Chapter Text
He felt it before he heard it.
A terrible rumbling that sent reverberations through the glass panes that hid behind the closed curtains on Ewron's wall. The sound echoed through the village. The trees shook and the ground rumbled, showing their protest.
Ewron could consider himself to be a fairly deep sleeper, but very few could be expected to sleep through the sound of an explosion.
With a startled jolt, he opened his eyes into the darkness of his bedroom, or what should have been darkness. Instead, the whole room was filled with an eerie light, dancing through the edges of the curtains.
Fire.
It illuminated the log walls, built out of the same jungle wood that grew all around his small village. Beautiful, but flammable.
He threw his bedsheets off of himself, scrambling up and blinking rapidly, all traces of sleep gone.
Pulling on the boots that he had purposefully left at the end of his bed, Ewron bounded down the steps of his small cottage, throwing open his front door.
The first thing that hit him was the smell of smoke, dark and suffocating. It rose up above the sky in clouds. The northside of the village was up in flames, lighting up the dark of the night. Screams echoed down the streets, cries of the ones unlucky enough to live in that quadrant.
“Ewron!” A voice called. It was Graf, the bearded man looked frantic, visibly shaken, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. Ewron couldn't imagine that he looked much better. Sleep was a hard thing to come by these days. “Shit man- they're sending creeper bombs down. Its fucked.”
“Where?” Ewron asked, searching the sky for more incoming.
“The church. They're bombing the church.”
Ewron gritted his teeth, “Those bastards.”
He took off at a run, making his way through the burning streets and towards the church.
Some would argue that going towards the building that was actively being bombed was a bad idea. Ewron was not one of those people. He worked at that church as the priest, and while he chose to live in his own home, many of the other clergy spent their nights sleeping there. Not only that, but with the destruction from previous attacks, many families' houses had been unlivable, and they had moved to the safety of the church to stay until rebuilding was possible. If those people were there when the bombing began… Ewron had to check.
Attacking a church was a dirty move frowned upon by most, but it was clear The Federation had no qualms about it.
As he grew closer, the smell of smoke burned stronger, but there was another scent with it. The smell of burning flesh. People pushed past him, running in the opposite direction; mothers holding their children, families with grim looks, a young man with his elderly father on his back. They were smart to run, but Ewron simply covered his nose with the sleeve of his cassock and continued on.
Log houses, built similarly in style to Ewron’s, were in flames. Ewron could barely make out the sound of his own footsteps on the brick road over his labored breathing. He cursed himself for choosing to live so far away from the church.
He turned the corner, and stopped dead in his tracks.
What he found was destruction. The creeper bombs had hit the church dead on, with unflinching accuracy. Where the church had once stood was now a burning, rubble filled crater.
It’s an uncanny thing, to look at a place you once knew, and to be met only with destruction. Ewron could recognize sections of the roof and the tile floor that survived the initial blast, but they were dirtied and broken.
The people within the building were dead.
He understood that now, seeing the destruction firsthand. Help wasn't something he could provide anymore. He could see a few bodies burning up, their skin blistered and hair fried. But their eyes told the story of ones beyond saving, having already left this world to the beyond. It was a terrible way to go, but they were better off there now.
A hiccup of grief made its way to his throat. He knew many of those people. In a village so small one had to. The burnt bodies proved to be unrecognizable, but he knew nonetheless.
A high hissing sound came from the sky, alerting Ewron that the time to move away was imminent. He muttered a quick prayer at the devastation, and with the promise to come back and give the bodies a proper burial once he was able, he broke back into a run, away from the attacks.
Deep in the jungle, alongside a river, was a small but plentiful village that referred to themselves as people of Polska Husaria. While it had started small, it grew into a bustling little village, with a strong system of trade and religion. The village sat at a low point in the forest, which made their agriculture plentiful due to the rainwater's tendency to follow gravity. The tall trees provided defense from the wind and rain, but allowed for sun to shine through.
Overall, it was a successful and peaceful village. That is, until the last few months. A mysterious group calling themselves ‘The Federation’ had invaded Polska Husaria with a declaration of all out war. They carried weapons of unfamiliar material, and wore thick cloaks of animal fur, indicating their foreign nature. It was unprecedented. They did not claim to want land, nor resources, and in fact rejected all notions of peace talks or surrender. No, they simply wanted war.
This group had moved in quietly overnight, and set up camp on a hill overlooking the village. Despite their people being few, they quickly overtook the Polski’s, who had little to no system of defence. Their people were not warriors. The Federation had the advantage of new tech, experience, and seemingly infinite resources at their disposal. But the worst thing were the bombs that they catapulted over their protective walls in the night. The villagers had begun to refer to them as ‘creepers’ due to their near silent and unpredictable nature. These creeper bombs had caused more destruction to the village than they could handle, and the Polski’s were quickly losing the war. Death was a daily occurrence.
It came to a point where one began to wonder if their deity cared for them at all.
Every village, town, city, had a deity that they prayed to. It was a given. This deity would look over their people and make sure no harm would come to them. When destruction comes to a village, it is considered humiliating. It means their deity had turned their back on them. It means that the village didn’t work hard enough to earn their favor, didn't pray enough, didn't make enough offerings.
Ewron does all he can. He prays, he cries, he begs, he offers up his meals, but their ever loving deity gives no response. The attacks from The Federation continue without end. Some villagers begin to say it's hopeless, that their deity has truly left them, but Ewron has hope. They just need to do something more, something stronger.
Anything to bring the attention of Katarzyna back to them. Anything to end this war.
Days had passed. More and more destruction befell the town, and death with it. Burials had become so commonplace that by the time Ewron had finished the funeral rights of one person, another would be added on to the list. His hands had begun to become sore from the repeated stress of the ritual hand gestures he made signaling the dead’s departure into the afterlife. Though Ewron could hardly complain, such were his duties as a priest.
People were becoming desperate. And when people become desperate, rumors begin to spread. Rumors of ways to gain back a deity's favor. Of course, rumors like this weren’t to be taken seriously, they were nothing but tales from the old times.
Still. When desperation attacks, anything seems like a possibility.
Which leads Ewron to where he is now. Standing in the town square with the remaining survivors. There were maybe 400 people left, a far cry from the small thousand that used to occupy the space. Ewron wondered if they could even be classified as a village anymore.
It was a quiet day, overcast and gloomy. The villagers were huddled in groups, whispering to each other fearfully. Many sent worried glances at the sky for any sign of attack, but this week had been the first in a long long time where no creeper bombs had been sent down. The Federation was regrouping, likely. Or that is what Ewron suspected.
Ewron floated through the crowd, pushing his way through the masses to the front. He could hear bits and pieces of people's whispered conversations and he passed by; ‘-don't think it's right.’ A woman said. ‘Well as long as it's not me, it'll be fine’, said another. Ewron ducked his head, concealing it under his hood. He was not wearing his priestly garbs. Instead, a white cloak with red accents was his choice for the day. Perhaps it said something about his dedication to the church, but he thought there to be little point in wearing a cassock if there was no church left to preach at. It also helped with calling less attention to himself. In the past few days, many had stopped him, either apologising for his loss of his fellow clergy members, or asking for him to pray for them. He always would of course, but today simply wasn't the day for it.
Finally, he emerged at the front of the crowd, where a grand temple stood. This temple was their village's most important monument. While the bombing of the church was a shame, it was nothing compared to what would happen if the temple had been the one to be bombed.
It was built from stone and mossy bricks, and stood high and mighty. Stairs made their way up the side, leading up, up, up, far past the treetops, to a pavilion which held their eternal flame. It was a monument to their deity, Katarzyna. It was truly a magnificent piece of architecture, Ewron was relieved that it was still in one piece compared to the destruction that surrounded it.
“Ewron, there you are.” A voice called from a bit away.
Ewron looked, and found Graf and Nexe making their way through the crowd towards him. Both of their faces reflected the same mournfulness that Ewron felt too, he was sure most did.
“Hello,” Ewron greeted somberly when the two reached him.
Nexe reached on and grabbed Ewron's shoulders, “Ewron, they can't really be doing this, right? I mean- who approved it?” The man's eyes went to the ground, “It's ridiculous, completely. It will solve nothing.”
Ewron nodded, comforting his friend, “I agree. It's gotten out of hand.”
Graf looked worried, but puzzled, "Explain, please? I mean I've heard… a little about what's going on here. But they can't be serious, right?”
Ewron sighed, his eyes tracing the lines of the temple steps absently, “No. It’s true. They’re going to sacrifice someone.”
Graf’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyebrows furrowing in despondency, “Why? What good will it do?”
“They think it will bring back the attention of Katarzyna to us. They want to sacrifice someone as a… as a plea, a call to action, to end this war.”
“But you can do something, right?” Nexe pleaded, “Put a stop to it! You're our priest for Katarzyna’s sake, you should be able to do something!”
Ewron shook his head, “It's out of my hands now.” he murmured, “I’m sorry.”
The two men visibly deflated. Ewron wished there was something he could do to protect them. Graf and Nexe were his closest friends, if they were the ones who ended up being chosen… Ewron felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He would never forgive himself.
The idea to make a sacrifice to Katarzyna had emerged a few days ago, starting through whispers until it made its way to the top. People believed that since it was clear that Katarzyna had no interest in saving them from this war, they would have to make an offering that she could not refuse. That this was the only way to get her back to protecting the village.
As if any more death was needed.
Every person left alive was entered, the age did not matter. The young, the old, even the children. It was cruel. Despite the rumors, the moment it had become a reality, and people realized that they too could be the ones being sacrificed, their opinions on the matter changed rapidly. It went from being a hope for the future to a damnation to death.
A hush ran through the crowd, and it took Ewron a moment to identify what the source was. His eyes scanned the crowd and fell on their village leader, Quackity, making his way to the temple steps. He wore a solemn expression, but walked resolutely, with his head high. In his hands he carried a large basket, clearly hand woven with intricate designs running along the rim.
Quackity ended his parade on the third step up, placing the basket down next to him. Just enough so that the people in the back were able to see him. Quackity was good at making the village people he was just another person among the crowd, and not superior. He was, of course. To become the village leader he had to be chosen by Katarzyna herself. But he never acted like he was better than anyone. He lived in a humble house and spoke to the people just as any person would. It was a good way to keep away uprisings, Ewron thought. Though sometimes he wondered how genuine it all was. The people clearly loved him, but it struck Ewron somewhat as a propaganda campaign. Quackity wasn't originally from Polska Husaria, thought that wasn't entirely uncommon. While the village was mainly dominated by people who had long lineages of staying here, many others came from far away towns, and either came with the intention of moving to Polska Husaria permanently, or simply to visit. Quackity had merely shown up one day, and quickly climbed the ranks with his charm and wit, until after perhaps a half decade, he was pronounced village leader.
Quackity cleared his throat to gather the attention of the few less discerning people who hadn't noticed his entrance, and then began to speak.
“My friends,” He began, voice steady with a small hint of an accent, “I understand that many of us are saddened by the situation that has befallen this village in recent days. I share in your grief. We have all lost somebody important to us in this war, whether it be friends or family, and I understand that we have begun to lose hope that it will ever improve. The Federation has taken much from us, and as the head of this village, I feel personally responsible for the people we have lost.” A chorus of reassurances started, but Quackity simply raised a hand to signal for silence. “This war began due to our leniency towards our deity. We did not give her the reverence she deserves, and now she has rightfully turned her back on us. We must hold ourselves accountable for this.” Quackity moved to pick up the basket, “Within this basket holds the names of every person standing here today, myself included. I will pick a random name from the basket, and this person will have the honor of ascending the temple steps and joining Katarzyna in the otherealm. We hope that this martyrdom will make up for our previous inadequacies, and send the message to our Katarzyna that we are ready to become better devotees, if only she will do us the honor of ending this war.”
Ewron crossed his arms, as Quackity spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, a little too carefully. It made him feel uneasy. Though perhaps his real source of unease was due to the knowledge that somewhere in that basket, a slip of paper held his name, possibly signalling his doom.
It was unlikely, and he knew it, but you couldn't blame him for being nervous.
Without much delay, Quackity reached into the basket, making a show of averting his eyes and searching within.
The silence while he did this was uncanny. Ewron could imagine what every person was thinking in this exact moment, and it was ‘Please, not me’. Ewron was thinking it too.
Some turned their heads away, unable to watch. Others weeped, feeling shamed for fearing death. Some families held their children close, hoping beyond hope that if one of them were to be chosen, it wouldn’t be their heirs.
Ewron didn’t know what to do, he simply watched. His friends stayed silent besides him too, all their attention on the contents inside.
Quackity pulled out a slip of paper.
Everyone in the crowd held their breath.
Quackity's eyes scanned the paper, before rising up to the crowd silently. It didn't take long until the eyes of their leader met with Ewron's. In that moment, Ewron knew. The words that Ewron dreaded most had yet to come, but he knew. Perhaps not entirely, not in way that he could accept, but it when the words finally left Quackity's mouth, Ewron couldn't bring himself to feel shock.
“Ewron?” Quackity called after a beat.
No. This wasn't supposed to happen. It shouldn’t have been him. This shouldn’t have- this shouldn’t have happened.
Ewron unconsciously stumbled back, as eyes fell on him. Graf and Nexe were giving him worried looks, shock visible. It looked like Graf was saying something to him, but he couldn’t follow it. It just seemed like gibberish. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.
“Ewron, please come forward.” Quackity’s assertive voice broke through the ringing in his ears, and without knowing what else to do, Ewron helplessly obeyed.
One foot out in front of the other, Ewron began to move. Nexe desperately grasped at his wrist as he moved away, as if that alone would prevent this from happening, but the moment Ewron looked back at the man, he relinquished his hold. Ewron made his way out of the crowd, ending his parade at the base of the steps.
Ewron could feel his body shaking as he looked up to meet Quackity’s dark eyes. He wished it wouldn’t, he didn’t want to die looking like a coward.
“Ewron." Quackity began, "You have been chosen for the great duty of joining our Katarzyna in the otherealm. This is a duty of great respect, and will save our village from its dying fate.”
Ewron didn’t care. Why was Quackity still talking? He already knew all of this. Acting like this was a great duty and not a sentence to death was demeaning.
“…People will speak your name for centuries,” Quackity continued, “We will build statues in your honor, telling the story of your gift.”
Ewron glared at the man as he spoke. He hated him, he decided. Hated him. He was acting as if what was happening now was some honorable thing, and not sending someone to their death.
“Do you have anything you would like to say?” Quackity offered.
Ewron looked back at the crowd. The people of the village started back. He knew many of them. Some looked scared, some looked sad. Was Nexe crying? Some just looked relieved that it wasn't them who was chosen. There were so many things he wanted to say. He could tell his friends he loved them, tell the people that he had always hated them, punch Quackity in the face and run away, scream obscenities, recite the ancient texts, just do something. But instead Ewron simply shook his head quietly. All the fight had left him. Who was he to argue with fate? If Katarzyna decided now was his time, then he would not stop it.
“If you have no final acts, then you may begin your ascent.” Quackity stated, moving to the side so that Ewron could pass him.
That was it? No long drawn out party, no final goodbye, no paperwork to sign, no will to write. Just, ‘Wow, looks like you were chosen! Time to die!’ Ewron didn’t know what he expected.
So with a deep breath and a look of determination, he began to make his way up the temple stairs.
He was off to meet Katarzyna.