Prologue The Heretics

Blood dripped down his fingertips. He felt the sting of the cut, the pain somehow illuminating the darkness of the room – the room where she died. He looked around the darkness, remembering it all through a haze. He could see himself holding a body and covered in blood, but the finer details were hidden behind a veil. 

 He took his dagger in hand, studying the glimmering silver as though his memories would be hidden within, but there was nothing. Nothing stared back at him, but the emptiness of his own eyes.

With a sigh he set the dagger aside, and placed his bloodied hand in a bowl where his lifeforce would pool. He studied the blood as it collected, mesmerized by the power hidden within. 

This oppressive Mettalium empire favored precious metals. Gold, silver, and bronze. They favored deities that hoarded power and wealth while those at the bottom starved for scraps. They favored armies and brute strength, stomping on the heads of lesser men. 

He squeezed at the shallow wound, encouraging more blood to flow. He had not been raised to hoard power. For power was not a limited resource. Not for his people. Not for anyone, really. As long as one was willing to withstand the pain of it, unfathomable power could be accessed in every man, woman, and child – harnessed through the blood. 

The deities feared the power hidden within humanity, so they kept it forbidden, sequestered, and illegal. The trideities had been very proactive in controlling humanity’s strength. They established their dominance by possessing a human, using him as their conduit to sequester global authority – The Prophet. 

He gritted his teeth, squeezing the wound harder to distract from the demi-deity’s vial name. The Prophet. The Prophet was a monster, hardly human at all and he – he was responsible for her death. 

With a grunt, the man squeezed at his wound one more time, before haphazardly bandaging himself. He closed his eyes, placing his forehead on the stone floor beneath him. This damned home was haunted by so many ghosts he could hardly sleep. 

He stood, taking the bowl in hand. Walking to the cold and stony wall, he removed a looking glass, hanging inconspicuously, and dipped his fingertips into the blood. 

“I curse the silver Argentum deity,” he hissed, painting symbols that appeared meaningless onto the wall. “I curse the golden Aurum,” he added, gathering more blood, “and I curse the cruel Aes deity, made of bronze.” 

The room grew colder as he uttered these words, his breath releasing in small white puffs of mist. The man shivered, resisting the urge to reach for a blanket. It was no struggle to be cold. He’d spent thirteen years of his life in the cold, after all. Steadying himself, he took a breath, closing his eyes to reestablish focus. 

He had more to say, but his curses were spent. When his heart rate had settled and his expression softened, he began to paint again. But this time, he uttered no curse – no words of hatred. Instead he uttered a blessing. A blessing for his mission. A blessing for his plans and the victories to come. 

If the deities could harness humanity's power, and use it for their own cruel and ambitious ends, then he would harness the deity’s power and use it for his own means. It was no easy mission. It was no simple plan, but he’d chosen his words carefully and would now seal it all with his blood. 

Taking a final breath, the man dropped his shoulders. He drew a line of blood on his forehead and another on his chest, right over the mound of scars that had set him free from the Mettalium, so many years ago. A tear formed in the corner of his eye as he set his intention, keeping his sights on what lay ahead. With a voice full of hope, he uttered the words, tipping forth the first domino that would bring this entire empire to a bloody end. 

“Kin ukimmi en kan lo metalch en fa-kur kan nurkasa eruraska zi schayil.”

With a sigh he spoke the words into existence, his eyes drifting open as the air around him changed. It was done then. The stage was set. The die cast. Only one truth remained. There was nothing he wouldn’t do, no part of himself he wouldn’t sacrifice, to take his vengeance and end the Mettalium once and for all.