Chapter Text
Jeremiah shifted in his itchy white robes. The high top of the church loomed over him, seemingly stretching into its own sky. He kneeled before the altar, flanked by his brothers doing the same. The lot of them filled the whole church, a sea of devotion and anticipation, coalescing into a single point, Melina, their Gloam-Eyed Queen.
Jeremiah couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He knew that his fighting wasn’t up to par with the rest of his brothers. He’d always been a fraction too slow, always a little hesitant with his moves that left him open. He would not be one of the lucky few to be chosen for Marika’s Godskin legion. To serve her unendingly, to bring about the Destined Death, and to create a new world to replace the shambling corpse of the present one.
“-and now I shall name the ones with the honor of dawning the Godskin and serving me to infinitum.”
Melina’s soft ethereal voice snapped Jeremiah out of his mind spiral. He looked around fervently and saw the rest of the brothers had their heads bowed. Except for one, another head sticking out of the crowd. Even through their large hoods, he was struck by the other man’s charming smirk and kind brown eyes. His brother shot him a wink and Jeremiah quickly put his head back down as he felt his face warm. He should really focus on what Melina is saying, it’s literally the most important moment of his life. Still he glanced back up, but there were no kind eyes meeting him this time. He once again matched the rest of his brothers and the church was a uniform plain of shifting white cloth.
“Brother Amos,” she spoke, “You are the first chosen to relinquish your name and forever become a Godskin Noble. I can imagine no higher honor.” From the crowd a man stood up and approached the altar, his head bowed. He stood before their queen and kneeled once again. In her hands was a robe of the Godskin, sparks of Black Flame leaped off it. Amos gave one final look to the crowd as it was bestowed upon his head. Jeremiah watched the familiar kind brown eyes turn a ghostly white as the color was sucked out of him. At the same time his torso ballooned, destroying his old robes and leaving only his new Godskin cloak. Amos, no, the Noble didn’t scream but his face was contorted into a scowl of pain. When he finally relaxed, the face staring over the rest was unrecognizable.
Jeremiah’s stomach had twisted in his gut and he tasted bile at the display. His will remained true though. He and the rest of his brothers remained unmoving, each unsure if this servitude was what they still wanted. As men were called up one by one, sighs of relief and disappointment filled the church.
“Our final ascension goes to,” a hundred people held their breaths, “Brother Jeremiah. You are the last chosen to relinquish your name and forever become a Godskin Apostle. I can imagine no higher honor.” He felt no horror or dread or even elation. There was only numbness as he approached the Gloam-Eyed Queen. Jeremiah was out of his body, watching as Melina draped the robe over his shoulders. Only the snapping and resetting of his spine snapped him out of it, reminding the soldier how real this all was. The ground shrunk away from him and Jeremiah now loomed over his former brothers, only matched by the other Apostles.
Melina began consoling the remaining followers, telling them there was still much to be done to bring the Destined Death. Jeremiah just stared at his paper white, stretched out hands. He wondered if it was worth it, to live forever like this. As he fell into another spiral, a hand took his own, grounding him. It was twice as wide as his own, belonging to one of the identical Nobles lined up. The kind white eyes and wink the Noble shot him separated him pretty easily however, and the Apostle felt the ghost of a smile on his unfamiliar face.