The Coming Silence

“I beg you, please!”

“IT IS DONE! NOTHING lies beyond us—because of YOU!”

As malicious as he intended it to be, the strike upon the swain struck equally as hard throughout the space as it did to himself. He fell to his skinned knees, softly grazing over the pain again with a hand in shock. Alas, nothing; as if by some spell, by some unknown resistance—be it a blessing or a curse—he felt no hatred. Not within the strike, nor certainly within himself. His eyes lay still at the wall, his body frozen in time, and with all sound void—even in presence with the pleading and crying of the others, he accepted his fate; his fate to bring others down with him.

His opposer—a well toned disfigured-being, impish in nature—stood over him, rearing to land yet another blow. The candles behind him only served to exaggerate his intimidating-anger, illuminating his red-toned skin from behind and veiling the smaller one—that was hit—from the light. With his face wrinkled and his veins protruding from every possible muscle, he bore his discolored and crooked teeth, groaning and grunting even louder than the frightened females.

“Please, there stands no need for this!” she cried aloud. Without hesitation, she latched onto his reared arm, trying to make use of every possible bit of weight she had to hinder him. “Let it be! There is no time for this!”

In the midst of all of this, there were others, helpless in staring… hopeless in acting. Another female, sobbing and practically on the edge of a lost cause; her hands shielded her face from the horror, all the while tears seeped through the slits of her small palms. A frail and measly male imp, sitting back in a corner, at—what was now a smashed poorly-made stone table. His eyes watched every movement, and no better would one have any trouble recognizing the serious nature of the situation through his demeanor.

Fighting to free his arm, he bellowed, “NO! Damnation is looming… for ALL of us! Release m-”

“I will NOT!” she interrupted, “if it is true then what else can we do?”

His movement stopped, as he relaxed his clenched arm to fall under her weight—but still wary to keep it halfway up. There was silence, at last, with the sounds of panting and weeping in the room. He looked away, unable to feel anymore… anger? Or was it simply disappointment? Still frozen in place, the swain let his hand fall, revealing a scarred cheek. He turned his head slowly, basking in the shadow as he viewed where the imp that struck him was standing.

“Yes… you are right,” the imp whispered, nodding slightly as his eyes widened. “Nothing can be done… and do you know why? Do you know why nothing can be done? How is it so that the fate of many have all but been betrayed?” His voice quivered in anguish as he looked at her with a glaring intent. Without looking, he pointed at the swain, where once again silence had no place. "THAT… thing,“ he growled, shoving the female away as his voice echoed in a deep boom, “IT IS THE FAULT OF ONLY ONE!”

“YOU WILL CEASE.”

In just a split second, the echoes had calmed, and all that was left was a standstill of palpable tensity. Standing at the entrance of another chamber was another imp—though this one seemed equally as intimidating as the aggressor. His dark-crimson skin seemingly glowed in the candle’s light, and his horns that enveloped the sides of his face were no short of dignified. Their eyes met; one’s wide open with anger, the other carelessly-apathetic. In just a few steps he was now at the heart of the commotion; he leaned close to the aggressor, sighing as his soothing voice seemed to gain control in just a single breath. “Let him be.”

The aggressive one stood no more astonished than annoyed, seeing that there was yet another savior to the runt. “There is more to be done… I had hopes you would have left in place to value your life,” he grimly uttered.

“There is no salvation to be gained, brother. If even I cannot sway you, then know to the fullest that you will become no different than that of what he has brought.” His mellow whispers seemed to escape his mouth in dancing whisps, though they seemed to carry a weight greater than just sound and breath. Two other females walked from the same entrance; one tended to the weeping mess, while the other had carried what seemed to be an assortment of folded clothing. Turning his head, he spoke aloud towards the two. “Make way for the drove, be certain of others’ preparation. You, guide her to follow suit.” With that, she exited—while the other kneeled, whispering soft chimes into the sorrowful one. In moments, she was heard crying harder than ever—though reluctantly, she stood, making unsteady steps as the other female held her close.

“Perhaps it is so…” the aggressor uttered. He seemed to have stopped, unable to continue his thought in an ultimate struggle—though, in his surprise even, he did so. “G-... Gornen’dor, I know my path. But be well-certain… that you do not see it.” Stepping back, he turned towards the doorway, shoving the female that was attached to him. She made no sound, but watched in agony as he made it clear he would follow the head-of-house no longer.

Amused in response, he kept his eyes in place to where the aggressor originally stood, letting only his ears speak to him. “And what might that be, oh dear defier?”

Abstinent in his march, he paused briefly, now in obstruction to the doorway. “Take of it what you will. For mine…” he stopped in silence before continuing on, “...for each and every one of us, we will no longer have it.” He grunted and let out a devious chuff, leaving one last voice that rebounded the same weight as the other: “Heed me—my plea of mercy to the numens… let our demise be swift for our insolence.” With that, nothing was left but silence; that, and the sound of the quieting footsteps that seemed to be even more painful for the tears.

Still knelt onto the ground, the swain bowed his head, eyes closed in preparation for something more from the senescent elder. He had felt utterly defeated, well-aware that he was responsible for so much pain and separation for what he had done. Though, in some mysterious manner, he held onto a leeching motive that his choice was the right one. That in some form or fashion, this was their salvation. Mere penitence in the scheme of something greater. At last, he stood, and with the noticeable feeling of all eyes on him, he too made way for the door.

“Young one, please… take no grief for what you have done. We-” she stopped, only now noticing that no such words would even be considered. Caring for none, his scarred and trembling legs bolted, jumping spontaneously. Closing his ears from all sound, covering his eyes from the dreadful source of his pain, he stopped at nothing. From the far horizons abroad, he only wished to run too—and beyond that. The warm air encompassed him as he sprinted, and as tears began to flow, so did his dignity. Now tired and panting, he wiped his face, staring down at his own crimson limbs; the very same ones that defined a demon.

“I-... I’m… sorry,” he moaned to himself. Realizing where he had gone, he knew he was well-away from his home. Once again, the leeching thought presented itself, and almost devilishly, it seemed to prove more than anything its justification; he was in the right. This—or rather, his choice—would bring an end to everyone’s pain. In the ashes and ruins—there, under the destruction of seemingly everything—will rise something greater. Something that they all had hoped for, but never uttered; not without the will to make it happen. In the distance, a faint horn boomed, signaling something approaching. His tears exemplified as he knew what would now happen.

“Forgive my muted call, great one. Hear its weakness… for it needs you.” He kneeled, bringing his hands to his chest in worship. “Oh, great Silence, greet us with a new age. Birth our rite of passage… lead us to our greater fate.” His words began to tremble, his voice near-mute, his body writhed in preparation for the Silence’s presence. “Oh, Lord of Chaos, bring an end to our suffering…”

Hearing the growing sound of an impending horde, he fully bowed and let his head rest on the ground. Closing his focus to nothing but each of their wretchedly-infinite footsteps, he awaited; numbing his sense in this frigid wasteland, he could only feel the quaking earth beneath him. Oddly enough, his tears had stopped, and seemingly as if warmth had shone itself in his cold-dreaded heart, he let a soft smile grow.

“Indeed… let our demise be swift. This… this, is our salvation.”