The barks of the crowd pulsed through the atmosphere. Every cloaked figure stood there, at either side of the path that meanedeared through the now desolate valley, with blazing torches and a fire within their eyes. The fire within their eyes burned with a severe hatred, bristling with every deep breath he took.

Alarat walked forward, the seething crowd barely keeping out of his path. The morning rays of the sun breathed down on him, lengthening the extent of the sores and the pain. His hands ached from the iron bounds that circled them, specially gotten from the Iron Forge grove. His head rattled with the pain, jittering with the bundle of nerves that twisted his insides. His bare feet scraped against another stone, hollowing out his skin into a slight abrasion. Something wet hit against his back, he flinched. The juices sank into his sore, throwing his sight to a jumbled mess.

The bitter scent careered through his nostrils as the chain around his neck stiffened at his stance. The soldier, huge and burly, on the horse, drew on his chains. Alarat slipped, his hands falling onto the floor. The harsh traces of stones drew blood at several parts of his body. The shouts of hatred, fingered into his ears, meddling away at his soul fire.

"Get up you scum!" The general shouted, Alarat groped at the grity floor. His limbs wavered, unable to carry him for too far. Sweat pooled down his sides as he fought for dominance against his sense. More bitter fruits were flying from different sides, the people droning on and on of their hatred of him. His people. His eyes prickled with sadness, wrenching from the aghast pain of now and what was to come.

The stallions behind him trumped and huffed, eying him with discontent. His soul fire pulsed within him, crackling with every second that passed. The flames of his power toiled within his body, glittering with every draw of breath. He looked into the souls of the people that passed, his eyes going past the distance of the physical. Their tiny flames wilted away, slowly snuffing away, just how The Shaitan wanted. His eyes traveled back to the reality, the physical tendrils weaving back to color the darkness of every soul fire. The threads rerun themselves, admitting back the sight of the real world.

By the time reality had once again enveloped him, he knew the death hour was upon him. The towering heights of the once great Castles of Old, stood no more. Their sharp pines stuck out against the glittering mass of blue with patches of white. The grazes of old stone that had withered covered the expanse of soil. The air spelt of a huge spiritual energy that gritted on his soul fire. As they turned and clawed through the batches of unbent walls, carving outwards into the withers of cracked domes. The crystals of purity's jagged dots stood out at the stony lines of broken walls and ancient inscriptions. Soon, they reached a clearing that had a draw of a crystal each, standing at equal distance from each other. The runes of blighted fire each of a different color clawed to the jagged and maroon crystals.

The general's party which consisted of two other guards and The Presbyter whom was clothed in a robe of the different colors of the rune that was attached. At the centre of the crystals was a raised platform that was a charcoal black, the anciency of it's withering ends outmatched the physical body of Alarat but the relic's inner fire was far younger. It's fire had been tainted, the smell of the foulness of the magic creased around the atmosphere.

The Presbyter, a man whom was buggled with inklings and his bald forehead had a slight carving. Two signet rings wiggled into his ear before morphing to a chain that slid down to his mouth, the air around him screamed of The Taint. Alarat shook trying to hold out, he squinted his eyes allowing the reality to fade away. His senses drew out, being thrusted to the realm of souls. The darkness overrun the place, where The Presbyter's soul was meant to be, a hollow shadow of torturing darkness sped around it.

Alarat kicked at the pain that hummed in his chest for his people. He drew away, fighting off the nausea of what the world had become because of the Taint. The Shaitan had done a spectacularly good job. Alarat clawed back to light, his senses returning once again. He felt something hard underneath him, he opened his eyes. The colors muddled together but soon shifted out as he full transversed into his body.

The crystals, the six of them carved towards him. The maroon blue glowed slightly, jagged colorful cracks glowing also as a result of the runes. He tried to push up, his head bounded back to the ground . Stars exploded in his eyes, his vision spiked and tumbled. The fear and pain drew on him, prickling him with needle like sensations. He was on the raised platform, bounded by chains to the poles that surrounded the relic. The once eternally smooth edges of the relic's top had curved and tilted out to be coarse and blackened ends as a result of The Taint.

He drew in breath after breath, the hollowness overshadowing his palpitating heart. He tried to converse with his father, focusing hard on the depths of his soul fire. The faint feel of his own soul fire drew onto him, crawling to his own. Shadows lingered around, stilfing the solemnity of the atmosphere. Now here in the realms of souls as gigantic bundles of fire that was overlooked by the darkness of the Taint. He opened his eyes once again, hovering back to reality.

The air had congested with the Taint so much so that Alarat could see the tendrils of darkness all around him. The bite of The Taint rippled through the atmosphere as the shadowy bundles morphed, balling around the crystals. The Presbyter stood at a pinnacle behind the first two crystals, his mouth ran through a diverse of stumped words in the Old language that would sound meaningless to an ordinary human. Alarat heard him, loud and clear.

Allow. The. Taint. To. Consume. His. Fire.

The crystals glowed a dangerous maroon, blinding him for a moment. The crackles of the runes rose dangerous, stabbing him with ferocious power. Soon, Alarat was once again, dropped off at the realm of Souls. His flame cackled wildly, the Taint filling the air. It's tendrils whacked at his flame, hissing at the glow. The tumble of words reeked the atmosphere, assaulting him with the drench of further darkness.

He tried to communicate with his father, to touch his flame to give him strength but the call ricocthed back to him. The Taint hovered above his flame, lashing out at the orange tendrils. He knew what had happened. The Taint of the world was upon him and he couldn't bare to watch him. In reality, the Presbyter, continued his incantations, the inkings on his body glowing slightly so also his robes.

The soldiers around the environment, watched the man from afar. Alarat, The Salvager, began to shake. His brown locks began to darken. His skin began to be eaten away by The Taint, paling as dark sores began to appear. His body pulsed dangerously against his bonds. The results of when a man's soul could not withstand it. The chains jangled, crackling as his body bobbed.

His knees turned in on themselves, twisting at odd angles. The soldiers in their regalia with replicas of the rune covering the the tip of their tights and leather tunic. They pressed down on the hilt of their swords. He cried in a loud voice, his shrill scream stumping at their ears. His body began to lose all form of colour, his screams reverberating thought the atmosphere. The screams ate away at their insides, sizzling in them a loud heat.

In a loud voice he cried, his body still pulsing. The loud mass of chains grangled against his groans and cries, his shrilling voice cut through the air. In the old tongue, he said,

"Father, why have you forsaken me?" His body coerced against the relic, twisting to the sides. The dark stripes of The Taint ripped down his body. They turned to black inky lines, rippling past as his body jolted. The lines stretched onto his face with the crackling sound, the blackened lines singeing past his pasty skin. A crowd of people had arrived to watch, limited by the battalion of other soldiers that circled the whole vicinity. Laughs passed around the people, humored of the what was taking place.

Soon the inky lines drew to his eyes. A woman pushed past the fist circle of guards, her body wracking with sobs. Her scream echoed around the environment, trying to push the guards away.

"Stop, please! He'll die if you don't stop!" One of the soldiers watched her in mock hurt,

"Oh I feel so saddened by that. If he truly is The Salvager, he would come down now and end his pain! Isn't that right?" The crowd applauded in answer, the woman was pushed back roughly, bounding back to the rough grity ground. A couple of people, most likely his other disciples slowly dragged her away.

"That's what you get for trusting in the wrong person!" Laughs circled the environment in answer to that. Something changed in the air, the inky lines had reached his eyes. His green eyes had turned completely white. His pasty skin was now almost blue. His chest raked heavily, each breath pushing out of his cracked lips. He whezzed, his breathing shallowing.

"It is finished." And he slumped back. The crowd laughed, humored by the spectacle. The ground began to shake, the treemor making them all wiggle. The blue of the morning sky changed to black. The sun no more in sight, the ground toppled and tumbled, shaking heavily. The air congested with darkness, the crystals began to crack crumbling in their state. The glitters of the runes were caught short, falling onto the ground lifeless.

The heavy air drenched them all, lighting them with a dose of fear. Screams and shouts pushed past the crowd, feet raked against the roll of stones. The Presbyter stopped, unnerved by the scene. The guards with sweat racing down their back, ran to him. They all huddled around him as the elements drew against them.

A chill permeated the air. The song of death and darkness swam past them, seething through them all. The Presbyter turned slightly as he watched the crystals crack, their maroon light sizzling with every whoosh of the wind. The man pushed past them, his stubby legs already racing towards the crystal.

"Forget the crystal! Come on!" The general yelled as he grabbed onto the man, his strong hands digging into his robe. Cracks zigzagged past the clearing and down the desolate valley. The remnants of stumps and darkened plants, split in half. Chaos overshadowed the whole kingdom. The dread and darkness swept passed their senses, the soul fires of many licked past the bodies of the dead, drawing up to the heavens.

The Taint drew past the people, hammering them with their songs of darkness. A woman stuck on a ledge not far from the clearing, watched the scenery in untold fear. The chills crept up her spine. Her gaze burned around the fallen mess. The catastrophe of the worse magnitudes from where she was, she saw the gravity that reeked in the kingdom. The utter chaos. The darkness. The fear of people. The blood curdling screams. Her heart squeezed painfully, the truth too bitter to her. She peeled herself away from the shaky ledge,the rocks skittering down the billowing depths of dark clouds that swarmed. She gulped. They had crucified the Salvager that the Ancients spoke of off.

"He really was the son of God." A rock slipped off the surrounding higher lands, grating against other familiar rocks. Her breath caught in her throat. The rock plunged into her stomach. The stars exploded in her eyes, the darkness eating her whole as she fell.


#Jesus #retellimg #cruxifixionofjesus #believers #death #famtasy #fantasyretelling #biblical


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