June 4th, 1312.
The cries of Thomas Smith rang from the North Papal States as he was born into this world.
His father was a local blacksmith, his mother a cast out bastard between the old duke and one of the servants. Despite the inheritance of the old duke’s blood, he would never be able to lay claim to it else he risk the gallows.
His father’s hands were still covered in soot and grime as he held his newborn son up. Unfortunately, his mother continued to bleed and there was nothing the midwife could do to save her, leaving Aaron Smith to raise the child all on his own.
February 17th, 1327.
Thomas Smith was now 15 years old, his blond hair curly and face full of youthful vigor.
Unable to become a knight due to his commoner birth, he joined the Catholic Inquisition to combat the rising pandemic of witchcraft and other evils plaguing Europe and bring honor to his father and absent mother. He vowed to serve the lord and protect mankind.
September 12th, 1335.
“Wield thy sword of judgment and spread the lord’s glory across the land. Smite evil and banish all demons to the burning hell they hail from!”
A bishop handed down Thomas’ first holy sword upon graduating his training and becoming a knight of the Inquisition, a blade of blessed steel with a silver core.
Long gone were his boyish features, instead replaced with powerful muscles and chiseled lines, ready to take on all the evils that infested the world. The spread of witchcraft was the greatest darkness across Europe in this age, not of hedge witches born with powers beyond the common woman, but those that sold their souls and newborns to demons in exchange for power.
Many innocents were lost in the battle against evil, but all was done under the command of god himself.
December 2nd, 1339.
Thomas Smith was promoted by a cardinal to Inquisition Knight Captain and assigned his own squad of Inquisition Knights and advanced trainees, a total of 13 warriors of God.
He bore the scars of battles that told of countless battles, from blades, claws, hexes and curses. His curly hair hung down to his shoulders and pale blue eyes emitting a will of steel. He had seen some of the worst evils and sins that existed in the world in the last four years.
The inquisition’s efforts had been paying off however, as witches were retreating all over Europe into their covens and dens, hiding from the Lord’s light.
June 29th, 1340.
“You will suffer, you will all suffer!” An enrage old witch screeched at Thomas and his subordinates, a vial in her hand containing something so sinful the sun itself dimmed in fear.
“My daughter had never harmed another, a kind soul, yet you tied her to the stake like an animal and burnt her alive! You never gave her a chance, so I shall not give you one. This is my final creation, a curse even demons fear. Your bible is full of lies and deceit. For the lives you have taken, for the pain you have caused… you do not deserve to be forgiven.”
The dirty green vial smashed on the ground, releasing a putrid black tar that caused all life in the vicinity to die.
Thomas knew he and his subordinates would not survive this time, but they still faced it with righteousness burning in their hearts.
It was unknown who screamed in agony first, but there were no exceptions as this curse harmed the very soul itself, a weapon of the highest level of heresy.
The old witch cackled all the way to death whilst the knights’ bodies and souls melted, fusing together before finally departing this world without even leaving their corpses behind.
The old witch called this curse the Soul Rot Curse, for its obvious results when highly concentrated, but the collateral damage led the rest of the world to later recording it in the history books as the Black Death.
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Death was not the end, but neither was it what he had expected.
What appeared before Thomas was not the pearly gates to welcome him and his comrades into Heaven, but a land far more dreary.
The world was dark and visibility only extended as far as his soul senses reached, bar the giant wispy silver aurora that streaked across they pitch black sky like ribbon, a compass in the dark and dreary world.
White soul wisps drifted in the air like flakes of ash, whilst the location Thomas and the others were was a forest of twisted, dead trees that stretched up into the sky. The ground was like the soot on a riverbed, but souls held no weight so it was hardly disturbed by their feet.
The laws of the world were completely different here, landscapes changing and distances shifted without any form of regularity to them. It was chaotic and random.
Thomas was a damaged and twisted soul due to the Soul Rot Curse, but he and his companions who followed him here were different from the standard souls.
A part of losing the mortal vessel and moving to the next life revealed a large amount of knowledge instinctual to souls. Without a vessel, a soul would continuously “evaporate” as it was recycled through the cycle of life before congregating into new life.
The only way for a soul to continue existing was to consume other souls, the consumed soul vanishing whilst the consumer gained all of the eaten soul force, growing in both size and power.
Another factor was that all memories were stored in the vessel, or otherwise known as the body or brain, not the soul itself. Souls inherently had no knowledge of the world of the living or even what “alive” was. They held no form of language nor attempted to communicate, instead operating purely off their instincts.
Thomas and the others were an exception to these two rules, as their vessels had melted and combined with their souls. They retained all their memories whilst not dissipating. On the other end of the scale however, their souls were damaged and much weaker than any other fresh soul, and the retaining of memories and values caused their soul knowledge awakening to be weaker as well.
The old witch’s soul was not with them however, obviously having been shuttled off to whichever demon she sold her soul to in exchange for powers no mortal should possess.
“C-captain, help me!”
a senior trainee was the first victim to fall pray to being feasted upon by a wandering soul. The knights were far too weak and could barely fight it off just as the senior trainee lost half of his soul to it.
The group of knights’ souls remained together to fend off against other souls, but they were constantly at a severe disadvantage.
“Captain… please, take my power and become stronger,” The faint soul of Inquisition Knight Wilhelm knelt before Thomas and offered himself to him. “I will… place all my hopes and dreams with you.”
It was impossible to tell time within the realm of the dead, but Thomas suspected over a full week had passed by in these dreary lands.
The thought of consuming a soul had become much less since the knights had already done it to replenish their lost strength, albeit forming a delicate balance of being unable to break free from their weakness as the strength used to subdue even the weakest of souls was usually less than the strength the got in return.
The weight of depression also weighed down on the lost souls as they had all recognized that they had been abandoned by the god they devoted their lives to serving. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t have been here.
“Wil… I understand.”
To Thomas’ surprise, after consuming Wilhelm, he truly continued to exist. Perhaps it was a trait of their vessels being fused into their souls, but the psyche of Wilhelm still existed within him, just dormant unless called upon.
Thomas and the other souls retreated into a dwelling they made and concluded that he also absorbed Wilhelm’s vessel, which was where his psyche resided. He even called the latter’s mind out and could converse with it, even let him control his body if desired.
All the other knights and trainees were much less anxious upon learning this. One by one, they all gave their everything to Thomas so he would be strong enough to survive in this land of the dead.
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