The Hated Hero: Sigil-Powered Warrior-Chapter 25: Cathedral Under Siege

Immanuel’s hand and arm flickered in and out of existence just as they brought the last full bottle closer to his mouth.

"What the..." Immanuel hissed.

"Someone in your world is stirring you awake," said The Boy King in a matter-of-fact tone.

Moving the bottle away revealed to Immanuel that it was not just his arm and hand that was flickering, but so was the rest of him. Not wanting the last bottle to go to waste, he downed the contents in one gulp. Then he set the bottle on the tray, together with the other empty bottles. He shut his eyes tight as he braced himself for the seemingly inevitable.

Time passed, yet he felt nothing. Opening his eyes revealed to him that he was still seated in front of The Boy King, and his entire body continued flickering in and out of existence.

Confused and panicked, Immanuel failed to find the right combination of words to express his thoughts. "Your Majesty... how do I... uhhh... I... I’m..." He snapped his fingers many times in an attempt to get his mind racing for the right words, but found nothing more beyond what he just said.

In a last attempt at communicating what he thought to The Boy King, Immanuel widened his eyes and pointed to them. The Boy King remained emotionless throughout Immanuel’s ordeal, just sipping his first bottle.

Not long after, Immanuel found out why. "Just sit down and let it happen. You don’t have to do anything."

Feeling relieved, Immanuel sighed, then straightened his back. When he closed his eyes, he no longer tensed them.

Once more, he waited. When nothing happened, he began counting the passing heartbeats. One... two... three... four...

Five... six... seven... my chest is thumping...

Quick counting eight... nine... te—

Cold liquid, perhaps water, splashed on his face. Startled, he opened his eyes and spat to one side. When he had wiped his face, he saw not King Mercurius, but two figures in black robes bent down before him. They looked hopeful. One of them held a wooden bucket. Some drops of liquid fell off the rim, and all around Immanuel, water pooled.

"He’s finally awake!" said the archivist monk who held the bucket.

"Something the matter? Where is His Beatitude?" Immanuel asked. The other archivist monk held a straight wooden fighting staff.

"The Cathedral is under attack, and he is out there, fending off heavily armored soldiers and paladins led by a few powerful others. The other clerics and our guardsmen are helping him," said the other monk as he set the bucket down. Two daggers were strapped to his person.

Immanuel rose, aided by the wall he leaned against, and wrung parts of his robe. Why do I have the feeling the attack might have something to do with me?

"Why is this place under attack?" Immanuel asked the monks.

The monk with daggers strapped to his waist answered as he handed Immanuel his white mask, greatsword, and utility belt. "There were people looking for you, but as you were still in a deep trance, and as they had orders to search the entire place anyway, His Beatitude ordered everyone with him to deny their request."

Immanuel took the three items with an eyebrow raised in skepticism. Without question, he put the white mask on right away. As for the sword and utility belt, he took a close look at them. They were charred on some parts, as though they were with him in the world of the ancestral collective. These... are mine?

"And what did they say was their reason for searching me here?" Believing his sword damaged, Immanuel pulled it out of its scabbard, only to find it intact, sharp, and unscarred by battle.

"They said you had deserted the military. Someone reported your presence and led them here."

"That would not be all, you reckon?" Immanuel nodded, pleased to see that he could use his grenades and throwing daggers in the fight.

"No, Immanuel," replied the man who held a wooden staff as he pulled the door of the secret room open. "I think they are here to confront His Beatitude for his actions towards you."

Immanuel looked away in shame. "Sorry about being here."

A hand pat his shoulder. It was the monk who woke him up with cold water. "Don’t be. We believe everything you said. Every cleric here believed your story and is out there, fighting to help you."

That same monk then gestured for Immanuel to exit. "I’ll watch our backs as we move. Both of us will help you escape."

Immanuel frowned and objected. "Escape? Why?"

"Do you not have somewhere else to be?" asked the monk with the fighting staff.

"Of course, I do." He started towards the door. "But if they’re all looking for me, and if this place is under attack because of me..." Immanuel reached the door and turned to face them. "Then why not show up there, help out, fight, and possibly save many lives?"

The two monks turned to each other, conflicted.

—

As with the hidden room, the state of the circular chamber was also a stark contrast to the monks’ claims of fighting in the Cathedral premises. But as that state of quietness might not last long, Immanuel planted an ear to the door to listen to any hint of fighting within their reach. The monk armed with daggers followed suit, positioning himself across Immanuel.

Either man heard nothing.

But the silence did not convince Immanuel, who then shrunk into shadow form. He snuck into the gap between the floor and the large double doors, melding into its darkness.

Three soldiers, clad in ensembles of white and silver, were moving towards the door from the side where clerics assembled to work. Their swords were drawn. Their shields were positioned in front of them. Their steps were careful and made no sound. Immanuel paused. They looked like the Cathedral guardsmen, after all. Suspicious, but who knows, they might be the place’s guards, and they’re looking for enemies hiding somewhere ahead of them.

But the three stopped in front of the door. Their shields were still up and their swords looked ready to swing.

"Kick open," one of them said in a low voice. "On my count.

"One..." Immanuel melded his form with the shadows of the three men in white and silver.

"Two..." Short tendrils with pointed ends emerged from their shadows.

"Three!" The tendrils shot upward and stabbed the unarmored parts of all three men in one swift coordinated movement. To keep them from screaming, a long tendril pierced their necks straight from below.

But the tendrils that stabbed their throats were not enough to keep their deaths silent. Their grips on their swords and shields loosened as their lives slipped away, and when at last they let go, Immanuel shot out more tendrils—this time flexible ones—from the shadows and caught them before the hit the floor.

Immanuel wrapped tendrils around the door and opened it. With the monks taken aback by the sight in front of them, Immanuel moved the bodies and gear inside uninterrupted with the same tendrils that pierced and held them respectively. He stretched his shadow form for a time, just so he could shut the door before he did anything else, then focused on dropping the bodies and gear the gentlest he could to avoid making noise.

When, at last, he was done, Immanuel reverted to human form.

"So far, nobody else out in the Hall of Answered Prayers save for these three. Let’s go."

The two monks nodded in agreement.

—

At the walkway immediately outside the chamber, the three moved from pillar to pillar with quick, silent steps and watchful eyes, never taking a long time in the open spaces between pillars lest lurking enemies catch them. The two monks positioned themselves at the front and rear of the formation to shield Immanuel in the event of a surprise attack, a choice Immanuel disliked, but went with anyway.

By orders of the Hierophant, Immanuel repeated in his head as they moved along. The further they moved, the louder the screaming, grunting, clashing of metal, and the humming of spells and powers became.

Immanuel adjusted the grip of his sword, fearing the spilling of combat into the sacred space. "Just who is His Beatitude fighting against?" he asked the monks with a hiss. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"None other than the—Look," came the interrupted hissed answer of the monk in front of him. He then pointed to something with his wooden fighting staff: it looked like an unrolled spell scroll, but it bore a number of diagrams together with text.

The scroll was pinned to the stone ceiling with daggers. Not those meant to be thrown, but larger hunting daggers. Their blades seemed to have been forced into stone, judging from the cracks around them. The monk signaled for them to move back and crouch next to the nearest pillar. "That’s no spell scroll. That’s a trap," he continued.

"In that case, I think we should take a more offensive approach to our movements," Immanuel suggested, eyes darting around the open area of the hall. The entirety of the Hall of Answered Prayers remained silent and undisturbed. The scattered scrolls, ink bottles, and quills remained where they were at around the time combat started, and the only sound of the area besides themselves was the rush of the fountain’s water. Immanuel continued, "What if we move as silent as we can, but if in case we stumble into enemies or someone attacks us, we go all out and fight our way out?"

The monk armed with daggers eyed Immanuel with hesitation. "I’m not sure that’s a great—"

Enough of these arguments! No more compromising! Fuck this shit! Change of plans!

Immanuel drew his sword with an annoyed grunt at the monks and rushed out of hiding. At the vacated work area, he hopped over canals and desks as necessary, allowing him to cross half the room in little time.

"Hey, wait!" one of the monks growled.

But Immanuel was defiant. He let out a louder grunt and dashed faster.

"Leave me alone!" Immanuel then jumped a longer distance over two desks and a canal, a move that placed him within arm’s reach of the other walkway in an instant.

By orders of the Hierophant, huh? All you’ve done is slow me down!

"Watch out!" came a terrified cry from where the monks were positioned.

"To your right!" came another warning.

A male figure dressed in fine clothes, as though attending a ball, stood to one side with his knees bent. He held a saber in an unconventional way whilst keeping it pointed to Immanuel. Who is this noble and what is he doing here wearing that?

No... wait. Something’s not right with this man.

The figure rushed forward.

"There’s more of them!"

"Fuck!" Just as Immanuel realized that other similarly dressed figures had surrounded him, metal strings tightened around Immanuel’s arms and legs. The strings were connected to the figures’ arms, and they pulled Immanuel’s limbs outward, spreading them apart, making him vulnerable to the attack coming towards him.

At that point, it became clear to Immanuel that the one charging towards him and the other figures that surrounded and bound him in metal string were not people. They were entirely made of wood, judging from the textures of their exposed parts and how their jaw lines and hand joints looked. Puppets. I see.

Immanuel took in a deep breath. As he did, the purple lights of three sigils flashed through his robes for a heartbeat.

Gotta pull this trick off quickly. Immanuel’s face bore an unchanging, terrified expression.

From the edge of his body’s shadow, Immanuel stretched his presence. He ran it along the shadows of the metal strings and spilled it into the shadows of the puppets holding the strings.

When the puppet charging at him with a saber had at last closed in, Immanuel shot out and stabbed the puppets with numerous tendrils. Then he pulled the puppets closer to Immanuel’s body, which glowed for a heartbeat before exploding.

While Immanuel was certain that the blast blew the puppets to splinters, he drew his sword anyway, expecting a counterattack from... anyone or anything, really.

True enough, when the smoke cleared, a woman armed with rapier and dagger emerged out of a portal. Her dress matched the puppets’, and she had her hair and face done like it was her wedding day. In many ways, she reminded him of Leanne, except that this woman looked more like a noble.

Immanuel readied his sword to swing at her.

"Impressive." The woman smiled. "Unfortunately, it did not do much against my puppets. Look around you if you don’t believe me."

Out of the chaos, the puppets rose. All the explosion seemed to have done to them was char their wooden bodies and rip the elegant clothes off of them.

While pierced in many different places, their joints somehow remained intact. How?! Impossible!

At that moment, Immanuel could only bend his legs and brace for their counterattack.