"The Death Seekers?" the hearsay Inquisitor said aloud, testing the odd name on his tongue.
The Bishop nodded. "The Death Seekers, a rather peculiar sub-species of Humans that primarily focus on alchemy, artifacts, trinkets, and whatnot. Yet the most fascinating bit wasn't their study of alchemy or their forging of artifacts—no, those were commonplace—but their seemingly inherent affinity toward death."
"The Death Spectrum."
He tapped his chin with an audible sigh.
"Terrifying folks, really."
"They were such a highly gothic race," he shrugged. "Be it whatnot, it had clearly worked during that era."
The Cardinal gave an uncanny chuckle as he narrowed his lifeless, sullen gray eyes. Tying his gaze with Rue's, he continued, "After they passed a sufficient threshold in power, the Death Seekers had begun to notice something."
"Advancement past the Tenth Destination was impossible."
"A previously unseen chain-like force had bound into their souls—Will weaved with foreign energy—and the energy splayed across their Initials, forcibly condensing them."
"It was divine intervention."
"The curse of their forefathers had carried onto them. To the few unfortunate souls who were reckless enough to break the restrictions, their Initials would shatter, Will smeared into chaos, and souls torn."
"Unending resentment grew within the minds of the powerful over the course of several hundred thousand years. Countless Sovereigns from different races had attempted to reach the Tenth Destination, but each was met with that impossibly tall wall."
"The talented? They all fell into despair."
"The Strong willed? Either died or were severely crippled while attempting to advance."
"Cowards accepted the new status quo."
With a grim expression, he shook his head.
"The Death Seekers were the first in this era to tear off the veil of mystery and uncover the cause of their shackles."
"The Gods?" the younger Rue asked, tilting his head. He was still in a standstill between disbelief and awe.
"Yes," he replied. A small, unnoticeable smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth.
"Henceforth came the third soft reset—and it wasn't caused by the Gods."
"The epoch of shattered glass."
"The rage of the Death Seekers was no longer aimless. The Gods were those to be held responsible for their emotional anguish."
"Sparked with hate and emotional baggage, the Death Seekers, along with essentially every other intelligent race in existence, would no longer bow to the gods."
"Thus, religion was decreed outlawed by every province, settlement, town, city, and empire throughout the world."
"Those who still practiced their faith were to be executed for treason."
"There was a no-tolerance policy."
The Bishop let out a silent giggle. "Due to their own misfortune bestowed by the gods, they sought out a world where their existence was unknown. Law did little to stop the flow of worship from those oblivious fools."
He snickered.
"Such idiots." he mockingly laughed.
"Stupid people being stubborn because of a lack of interest toward policy—that's all there was to the chaos that would unfold. Due to their stubborn persistence came the deaths of millions, if not billions, across the world who were all rounded up like cattle and slaughtered in the same fashion."
Pursing his mouth, Rue furrowed his brows as he thought.
"That would seem plausible…" Rue grimaced as his mind pictured such carnage unfolding.
He had seen his fair share of fucked-up shit during his time as an Inquisitor, but the idea of the world leaders convening together to enlist a set of rules that restricted the freedom of belief sickened him.
Why make the world suffer for your own misgivings of fate?
It was childish and unreasonable.
But they had the authority and power to do such.
Morals? Idealism? They all paled when faced with power. If the strongest niches of people decided such, then who were the weak to complain?
This was the sin of weakness. The weak were destined to be ruled by the powerful. It was an indisputable procession.
It was an indisputable procession.
"However, this was only the beginning," the Cardinal warned, his way of speech now taking on a more enthusiastic tone.
"After several years of slaughter, the epoch of broken glass had finally reached a closing, and the world entered a new phase."
"The rage of the powerful was still prevalent and highly volatile. They needed something to quell this anger—or, in other words, a new red herring to distract them."
"The crimson war."
If you've ever read or studied history in school, then you know the struggle of boredom that tends to come from it. Be it because of a bland teacher or the fact the content is dry, you may find yourself feeling bored.
Why is this?
Times of human peace are almost never interesting.
Now, let's look at the opposite—war.
Now that's fascinating.
Paradoxically, we stimulate ourselves by watching or reading about violence, yet almost none of us actually want to endure the pains that come along with it.
Human hypocrisy.
It was a grim irony that peace was simply boring.
Nobody, no matter their altruism—unless they were mental—would want to read for hours on end about historical dates, treaties, trade, and maybe advancement.
Regardless of its implications, it was objectively the truth.
Let's take the Second World War for example. It was a heinous time for the world; millions died, and the world was plunged into a state of disarray.
What if the Nazis won?
Would they live?
Rations?
The economy?
Military propaganda?
The unfortunates who were drafts?
A vast majority of Europe and Asia was invaded by the Axis powers, while the Allied powers desperately fought against them.
Genocides took place.
Weapons with the power to destroy the world were created through this attrition, the very same weapons that would eventually lead into the Cold War afterwards.
It was an arms race for advancement—and a race for peace.
History is a fascinating subject. It's supposedly taught in schools to avoid past mistakes, but when tested on the battlefield, this almost never seems to be the case.
Humans never change, the only thing that changes are the times and the objects used to satiate those same purposes.
It's a simple fact, and that's the fun of history.
~~~
~~~
~~~
Hours passed and the Bishop still continued his ramblings.
History now long forgotten by the public was told to Rue for whatever reason.
As the old man continued his uttering, Rue fell into a pit of thought.
He was genuinely confused.
Why was the Bishop taking the time of day to tell him this?
Rue wasn't special—just a mere hearsay Inquisitor with a habit of study.
How about the Cardinal Bishop?
A Seventh Destination practitioner on the verge of breaking into the Eighth, and a Cardinal Bishop—the highest rank in the church that an Inquisitor could reach.
The polarity between the two was vast beyond belief, however, the Bishop was tolerating him, nonetheless.
Noticing that the Bishop had gone silent, Rue let out a deep breath.
"Now… would you tell me about that place?" he warily asked.
"Fine."