Shadow Of A Goddess

???? ATC

A soft, steady rain that slowly seeped into the land and wet the spring grass in a sea of dewy green. The wet air was cold and smelled strongly of loam. Birds and animals were hidden away from the miserable weather. And fled from the sounds of battle that rang through the trees.

The old warrior ignored the pain, his adrenaline fueling him. He pulled the blade toward him with enough force to break bone. The greentusk stumbled to the ground, its muscular legs splayed in front if it once the deformed orc hit the wet forest floor with a splat, it's crude spear falling along with it.

"Arrghhh...!"

The Slave Paladin rushed to the side to dodge the crude club of a second towering orc, long silver beard swaying in the wind, and then chopped at it's hand before pushing forward to duel it.

The Slave Paladin wielded a unique longsword with a stone blade, with a collection of flesh growing at the hilt, swung through the air and plunged into its target, causing the lumbering brute to scream and shout, using one arm to grip the man's sword arm whilst he had his sword plunged through his chest.

The Slave Paladin struggled as the orc raised his club above his head. In response he raised his free hand as well, a magical golden spear up at it's pudgy face, maiming him and stunning him for a few long precious moments.

"Come now, my patience is longer than your lifespan, beast..."

It shrieked and stumbled back, the Slave Paladin's soul fueled sword sliding out of it's chest with ease. He ran forward again, charging the blade with the same wispy magical lilac aura and slicing through it's legs with ease.

Once it fell the ground, crippled and screaming he chopped at it's hand to disarm it, before holding out his left hand, which was one enveloped in a bright green aura.

The Slave Knight plunged his sword into the orc's heart and the light left it's eyes. But, before it died the armored man held out both hands and slowly brought them towards his chest, making a crushing motion. Black flames with white outlines burned in his palm, trapping it's soul into physical form. It appeared as a wispy green ball, his hungry blade absorbing some of it's wispy life force.

The old man stepped off the corpse and reclaimed his blade and sheathed it onto his side, letting the soul float there for now.

Feeling the immense power flow through him. His sword, old and worn was starting to supernaturally deform and bloat with the blood and souls of those he had slain.

As the adrenaline left his body, the knight in ancient, well maintained shining armor found himself huffing and puffing for air and a burning sensation in his chest. He noticed there was a great gash in the side of his armor and blood was flowing from his torso.

''There it is... The blood...''

The cold rain showered down upon him as he sat with his back against a tree in the overgrown ruins of the fort that resided within the Great Eastern Forest.

His tattered lilac cloak flapped against the wind along with his silver beard, but he ignored it and continued to sit quietly after the battle, staying as stoic as ever in his brass armor, which was cared for and shined religiously, a flaming lotus symbol was prominently displayed in the middle of the chest, and he wore a set of chains around his chest piece that formed an X over the symbol. His armor, his cloak and his hungry blade were the only relics of his past, and all that he had.

Moss and vines covered nearly every inch of the ancient fort nearby, and the stone beneath him had sprouted a thick coat of dirt and grass. It was beautiful, in its own way.

The sound of metal clinking and clanking pierced the tranquil air as he silently watched each blade of grass move with the wind, the cold droplets from above washing the blood off his armor. Blood mixing with rain and mud beneath the Slave Paladin as he sat with his back against the ancient tree.

Suddenly, the sound stopped just in front of him. A shadow of a girl fell over him while a figure knelt in front of him.

"You poor thing..." Said a sweet voice.

His eyes slowly opened beneath his lilac hood. His body was sore, very sore, he felt stiff as if she was an unoiled machine that had rusted over the years. And yet, he kept going, always.

That’s when a small jolt of pain went through his body.

The Slave Knight felt as his ankle throbbed, as did his head.

“Here, this thing should help with the pain for now.” The voice spoke still muffled yet familiar.

He felt the cool electric tingles of the soul flow across his body as it soothed his old nerves. The Slave Knight sighed as the pain dissipated into a memory within a few short moments.

Slowly he opened his eyes again, it's color and features hidden in shadow beneath his pointed hood.

In front of the old knight knelt St. Holly, the human Goddess of Forgiveness. Behind her sat the waning moon its fading smile lighting the sky in a quiet glow making the woman all the more beautiful.

The old man slowly sat up, struggling to as he starred into those beautiful opal pools. It was so hard to even move as he was lost in them.

Tentatively St. Holly lifted a hand to The Slave Paladin's cheek. The old man leaned into the goddess's warm touch reaching up a gloved hand of her own to place upon hers.

Clear as day in his tired old eyes was love but something darker sat behind the loving glow that came from his lidded eyes.

Devotion.

''Hey...''

And the goddess was gone just like that. A vision, an illusion? A ghost?

The rain was falling faster now, cascading over his worn body in cold, wet, droplets. His cape and hood became heavy, as he let out a sigh, his head falling back to the dark sky.

''What are you doing?'' A ghost of his younger self asked, his armor looking new as the day it was forged and his cloak and hood bright all in one piece, his face hidden in shadow beneath the hood.

''What are you doing? Repeating the same mindless tasks, day after day? Wandering? Is that even living?''

The Slave Paladin had to admit he had forgotten his purpose, it all was a fog now. Days had turned to weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and years into decades. Maybe even centuries, or millennia. He wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure of his name anymore, only that that he was timeless.

Timeless...

And that the Goddess of Forgiveness had a mission for him. A mission he had long forgotten. The only idea he had was his rare, ancient ability to trap souls. A forbidden spell. He was always hungry for the energy that lay within all living creatures... But why?

It was an endless hunger for the Timeless Slave Paladin, it was his mission.

''Aren't you tired? Don't you wish it could end?''

She began to walk away, and the old paladin rose to his feet.

''Wait, where a you going?''

Where was he going?

His life before was nothing more than a distant dream. The memories of his golden age had grown hazier and hazier, and he became old, scatter brained and decrepit, and yet, he retained his strength and lived longer than he should of.

Age had no effect on him.

"Promise me, when you see a lilac lotus, you'll think of me. Notice, this ghost of the lotus...''

The old man ran after the shadow of the girl, through the trees until he found himself by the river, staring down into the steady stream, leaves of amber gently falling around him, the setting sun reflecting.

Here he was. A slave to his past, a devoted servant for longer than anyone could remember. Longer than himself, perhaps. At times his thoughts weren't even coherent, and time no longer had any meaning for him.

A slave to his goddess.

The Slave Paladin had started to forget his purpose. Even his name. No one had used his name in such a long time...

What was it?

The Old Paladin had no quality of life. He was completely reduced to only the most primitive functions. He existed in this land to only to wander and kill, to consume soul after soul of almost every living thing he encountered...

His memory began to fade. The souls of those he had consumed always shouted in his ear and flooded his mind with strange visions... He could remember a few key things, but he was always uncertain if they were true or not.

How long was it before he just turned into a rabid monster? Much like the greentusks he had put down?

The humans of this world, had their St. Holly. But he was convinced she was something else, someone else. A false goddess... The gods of Laguna chose never to intervene and only empower their followers rarely, the people will choose to follow anyone who answers their pleas.

The goddess of forgiveness and compassion, patron of humanity St. Holly was nothing more than a false memory of a powerful, long forgotten woman from an ancient civilization. One simply had to dig beneath the surface...

He was part of it, but that was so long ago that most of his memory had deterioted.

Beneath the mud.

Raising his sword he slowly stuck the blade into the water until it reached the bottom, sliding the blade across and tearing the mud, and the molton mass of souls within the blade spoke to him.

And Slave Paladin knew what to do next.