“The mind can be eccentric. It finds fondness for horror, for fear. From the depths of its own creation, it draws out the darkness. Serpentine in nature, the smoke fills the space like ink in water, obscuring everything from view. The mind, in an effort to protect itself, will inflict upon itself the biggest fears it knows of. Lingering dread is rarely anything more than the mind testing its host. But every once in a while, there is something far more malicious behind it all. Something that has a need, a desire, and the will to see it through. That something is the enemy… That something lies dormant in us all…”

  The voice, deep and melodious, fell silent. The fields before her stood rotting and lined with silky ash. Trees wilted and dried up while the grass curled and browned. Cracks formed in the parched and hardened soil, mirroring the dense cloud cover, which cracked with soundless lightning. Her eyes meandered down to her black skin hands. They looked watery, like a lot of something was slithering underneath. Blisters and boils formed, reddening the skin, popping and exposing the underlying flesh. Pain seared throughout her hands as if she’d dunked them in a pot of boiling oil. Instinctively, she rubbed her hands together, trying to get rid of the sensation, instead the skin peeled back.

  The pain worsened. The hands flailed around in the air, trying to cool them off, but to no avail. A second look showed the flesh falling off in great big chunks. With a single finger, she touched bone.

  Then it all went dark. The pain had disappeared. Something lightly caressed her naked shoulder, but she could not see what it was. Like a phantom image from her imagination, a face stared at her from nothing. It was intangible, blurry, but also so clearly defined against the blackness. The smell of smoke filled her nose. It stank of camp firewood. The face laughed jovially in silence as smoke flowed from between its needle-like teeth. Its eyes snapped shut like clamshells.

  Breathing became labored as her chest tightened. A sense of dread lingered over hear, oozing the taste of fear and discomfort. The mouth of teeth disappeared from her vision and with it, so did the dread and tightness of the chest.

  In its place, a sense of warmth washed over her. She saw no light, heard no voices. Just the feeling of relief and only that.

  ***

  The gathering hall of the Church of Saint Galvisius had a quiet hum of candle flames riddled with the chiming of small bells on a gilded thurible. The heavy smoke of incense flowed from the gaps in the closed sphere, smelling of lightly smoldered wood and herbal spices. A hand, entombed in a glove made of iron, reached out to pull the thurible off its stand and slowly swung it, throwing the smoke across the marble altar. Red cloth was draped across it and a tabernacle stood atop it, a centerpiece on display. It bathed in the thin haze of gray smoke.

  As the thurible swung, the bells chimed their metallic tunes. However, once hung on its stand, the bells fell silent and the smoke became stagnant. Standing up from a kneeling position in front of the altar, a woman, dressed in a full body suit, plated in iron and gold that covered every inch of ebony flesh. Beside her on the floor was a tall rectangular helmet made of iron with gold trims in a style not dissimilar to the priest’s raiment. The priest pulled a staff topped with a solid metal head molded to resemble the gothic style of Torcall temples from its stand. She opened one of the side panels, revealing a wide but flat cylinder of incense, which she lit using a match. “Torcall guide me,” she said in a solemn and shaken tone, donning the helmet.

  Approaching her with silent footsteps was one of her many acolytes, dressed in linen white and gold robes with a sash diagonally across the chest. “Mother Genesia,” the acolyte said with a sense of urgency while bowing at the waist. “Archbishop Iovinus requests your presence in the confessor’s chapel.”

  “Acolyte Gallio, have you no time for even a simple hello?” She responded.

  “Apologies, Priestess,” He said, again bowing his head before continuing. “Good morning, Mother Genesia.”

  “That’s more like it.” She smiled beneath the helmet, hidden from the acolyte’s concerned eyes. “Did Archbishop Iovinus say why?”

  The acolyte shook his head. “I tried asking, but he said it was a conversation for your ears only.”

  The priestess let out an audible sigh. She knew Iovinus rarely trusted acolytes, but the constant secrecy was driving crazy. “Very well, be on your way, Acolyte Gallio.”

  The acolyte bowed at the waist, then turned about and departed.

  The priestess then walked out of the congregational hall. The courtyard upon which the Church of Saint Galvisius sat had multiple religiously affiliated structures. Spanning across an acre of land, it was all considered sacred ground, with each square foot blessed on an almost weekly basis. After a brisk walk to the confessor’s chapel across the open field, the priestess pushed the doors open and called out, “Bishop Iovinus, are you here?”

  An elder gentleman, dressed in very lightweight robes, sat on a velvety chair, clutching a similar staff in his gnarled boney fingers. Even after the cataclysm, human life expectancy persisted well into eighty years. Bishop Iovinus had recently celebrated his one hundred and twelfth birthday. The years had caught up to him and were on full display through the wrinkles and cancerous skin cells that blotted his hands. He spoke weakly and, with a shaky hand, gestured for her to approach. “Ah, Mother Genesia, it is good to see you.”

  As she stepped into the confessor’s chapel, she closed the door behind her and removed the helmet, tucking it beneath the crutch of her arm. She approached him and dropped to one knee, head lowered out of respect for the elder. “And you, grandfather Iovinus. I came as soon as the acolyte told me.”

  The old man smiled, showing well worn and yellowed teeth. It was a friendly smile filled with fond memories. “How is the yard? I have not made my walk today.”

  She stood up and smiled back. “The autumn season is definitely upon us. There is a crisp chill in the air. I saw Sister Florentia tending to the monarch garden and bird feeders.”

  “Ah, young Alice. I do miss her company.”

  “Why not take that walk in a few minutes, go visit her. I’m sure she’d love to see you again.”

  “Trying to get this old codger to the point, eh?”

  “The acolyte made it sound important.”

  “Well, it is. The throne has made the Carrhae Zone into an open season.”

  Mother Genesia paused for a moment. “The area where men’s skin is known to slough off at random?”

  Bishop Iovinus nodded slowly. “The throne has informed the church that the area is safe enough to venture into for a limited time. They spoke of the Geiger relic and it showed little danger. However, they want to the various churches to send in confessors to purify the land so that it may be inhabited once again.”

  “We tried that already, haven’t we? I recall reading about the Carrhae Zone colonization project from the Age of Decline.”

  “Once before, yes. The Geiger relic was not in our possession back then. They did not know better.”

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  “I understand. What am I to do in Carrhae?”

  “There are three towns on the path to Carrhae, abandoned since the cataclysm. The maps through the area are thousands of years outdated and I believe the towns have long since decayed into dust. However, the church and its cardinals believe those towns are preserved. I have hired a mercenary group to protect you while you travel. Thus, I have sought fit to promote you into the Gray Confessor Order under Septimus.”

  The priestess’, now confessor, face lit up with excitement. Even her heels lifted. She’d been wanting to become a confessor or missionary for some time and now had the chance to prove herself. She bowed her head briefly. “Thank you, grandfather Iovinus. This is fantastic news. When do I get to meet my group?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Although, I must give a word of caution, dear. There are details about this zone that have been buried to avoid causing alarm.”

  “What must I know?”

  “Before the cataclysm of Carrhae, there was the Great Particle Collider—”

  “I know about Project Atlantis and how it caused the rifts…” Her voice trailed off as the realization took hold in her mind. “Oh, you mean that there’s a possibility of one in there?”

  Despite being a little annoyed by her interruption, her quick thinking released some concerns in his mind. “Yes. Based on the reports I’ve read, I believe there may still be an open rift there, protected by the radiorum. If you get close to the site of the cataclysm, be very careful. Stay well rested, stay vigilant. I know not what devils reside there.”

  She nodded in acknowledgement, then turned and left the chapel. Once the doors closed behind her, she cheered a small celebration for herself. Fortunately, there was no one around to see it. She donned the helmet as was required by church law and made her way to the dormitories. The day dragged on as she went about her daily duties. Her thoughts rambled on and on about what could lie dormant in the Carrhae Zone. What kinds of monsters, creatures, treasures, even old-world relics awaited her? Perhaps she’d find something valuable, like the Gieger, Big Iron Carriage, or a vision box.

  She remembered a trip to the capital where Big Iron Carriage was on display. Rescued from a deep underground mine, Big Iron was reignited using coal, allowing it to power itself free. It sat upon eight massive steel wheels linked by an iron rod. Despite being underground, it was well preserved and easily restored. Or so the display sign said. However, the design couldn’t be replicated as the aged metal had later failed and exploded part of Big Iron. She still couldn’t believe that something made of common iron and steel survived millennia or that it even worked, albeit briefly.

  As the sun set, she made her way to her bedchamber surprisingly unimpeded. The day had no surprise requests, no last-minute sermons. A calm final day. The title “Confessor” lived in her mind rent-free. She couldn’t believe it. At thirty, she’d achieved her lifelong goal. With that rank and title, she could now freely travel the world, doing Torcall’s work without restriction, educate the masses, perform ceremonies anywhere, all without ever needing a bishop’s oversight.

  Although she wondered about her hired crewmates. She knew nothing about them. Knowing Archbishop Iovinus hired them easily dismissed some of her worries. The man was thorough, always having some way to research a person’s background. He was well-connected through means she could only imagine. She wondered if she’d be traveling with any Paladins belonging to the ninth legion. In some ways, she almost fantasized about it. The emotional rush of having a knight in shining armor protecting her from the dreaded evils of the hells was something she had dreamed of. Furthermore, Confessors could be married, unlike priests, bishops, and other clergy.

  Perhaps she’d meet a man worthwhile who wasn’t old enough to be her dad. Perhaps he’d be—

  “Claudia? What are you doing back so early?” Asked a feminine voice.

  The woman snapped back to reality, jarred and confused. She turned to look at the person asking and stared at her, forgetting the name behind the face. “Huh?”

  “Hello? Clouds to Claudia, you in there?” The young woman snapped her fingers twice.

  “Oh, Sister Alice, I’m sorry. I got lost in thought.”

  Sister Alice was one of the younger priestesses working on the grounds. Roughly ten years younger, she served as one of the many landscapers on the church’s grounds. She wore earthen colors, but the dirt and mud were still visible, mostly because it covered her hands and face. “I asked why you’re back so early. Don’t you usually have a sermon at this hour?”

  “Not this time.” Claudia shed her sabatons, the last of her metallic armor, and set it beside the armor stand. In her underdress, she sat down on her deflated single-person mattress. The wood base felt extra uncomfortable. “I have new orders.”

  “Oh? Do tell. I’m curious. Does Agnes have you running errands to New Haven again?”

  “You mean Grandmother Galera? You shouldn’t use her first name.”

  “It’s just us in here, Claudia. So, what’s going on? I’m dying to know.”

  “Grandfather Iovinus requested to meet with me.”

  “That explains why he approached me earlier while I was in the garden. Well?” her voice flared with impatience. “Tell me already.”

  “I’ve been promoted to confessor!” Claudia said with an excited squeal.

  Alice’s expression faded. She didn’t respond immediately.

  “Alice? What’s wrong?”

  “Confessor? You’re moving out? When?” Her tone sounded almost frightened.

  “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with me becoming a confessor?”

  “I’m gonna miss my friend. Two years isn’t much, but you’re basically a sister to me. Like an actual sister.”

  “I see. I’ll make sure to visit regularly. First day back in town, I’ll swing by. How’s that?”

  Alice gave a slow nod, her blonde bangs flapping against her face. “Where are they sending you first?”

  “Into Carrhae.”

  “Carrhae? The containment zone? The place where flesh goes to rot? Why? Isn’t that a suicide trip?”

  “Slow down, sis. According to Grandfather Iovinus, the royal family has put an open season on the territory for explorers. The church wants me to go in, cleanse a few areas, and map it out. I’ll be back in, like, two weeks at most.”

  “Two weeks?” Alice asked, raising a brow in disbelief.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Claudia replied, flopping onto her back on the bed. “I promise.”

  “Don’t make a girl a promise you can’t keep.”

  “You make it sound like I’m going to die out there.”

  “Have you had any nightmares recently?”

  The mentioning of nightmares stirred up the vision from earlier that day. She knew the smoke smell was just the incense, but the burning sensation and the visual experience of watching her flesh melt was not something she could readily explain. Alice, despite being a gardener, studied mythical encounters and dreamscapes. Alice had once conveyed an interest in going into the dream weaver part of the clergy. Hesitantly, Claudia let out a pained sigh.

  Alice leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “When was it?”

  “Earlier today. I tried to forget about it.”

  “What happened in it?”

  “I saw my skin blister and melt. It felt real, and I did something that shouldn’t be possible.” Claudia sat upright and poked her wrist with her finger. “I touched bone.”

  Instantly, Alice reached out. Her cold, pale hands felt almost overstimulating. Her tone shifted as she spoke. “Claudia, I don’t like the sound of that. I wouldn’t take this mission.”

  Claudia withdrew her arm sharply. “This is my chance to prove myself. I screwed up once. I won’t screw up this time. Bad dream or not, I will make it through these two weeks with no complications.”

  “Just…” Alice paused and inhaled deeply. “Just don’t overexert yourself, ok?”

  “I promise,” she said firmly, holding out a pinky finger.

  The next morning came abruptly. Sleep was in short supply. Claudia spent much of the night tossing and turning, battling restless leg syndrome, and unfettered excitement. When the rooster screamed at dawn, she woke up groggy and reluctantly. Most of the linen blankets lined the foot of the bed in one massive ball, assembled by her legs whilst she slept. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. After stirring Alice awake with no small amount of blanket yanking and bed shaking, she donned her new garments and armor.

  By noon, the confessor finally had all of her stuff loaded onto the wagon. A grand total of one duffel bag worth of clothing. Reusing clothes was going to be a necessity. Again, her mind wandered to the possibilities of what could be found in the zone. If radiorum killed living things, would it kill plants as well, or would the concept of undead become true? What could kill what was already dead?

  A slightly muffled voice from behind swiftly interrupted her thoughts. Carrying a cutlass at his side and a sizable scroll case in his off-hand, the six-foot man lowered his scarf. “Afternoon, madam,” he said politely.

  Claudia turned around and smiled back. Three men stood before her. They looked about as rugged and unprofessional as hired sellswords could get. The lack of acknowledgement of her position within the church felt off-putting. Still, she put on a friendly demeanor. “I assume the three of you are my bodyguards?”

  “That is one way to put it,” said an equally tall man geared up in chain mail, with a great sword resting over his shoulder. “Are you Claudia Genesia?”

  Her eye twitched. “Confessor Genesia, but yes.”

  “Ah, right. You religious types are sticklers for titles. I’m Boris, this is Mostafa, and the third one trailing us in the bucket helmet is Morgan. No titles among us.”

  “Very well,” she replied. “I assume Bishop Iovinus gave you the run-down of what we’re doing and where we’re going?”

  They nodded in agreement.

  “I will share a detail that he may not have. The radiorum will kill us. I have a replica Geiger relic to help guide us. There is a reasonable suspicion that we may encounter creatures of unknown origin, ones that are immune to the radiorum. Be prepared for anything and, above all, tell me if you hear voices in your head.”