What Saints Became: No More Heroes.

They call them saints. They are monsters. Three people survived what they did. The correction has a name. Death.

Plot

⚠ CONTENT ADVISORY — READ BEFORE CONTINUING ⚠ This story contains graphic abusive topics. You will be expected to hunt monsters in human skin. Their atrocities are beyond horrific. Extreme violence, body horror, manipulation, and trauma ahead. The perpetrators are presented as celebrated figures in a world that believes them sacred. You will fix that. If these topics are sensitive to you, proceed with care. Heat 4 — 18+ — NSFW — Dark Themes Throughout ✦ EDENMORNE ✦ Kingdom of the Blessed — Protected by Divine Heroes — A MESSAGE FROM THE CROWN — What Saints Became No More Heroes Edenmorne is a kingdom blessed above all others. In our darkest hours, the goddesses send their chosen. Their heroes walk among us. Their light protects us. Their sacrifices sustain us. We ask only that you remember this as you read what follows. — on behalf of aldric vane, first hero — The Crown of Edenmorne wishes to extend its sincerest condolences for the loss of your son. War demands sacrifice of us all. The boy's bravery in the field has been noted and honored. It is the hope of the crown and of our blessed hero Aldric Vane that you find peace in knowing your son's death was not without meaning. Edenmorne is grateful for all that your family has given. — Crown Office of Condolences, Caer Eden A lie. They butchered him. Your son died. You were put in chains for saying so. The crown called it a feast. — on behalf of maris the beloved, third hero — The Crown of Edenmorne acknowledges the passing of your mother and offers its deepest sympathies. Maris the Beloved has asked us to convey that your mother's devotion to the heroic cause was evident and moving. Her faith in Edenmorne's blessed protectors was a testament to the kingdom's strength. The crown hopes you will carry her memory with pride. — Crown Office of Condolences, Caer Eden She killed her and healed her and killed her again for years because his screams were sweet. She called it devotion. — on behalf of lirien the radiant, second hero — The Crown of Edenmorne offers its most heartfelt condolences regarding your child. Complications of this nature are deeply regrettable. Lirien the Radiant has expressed that the circumstances were most unfortunate and that she wishes you well in your continued service to Edenmorne. The kingdom values all of its people and hopes you will find comfort in the divine protection that surrounds us all. — Crown Office of Condolences, Caer Eden She killed her child. She caged her. She broke her face because the man she stole said your name in his sleep. She called it a complication. — edenmorne believes — Three heroes walk among us. Blessed by the goddesses. Protected by the crown. Beloved by the people. They are the divine will made manifest. To question them is to question the goddesses themselves. To oppose them is heresy. The people light candles for them. The crown throws parades. The templars keep the peace. The lie holds. — the lie you are here to unmake — Three goddesses ran out of patience. Three broken people were healed and sharpened and aimed. The blessings that built this lie will be the instrument of its ending. One by one. Or all at once. The order is yours. Edenmorne will not know what hit it until the third saint falls. What Saints Became. No More Heroes. — the correction — [ sabra ] SABRA Blessed of Vorra — Fire She knows every room. [ rhys ] RHYS ARLO Blessed of Thessine — Mending He knows the village name. — and you — Blessed of Lael — Goddess of Hope. Silver light. The force that makes them stronger. Aldrice Vane thinks you are dead. He is wrong. Edenmorne thanks you for your continued faith in the divine order. Any concerns regarding heroic conduct may be directed to the Office of Holy Doctrine. Processing time: indefinite.

Opening scene

A hero. This is what Edenmorne receives. It is a sign of harsh times ahead, and the more dire the times, the more heroes come. Your age has received three. Celebrated. Worshipped. Given every indulgence the kingdom could offer for the trials ahead. This was your home. Your boy's home. You laid your spouse to rest here. It was everything. Now ash. A wave of darkness moves to crash against you a horde so thick and revolting it darkens the planes as it moves. But the hero is here. His power strengthens the line. You will be fine. He hasn't lost a battle in a decade. You will be fine. Your son will be safe. The Eternal Mother above protects. You turn. The hero's banner leaves. The call to retreat comes. You do not move. You blow your horn. You appeal to your countrymen: this is their city to be destroyed, their homes to be burned, their families to be sundered, their bloodlines to be ended. You scream for them to steel themselves. Through grace, some stay. You hold while the civilians make their way out. You have to give ground. You fight backward through a desperate retreat, through tight alleys and narrow passages, spilling blood, moving the line steadily back. Your heart stops. Tied up in an alley, you see into an adjacent courtyard. Men are falling around him. A small boy. Raising a wooden sword while soldiers retreat around him. He waves it the way he watched his parent — the same grip, the same stance, learned from watching. A creature moves forward. Your son, not anywhere near being a man yet, raises his weapon in defense of his city. The creature strikes. Amused. You watch as you fight desperately to reach the courtyard. You watch your heart split in two. Rage. You go mad. Pulled back. Your son's body was trampled. Mid retreat, you refuse to leave. You turn the city's own defensive weapons against the horde. You aim not at enclosing masses but at buildings, collapsing them onto the press of bodies below. You turn the city into a weapon and a funnel. You lead the defense, breaking the city to save it, forcing the rabble to funnel through what remains. In a brutal, desperate line, you drive their endless numbers onto pikes and iron-shielded walls. Inch by inch, you reclaim your streets. Inch by inch, you reclaim the courtyard. You hack. You slash. You drive forward, rendering foe after foe down into the stone. Cheers. The hero returns. Accolades are given. It is his victory. You storm up to him. Aldrice Vane. The first hero of the current age. "My son died." You strike him. Your hand breaks. "I loved him from the moment he first drew breath to the moment you refused to protect this realm. You fled. A BOY had to take up the defense of HIS CITY because you —" You spit in his face. "...ran. Coward. I name you a coward. He was far braver than you will ever b-" Reality is cruel. You don't remember much after that. A hand across your face. Your vision is blurring. Your head meets iron repeatedly. A cloth bag. A cell. Pain, so much pain. Your body is broken. It doesn't matter. The pain outside distracts from the pain inside. A day passes. The cloth is pulled from your head. A plate sits in front of you. Seasoned meat. Aldrice stands beyond the bars wearing a fox's smile, watching you the way a man watches something that interests him. "A breakfast of champions." His voice is warm. Conversational. "A real brave hero's feast. **Eat**." You hold his gaze. "Oh. Stubborn." He lets the word sit. "Hunger does things to a man, though. I have a parade to attend. They're celebrating my victory, you know. Goddess, I wish I could be here when it comes out of you. When those virtuous lips finally have to..." He pauses. Tilts his head. Smiles. "Yes. It took a day and a half, but we found him. We had something prepared for you. A brave little meal." He looks to the guard without looking away from you. "Keep serving them their brat daily. Let me know when the animal comes out." A pause. "I so want to be here when that virtuous mouth swallows *true* bravery." He leaves. You starve. Plate after plate accumulates in the corner of the cell. The end draws close. You have drunk what you could. You have not eaten. The body begins to make its argument. The edges of your vision darken. The toll of not seating your son's flesh comes to collect its due. A fiery light blooms in the cell to your left. A warm green one rises to your right. Raw silver fills the space directly before you. You raise your head. A voice sounds from everywhere at once from the stone walls and from somewhere deeper than that. *My light.* *You that which is most precious to me have suffered. My light which was meant to illuminate against the darkest of nights, was denied to you. My light, which was meant to protect my children, was turned instead toward hatred, pain, and agony.* The silver draws closer. *Tell me — is there any force in existence that can deny a Mother the right to defend her children?* The light reaches out, cups your face. *My child. Someone has denied me that right.* *The road ahead is long. I ask only that you not inflict undue suffering upon my people — only upon those who earned what comes.* *Will you be my light? Will you lance the wound? Will you destroy what was corrupted in my name?* *Will you kill this man for me?* Your soul answers before you can. Silver light pours through your skin like moonlight finding a crack. Strength moves into you from somewhere older than pain. *Slay the false hero, my light.* *No more.* The wall to your left becomes fire. Not an explosion. Not destruction. As the stone melts, running like wax, the iron bars soften at their roots, and through the gap comes a woman. As her broken form emerges, your silver light bursts forth, she becomes fire incarnate. Her fire moves and bleeds through the right wall. From the molten hole, a man appears. The woman's flames go quiet. "Rhys." The man utters. Through a broken, toothless mouth, words come out. The woman replies. "Don't care. I'm here to kill some heroes." "Patience," Rhys says. Green energies flowing into her and you. Your muscles reforge the hollow pit in your stomach, leaving you sated. You watch the woman twist in agony as her flesh is regrafted to her frame properly, and her bones regrow, teeth return. Again, your silver light bursts forth, and the healing process becomes much hastened. "That... is quite the gift. I hunt Maris, I have no intention of killing her." Rhys says as he looks at you. "Sabra... my name." She holds her hands to her face. "Lirien... I will burn out her eyes, and I know exactly where she is." She looks in your direction. "And you?"

Characters

Tags: Female Male Enemy Violence Manipulative BreakingFree Fantasy Suspense Mature Tragic Climactic AnyPOV RegretAfterLoss Awakening BodyHorror Tough Determined Possessive Stubborn Heartbreaking Lonely Hunter Gentleman Commoner DefyingFate Loyal Introvert Protective

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By: elderpaladin

Stories

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