Ritual of Conversion

Alan had been captured a week ago. He was among the unlucky few who hadn’t been killed or Flash Converted during the Alliance’s desperate struggle for his outer settlement of Iron Path. The small mining town didn’t stand a chance, and the Alliance wasn’t able to get there fast enough to do more than evacuate.

        Alan had been running to the Alliance ships when one of those horrid shadow dogs grabbed him and dragged him away. He remembered the feeling of ice shooting through his veins, and being paralyzed once its teeth sunk in.

        He was corralled in the town’s main road with the other unfortunate survivors. A ritual was performed, and right under them a writhing black gateway was opened. The ground melted away, and inky black tendrils reached up to seize Alan and the others and rip them down into the abyss. The man’s vision was obscured and he became immobilized by powerful restraints. All Alan could tell was that he began to move, but he couldn’t hear anything.

        He lost track of time in his dark prison, until he was suddenly ejected from the darkness and onto a cold stone floor. As the man inhaled painful breaths, and coughed out black fluid from his lungs, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

        “On your feet,” came a gruff voice. Alan recognized the red Tech Tone armor, then took in his surroundings, and realized he was now in Paganan. The city, after a long siege, now acted as the secondary base of operations outside of the Forbidden Plains.

        As the man was pushed off of the circular platform he had came in on, his view was pulled upwards to the massive cathedral looming before him. Alan had never seen anything like it, and its mere presence struck the man’s heart with fear.

        The group of captured citizens entered the massive front doors, and Alan froze as he was met by a massive statue with glowing red eyes. Even though he had never seen him in person, Alan instinctively knew the statue was of Kyros. The God’s form wasn’t particularly striking, as he looked nothing more than a man. But the malice seething off of the statue was enough to bring tears of fear to Alan’s eyes and make him want to run away.

        “Move,” the guard behind Alan snarled, shoving the man forwards.

        Alan panicked. He made a fearful sound and scrambled backwards, shoving into the people behind him. One of the massive Tech Tone guards picked the man up by his middle and carried him inside like a belligerent toddler. He carried Alan, kicking and screaming, closer to the statue. He forcefully set him down and grabbed the man’s head with his meaty hand and forced him to look into the statue’s eyes.

        A seething presence washed over him. It was pure evil, dripping with malice. Alan was paralyzed with fear as it entered his mind, tearing apart any rational thought he once held.

        “Be still,” the voice told him. It was a command, as intimidating and powerful as a volcano eruption.

        Alan moved outside of his own free will and obediently followed the Tech Tones deeper into the Cathedral.

        Conversion Priest Rotsen was stirred from his deep meditation as the doors to his chambers opened. A Tech Tone soldier entered, his gaze sweeping the high ceilings until his eyes rested on the Priest kneeling near the middle of the room.

        “The new initiates are ready,” the soldier said. His voice was artificially deepened by the helmet that he wore, giving a deep rumble to his words.

        “Bring them in, single file please,” Rotsen instructed.

        Five other Priests stood in unison. They wore black flowing robes with faces obscured by masks that only showed their eyes which glowed an un-natural red.

        The Tech Tone soldier did as instructed, corralling each citizen single file. Alan was at the front of the line, his fear returning as his gaze swept the chambers.

        The walls and floor were made of stone, with two massive gateways dominating either end of the room. In the center was what seemed to be a pillared gazebo with a sphere sitting atop its roof.

        As the Conversion Priests rose, their robes began to glow red. The glow seeped into the floor and spread away from them. The entire room was soon awash in an ominous red glow. Once the room was fully lit, there was the sound of grinding stone, and the Priests rose into the air as they were lifted by stone pillars.

        Each of the six Priests raised their arms, and red energy began to flow from their bodies and into the top of the gazebo and into the Sphere. The Sphere rose into the air and began glowing a fierce red.

        “Let the first initiate begin their transcendence,” came Conversion Priest Rotsen’s voice.

        Alan moved forwards, unsure of what else he could do. He entered the gazebo, shifting nervously. The space between the pillars blazed to life with red energy, locking the man inside as the shadows at Alan’s feet began to move.

        A presence, much like the statue’s, flooded into the chambers. This time it was much more raw, much more closer, more intimate. Suddenly Alan was someplace else entirely. He was soaring through the sky, and everything was dipped in shadow. In the distance he saw white Sand Dunes, and black clouds. As he drew closer, Kyros’s face appeared in the clouds, grinning maliciously. The God of Chaos bored into Alan’s soul, tearing away everything he held close. Everything that he was and ever would be was laid bare.

        Alan wanted to cry. To scream. To run away. But his body wasn’t his own anymore. His will was directly tied to Kyros, and he couldn’t so much as sneeze without the God of Chaos allowing it.

        When the ritual ceased, Alan exited the Conversion Chambers a slave to the God of Chaos. Every thought, every action, every movement was not his own. In the deepest recesses of his mind; Alan wept for all that he had lost.