines of their quarters. Reminiscent of the Victorian era, these abysmal beasts knew mercy in form of respectable decor, where the alternative was a cold, sterile and unforgiving steel cell. Willow had come to know that cell, in the past. A young teenager at sixteen years old, the boy was no older than fifteen when his powers left his body without permission, where they proceeded to nearly destroy a Knight of the Holy Presence. Unacceptable, for sure. Death was a response which would have come swiftly, but again, there was mercy in the action of those doing God's work. A month in solitary confinement did the boy well, they reasoned. Indeed, the scenario had not come to repeat itself. 

Willow was no stranger to abuse, nor was ruthlessness unknown to him. Indeed, it had come to draw his life a norm, one of misery and destruction. A Holy Knight would however not deny this sentence, considering it just. Willow was, after all, given the mercy of life by those who would otherwise unmake his existence. 

Dark, raven eyes stared into the mirror they had seen so many times in the past, a pale figure meeting Willow's gaze in turn. "You ready, hun'?" An all too familiar voice trickled down the boy's ear, as his attention slowly shifted towards the feline presence gently licking its paw upon the desk otherwise harboring Willow's books, and notes. He had been allowed the freedom to draw, something keeping him calm.

"They won't be silent," a weak voice returned, tired eyes moving to the reflective surface of that mirror. "They never do." Generally, Willow placed a pair of headphones upon his ears and drowned the voices out with music. Often, the Devil's very own rock, but there were things considered below even the Knights' attention. They often found resolve in that the luxuries they offered, gave them more leeway in the ruthlessness afforded the boy. 

"You'll do fine, babe'." The cat winked, a feline known as Midnight who had made sure to keep Willow on the path of sanity, "just keep calm, yeah? Don't want an incident to make things awkward, love." 

"I know," Willow finished silently, his raspy voice filling the upcoming silence for but a moment before it was drowned out by the door unlocking. Quite difficult to express, the boy had grown jaded to the treatment, a feat he had acquired before ever appearing within the halls of the Holy. A common form of punishment Willow has not been able to withstand however, was meeting the presence of holy ground which proceeded to torture his soul. Without a word, strong arms grabbed hold of the scrawny gestalt and dragged him along before he was tossed into the chapel. Clenching his teeth, Willow was starting to feel that hellishly uncomfortable sensation wash over him from having to maintain his stay within those blessed walls. Quite ironic, to consider the burn one of holy nature. 

Willow never chose to be touched by the Devil, neither did he ask for these powers. His soul was his own, and his body the very same. However, as he ascended to his feet, meeting the eyes of the man he would know as his warden, Willow remembered all too well that it mattered not. "Hey..," he forced out, keeping the torturous air surrounding him, at bay. The screaming voices within his skull however, they were wearing him down constantly. 

'Kill them all! Willow! Like mother and father, kill them! Rot them! Raise them, make them your puppets!', the screeching wail of a banshee filled his mind, clawing at the fabric of his sanity. 'It burns! This place, this fucking place, it burns! Burn it, Willow! It burns, burn it! Burn it with darkness! Raze it! Raise it! Make it yours!' Balling his hand into a fist, Willow felt his short nails digging into the pale surface of his palm, the presence of another man barely noticed, besides him.  

"I'm here, hun'." A soft, soothing voice strangled the screams for a moment, before Willow finally managed some comfort in the only voice within his mind, that brought safety, rather than insanity. 

"Thanks..," Willow finished, his words aimed at the familiar indivisible to others. However, it was easy to mistake these words for appreciation towards the empty gift offered by the Knights.

[Loki Odinson]

The steady, monotonous motion of silk threads knitting two pieces of fabric together was her only form of entertainment for the past however many days. Fingers unceasing in their task even as her eyes flickered over to the numerous gorges lined up neatly on the top right corner of the bed frame. Thirty-one scratches. Thirty-one days. An entire month since she was separated from the Brood Mother she was meant to guard. If it wasn't for the small webs she weaved at weekly intervals in the corner of her cell, she wouldn't have known exactly how many days passed since. There were no windows - as expected - and the light within this dreary building was artificial. Kept from the outside world and even away from other prisoners, there was no doubt this treatment was to keep them subdued. Remind them who exactly was in charge. There was even something within her cell that was forcibly keeping her in her human glamour. A sigil of some sort.

Belze had seen a couple of supernatural creatures being led or dragged in. Only for a couple of seconds as they passed her cell. Most were pissed off and fuming, others seemed simply resigned to their fate as a forcibly recruited member of the Order. The Arachne had been the former when the Knights had taken her away, mercilessly dragging her further and further away from the direction of her Nest. From where every instinct in her screamed to head towards. She should be by her Brood Mother's side. When they tossed Belze into her admittedly luxurious cell, she had screamed in anger and tore through the few furnitures within in a fit of fury. It took the entire day for her to calm, and was more subdued after she awoke the next day, amongst the ripped blanket and abused mattress.

It wasn't because she accepted her fate. Far from it. It was because she caught sight of another prisoner being led in. Cloaked, masked and shrouded in black. Covered as they were, there was no mistaking the shiver of fear that ran down her spine. What sort of creature that being was, she had no idea, but resolved to stay well away. Her instincts were blaring full force until they disappeared from view. It seemed she underestimated the true might of the Order. If they were able to recruit someone like that...Either way, her days of boredom dragged, broken only after she decided to kill time by mending the fabrics she ruined. The Knights didn't seem inclined to replace anything she ruined, after all. Nonetheless, Belze didn't think the watchers would take note of her hobby, for after every piece of damaged cloth was mended - flawlessly, she might add - threads and yarn of different colour and quality were delivered to her. Not that she was complaining, for she was grateful for something calming to do.

Faint footsteps sounded, drawing closer to her cell and she paused, staring unerringly at the two Knights who stopped just outside. They didn't look like they were here to deliver her daily sustenance. And indeed her deduction proved right, for without further ado, the door to her cell swung open and the pair stepped in, grabbing her upper arms and frogmarching her out. Sighing inwardly, she allowed herself to be manhandled. Better show no resistance than make things difficult for herself. Bidding their time was what a Mygalomorphae is best at.

The chapel Belze was brought into was less glamorous than what she expected. It was simply adorned, with a large wooden cross and a few pews. The interior would have looked more at home in a small country church rather than within the headquarters of the infamous Holy Order. Blatantly ignoring the weapons aimed to remove her head from her shoulder and cleave her in twain, Belze rested her weight on one foot and propped her right hand on her hip, facial expression all but screaming boredom. Glancing around to take in the assortment of creatures now out of their cells, the Arachne unabashedly looked her fill, gaze lingering over each one as she mentally analysed each one, making sure not to even think about looking at the shrouded one. A couple of supernatural beings visibly grimaced, obviously uncomfortable standing on holy ground.

A fairly large human - a priest from the looks of it - began addressing the audience, drawing Belze's attention back from her observation. Scoffing softly at his quip about serving mankind, she inwardly vowed that the moment the Order moves against her House, she would not hesitate to turn on them, her life be damned. It wasn't as if these priests do not have a contingency plan laid out in case their supernatural recruits went rogue.

Accepting the embroidered handkerchief with a nod of thanks, she inspected it idly, rubbing the synthetic silk between her fingers. Figured it was something bought in a souvenir store. But at least the flowers were bright and nice to look at. She could do better in her sleep. Pinching a corner of the cloth, she waved it over her head to catch the speaker's attention as soon as he was done. After a dark-skinned human-looking being finished exchanging pleasantries, of course.

"Pardon me, Senior Paladin Jeremia Mundenburg." The Arachne gave her sweetest smile. "May I have a copy of the scripture in seal script? Thanks in advance!"

If the priest was going to keep quoting lines from scriptures, the least she can do is read the damn book and understand the references. Plus, she's rather curious about why some text is able to ensnare minds into believing in an entity that might not even exist.

[T Risket]

By far the largest figure in sight the eight and a half foot tall behemoth known as Growler shuffled and fidgeted in place while the toes of his barefeet quietly drummed against the floor of the plain chapel. At the moment Growler was less concerned about the gun toting Knights that covered him and his freakish peers every angle and instead was more focused on fighting (and losing against) his natural urge to noisily breathe through his seemingly ever flaring nostrils. Despite his wild mannerisms the few pieces of clothing he did wear were surprisingly well taken care of and, what some might consider more amazing, he actually gave off the somewhat pleasant scent of pine and fresh soil.

It was hard to gauge the somewhat human features on his face as Growler went about half listening to what was effectively his new jailer; his beady black eyes drawn yet again to one of the only windows in the small worship area. To small to actually fit a man through and clearly added for aesthetics the small rounded porthole like window depicted in stain glass an image of Christ surrounded by twelve swords; Growler himself though had no interest in the beauty of the craftsmanship nor the religious figures represented but instead was far more focused on the brown clump of sticks and twigs just on the outer side. Craneing his neck to and fro in an attempted casual manner that came off as anything but he did his best to catch the briefest glimpse of a birds silhouette.

Quickly Growlers focus was pulled back to Senior Mundenburg at the mention of gifts, his eyes greedily following the comically small potted plant now being handed to him with a sneer from the Knight made gift giver. Despite the dollar store quality of what turned out to be a small potted cactus Growler clung the pot against his exposed brown furry chest in what was clearly a display of shear joy. Holding his new leafy roomate as if it was a delicate newborn he showed his boulder like muscles could be controlled to such an extent that even a cheap clay pot was safe in his arms.

The slit that was his mouth curled into the biggest smile it could muster which honestly amounted to little more than more of his intimidating teeth being shown. With a few quick snorts of excitement he picked up where the Arachne left off, his voice somewhat hard to understand as each word seemed to Cary an underlying grunt with infrequent pauses mixed in to only complicate matters-truth be told though for a giant humanoid creature raised apart from any form of human society his English was pretty good.

"I to Th-ank you. Like much. Sen-ior Gua-we is still well, I h-ope?" Despite the years of being despised and openly mocked by the man known as Senior Guawe Growler was now asking about him in a way that was genuinely curious and made it obvious to anyone that could read body language he was asking out of real concern.

[Yuria]

"Your mask, Abel. The Paladin would see you today."

His breath hitched, his mind pulled from vacancy. The Basilisk perched silently at the edge of his bedsit, his head felled toward the floor and draped in the soft darkness of his veil. Soft, drawn breaths were perhaps audible from beneath the blindfold, laced with a peculiar serpentine sound. The scent of his visitor was familiar to him, and even without the bearing of sight, Abel knew well of the voice which befell his ears. What had he been dreaming of, again?

"Abel."

Ah. His head tilted ever gently, and a clothed hand reached blindly to his side, allowing his fingers to curl into the eye holes of his beloved bronze masque. Artisan movements saw the mask lifted carefully beneath the veil, pressed against his jawline and rubbing slightly against the thin scar tissue which decorated his unseen cheeks. In time, the veil was lifted, and The Basilisk's head rose to look safely upon his appointed Knight who had been sent to retrieve him. Nought but a silent agreement followed, and Abel walked willingly as he had always done. He had long lost count of the years in which he had been deemed as a possession. But it was better this way. Safer.

---

Abel's presence amongst the chapel was perhaps subtle despite his nature, and he stood still and stiffly amongst his assumed brethren. Peculiarly, his usually low-hanging gaze had lifted ever so slightly, as to absorb and contemplate the image of the Paladin who spoke biblical riddles before him. The air was lacquered with the taste of his unease - fear. His nasals filled with many scents, particularly those of the monstrosities and their emotions. Though one in particular seemed to pine him, and his head turned ever so slightly as to catch her in the corner of his gaze behind the mask. His tongue ran across his teeth, the scent of the arachne causing his heart to flitter and yearn to taste. The sound of her voice poked many needles into his mind, and he longed to steal it. Twist it. Devour it.

But he would never.

His attention was pulled away by the sound of gentle tinkering, and he turned back to receive what he presumed was his aforementioned gift. A wind chime it was; crafted of dull metal tubes and a coin pendulum. He lifted his hand slowly, as to not startle the knight who presented it, and hooked the string onto his finger. Abel drew the chimes to his ear, listening vacantly to its gentle ambience. A pretty gift no doubt, albeit a cruel one; for what good is a wind chime in a windowless cell?

"..."

A near-silent hum emanated from Abel's throat, his voice dry and disused and his attempt at speaking proving painful and short-lived. After spending many days in silence, the human tongue was painful to wean himself back onto, and he instead dipped his head slightly in an obligatory thank you, handing the wind chime back to his tender.

Mild curiosity provoked The Basilisk into guiding his eyes carefully over the others, observing the supposed gifts they had been given with the quiet intention of grasping their personalities. The gentle beast was almost storybook, reflecting many dreams he had witnessed before. And the boy - clearly disturbed by his surroundings - who spoke distantly into the air. Peculiar it would seem to others, but the eyes of The Basilisk percieved many things, and Nahash lingered in the rafters, whispering silent words in a language unknown.

"A cat lurks, Abel."

Abel moved his observations quietly onward, to a man more refined than most, who held a scroll in his palms. A slight tilt of the head followed suite, and he perceived the scent of an ancient; perhaps more ancient than he. And the spider -- he deemed it best that he not allow his thoughts to linger on her for too long.

[Shard]

One calm breath, after the other. Willow sought to center himself within the hellscape that was this chapel, the holy ground on which he resided until given leave. Not one action was his own, not one thought came to bear without permission. The boy attempted to silence the lingering and ever audible presence within his skull, something which came to be in an age old past. A focus, he needed to have something on which to lay his eyes, and occupy his mind. Though, the scent of pine and a forest's warm embrace did manage to bring an ember to life within the boy's heart. Growler, a creature mocked and shunned within the confines of their prison. The two had a relationship considered silent by any measure, but present, all the same. In a way, Willow viewed the beast with a light of understanding. They were all outcasts, but Growler and Willow, they had grown closer throughout the boy's shackled time within the care of the Holy. 

One could perhaps draw the conclusion that the hairy beast found a sense of care, for those smaller and weaker. Despite a lack of words shared between the cursed human and the faltering link in evolution, their friendship had been forged throughout a year, and was reminiscent of a child's bedtime story. A vicious creature from within the dark depths of a forest came to befriend a boy cast out and shunned. Indeed, Growler had managed to aid Willow in silencing the voices, if ever so slightly. Had things been different, perhaps the two would have known a more comfortable happiness, one without chains at their ankles. 

Of course, there were others present within the chapel, each and every presence offering an opposite sensation than that of the tree creature's embrace. A dark, desert night emanated from the ebony skinned man standing tall and proud a short distance from where Willow had planted his feet. A creature of death, indeed. Willow could sense the passing of life which had left the man's frame, drawing him an undead abomination. Though the boy was a herald of death itself, though the strangulation of life burned like a prism within his heart, there was a respectable caution present between the two. Willow did not know this man well enough to dot his motives, and it would be a fool's choice to trust one whom had lived through life, and returned in death, without a moment's thought. 

This was however drowned out by the beauty which came to join this group of unholy abominations. Willow had not seen her, before. She was a new addition, for sure. What lurked beneath that porcelain skin? There was one truth which bubbled to the surface very quickly in that chapel. Nothing was, as it appeared to be. Nothing, at all. Beyond that beauty, Willow would not deny a darkness which waited to engulf the fair woman. It remained to be seen.

Finally, the presence which brought Willow's heart into a pit within his chest. He had seen this figure before, known as Abel. Ironic, to be sure. Abel? The lamb of God? This thing reeked of a presence comparable to hell, beyond a grave's cold confines. What was there to say about a presence which forced the boy's gaze in another direction, at a mere glance? There was something else there, as well. Midnight had warned Willow not to wander too close to this poisoned fruit, this forbidden nectar. If there was a presence darker than that of which Willow gazed upon, it resided within the shell he viewed. An evil as old as time, itself. The boy would be wise to count his steps, and remain a distance from this abominable mockery of the name Abel. Yes, Willow had managed to pick up a few things about the religion which whipped at his skin, on a daily count. Abel, the one outside of scripture, he fit into the story quite well.

[The Narrator]

"Do not think you can charm me with words Heqet. Let us use your real name, not the one you stole. But I too hope we can work together without any problems.", the priest had a deep and calm voice and what he said sounded like an advice one would give to a friend, not an order. Jeremia looked into the eyes of the spider, the bible warned about the devil hiding behind beauty. However even knowing that Jeremia was surprised when he heard genuin curiosity for the scripture from the creature. "It will be there when you come back to your room.", he promised. The Arachne was the newest member of the Judas Unit and Jeremias vote was actually the one that saved her from execution, hopefully he was not wrong.
The next member Jeremia offered his attention was considered the golden child of the Unit. Many lowerranking Knights actually genuinely liked the gentle giant and even though it was punishable everyone knew that from time to time sweets landed in the chamber of the creature. Jeremia could not blame them, it was easy to be fooled by the caring behavior. "Brother Guawe is quite well. He will spend the evening of his life in a monastery in Spain. If you keep working well I will consider giving you a room with a window."
"Does the holiness of this place hurt you?", he turned to the boy and the veiled figure, "That is good. James 2:19- You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe-and shudder! The spirits inside you can't stand the purity of god and faith. Don't believe we have stopped trying to free you from their bondage."

[Milkman]

Melancholic tones of the violin filled the room as the man dressed in black slowly moved his fingers across the strings of his replica Stradivarius. He was playing a piece by Johan Sebastian Bach called Air. The beautiful tones made him for a moment forget that he was confined in a prison, deep within the complex of the Order of the Guardian knights of Christ. A place he had entered not out of free will. However this cell has been his home since early 1984. From a human perspective that might be a long time, but the occupant of this room was only human in appearance. Well most of the times at least.

Those with an observant eye would notice that the cell was specially made to keep something confined that is not from the material world. Special symbols on the walls, floor and ceiling betray that this particular room is the home of what most would call a spirit. An entity from beyond the physical realm with the ability to manifest itself in the material world. A Spirit that to most of the people is known as Steven Cooper.

Steven looked up from his violin as the cell door opened. Four heavily armed guards entered the room and started to boss Steven around. “Hands behind your head! The senior Paladin wants to see you.” Before the Fox Immortal could even respond the guards pushed him against the wall and shoved the shining blade of a long knife under his nose. The blade was engraved with his true name. The guard whispered into his ear “Don’t try anything funny, don’t open up your mouth for any smart remarks or it will be the last thing you ever do.”
The trip to the Chapel was rather uneventful. His guards where jumpy as always. Maybe it was because Steven once stated that he’d kill each and everyone in the order if he’d get the chance or because of things he did before he got captured. Whatever it was it didn’t really matter. Just the fact that he was summoned to the senior paladin mend that someone or something would have to die soon. Much to Steven’s surprise something else was going on.

The Fox spirit arrived just in time for the intro speech of the Senior Paladin. Steven expected to hear the voice of Philip Guawe but apparently there was a new face on the block. New Paladin but just the same old redemption crap. However the notice of a gift was more or less a shift in policy compared to Jeremiah’s predecessor. The Fox immortal smiled as a young knight approached him holding some sort of book. Steven could clearly see the fear on the young man’s face as he stood in front of him, ready to hand over the gift. The Fox Immortal spoke gently to the guard as he accepted the gift “Don’t be afraid, I won’t steal your delicious soul anytime soon. Actually, this gift is pretty well chosen. I must commemorate our new senior Paladin on his taste in literature”

Steven turned towards his new master and observed him closely. The truth was that he knew absolutely nothing about this Jeremiah figure. Not one of the knights in the order ever spoke about him. It intrigued to Fox Spirit that out of all knights this man became the next commander of the Judas Unit. Time would tell what kind of man Jeremiah would be. However Steven was not the man to sit idly by the sideline. The least thing he could to is probe the man a bit. With a bit of sarcasm in his voice he spoke to his new master. [ “Congratulations on your…….promotion. I must admit that I find it rather unsettling that senior Paladin Guawe did not find the time to personally inform his loyal servants on his retirement. Maybe one day I could visit him in Spain and show him my respects. We did share a pleasant working relationship for a long time after all.”

Steven waited a moment before he spoke again. “Great expectations by Dickens. It’s a famous book and I thank you for this gift. I am sure we would be able to get a working relationship just as good as I had with senior Guawe”

[ReusableSword]

Victor Asimov and Algarin the Mighty

Waves of heat distorted the look of the metal room, the subtle orange glow of hot metal radiated off the walls and the floor was black with soot and charred metal. One lone man sat in the middle of the room meditating atop a small mound ash, this man seemed at home in the hot metal room. This man had orange hair and a muscular body and wore loose fitting white and Grey pants with a red cotton sash tied around his waist and white slip on shoes. Across his tan skin where many strange and intricate markings that gave off a subtle orange and red glow, like he had a fire glowing inside of him.

It was only after a few minutes did some overhead fans turn on above him, pulling the hot air out of the room and around the rest of the facility. The ash mound he was sitting on slowly evaporated leaving only him in the warm room. The walls slowly returned to their natural dull color as the fans slowly turned off and the room fell silent once more. The only noise to enter the room where footsteps, then the beep of a key card followed by two switches being turned. Slowly to panels on the far wall extended towards him by a few inches before sliding to the side revealing a heat treated door with a small thick window.

A voice from the other side of the door broke the man’s concentration, “Victor, times up in the rec room.” For a moment Victor didn’t move but slowly the man stood opening his orange glowing eyes, his piercing gaze held back rage and fury. The man moved with purpose to the door and waited for the door to open, on the other side four Knights in full armor and wielding high caliber weapons with armor piercing rounds waited. One knight stepped forward as Victor held out his hands in front of him, the guard was quick to put the elbow length arm and hand restraints on him. The man’s haste wasn’t out of fear but something else, Victor could only hope this meant they had a mission for him. “Secure” the man called out as they left escorting the man towards the main living cells.

Victor was escorted down the halls, the four Knights formed a square around him as they walked. Radio chatter and communications from them as they went from check point to check point towards their destination. It wouldn’t have taken them as long if they hadn’t built his “rec room” towards the bottom of the complex, but he didn’t mind. The way he walked down the halls didn’t make him seem like a prisoner but more as a king with his personal guards protecting him, the air of superiority that he kept around him was thick but it wasn’t malicious or wicked.

When they finally reached the main chamber he was surprised to see so many new faces and a few old ones. The guards stopped him just beside the tall dark form that calls itself Steven, Victor gave him a slight nod as he looked among the others, "good to see you again Steven." A few of them gave him his favorite feeling, to cleanse. The woman and the one with the mask made him feel this the most, with subtle illuminance his markings pulsed like a heart beat in turn his restraints made a beeping sound and a few lights blinked red.

The guards that were with him hadn’t left his side and when they heard this they all turned and raised their weapons at him, “don’t worry boys, just some cravings is all” with a smile the pulsing slowly stopped and the guards slowly lowered their weapons. The man’s gaze slowly turned to the new guy standing before him, Victor looked the man over but his gaze didn’t stay he was far too interested in the other new faces. One of his guards showed him the glass rose he had been given by this man and looked at it, “we will put this in your room” the guard said to him seeing as how his hands were completely restrained. “So you’re the new guy huh?” victor spoke towards Jeremiah, “I will tell you the same thing I told the other guy, give me a mission and I will destroy what evil lies there with holy flame and fury”

@Milkman@The Narrator