Chapter 2

(𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬)
This story contains dark and potentially distressing themes such as Twisted Religious aspects, Cult indoctrination , Gore, Psychological Horror and Death.

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The night was silent, save for the faint sound of the wind rustling through the dry leaves in the distance. The moonlight carved sharp shadows across the ground, making everything feel hollow and distant.

You quietly exited the cramped room that had been assigned to you, making sure not to create any noise.

The settlement, or the compound or whatever kind of enclosure this place is—seemed to sleep early at night.

Not a single lantern could be seen illuminating any windows, no voices echoed through the air, engulfing the place in eerie silence.

“I just don’t get it.” You whispered to yourself, arms wrapping tightly around your body as you stared up at the night sky.

You had no idea on what to do; the woman had made it clear that you have no choice.

It was conversion, or annihilation and submission, or obscurity. 

You either became a part of their so-called faith and bend your knees or… what?

What even happened to those who weren’t of use to Yzrivis?

Would they kill you? Yeah, probably.

But it wasn’t like you chose to be here; they dragged you into this — and now, you were trapped in a goddamn cult where every action, every breath, had to be justified in the name of their god.

An annoyed sigh left your lips as your mind began to drown in an ocean of ambiguity and apprehension.

Perhaps it would have been easier if the undead had torn you apart back then; at least then, the death would have been honest and not as brutal as.. whatever execution that might befall you on this place.

You’ve already seen how they killed the poor man—and who’s to say that it wouldn’t happen to you?

After all, what was faith, if not the prettiest mask  horror could wear?

Who knew what kind of suffering awaited you if they ever discovered what you truly thought about their faith?

You needed air; you needed to think — to wash the waves of unease that settled within your mind and that’s when you saw him.

A lone figure stood at the edge of the trees, just beyond the crude wooden fence that encircled the settlement.

He was eerily tall and still as he watched the stars twinkle in the vast expanse of the sky.

Who the hell is that? God, what the hell are they feeding this guy and why is he so tall?

You weren’t short by any means — but this guy… was just really tall — His height almost reminded you of those japanese urban legends — where they would meet eerie tall figures.

A slight feeling of trepidation surged within you, coupled with a little spark of curiosity — because there was indeed something was off with this eerie man.

From the corner of his robes, whom revealed his wrist — you could see that he was pale—too pale, like the color had been drained from him completely.

The dark robe he wore billowed slightly in the breeze, absorbing the moonlight rather than reflecting it.

A veil covered his face, obscuring his features entirely, yet despite that, you felt his gaze; heavy, piercing and unwavering.

But he wasn’t moving—instead, he was just standing there.

A sense of awkwardness washed over you, so, naturally, you did something incredibly stupid despite the obvious warning bells ringing in your head; you walked up to him.

I hope he doesn’t ask me if i think he’s pretty or something, You thought.

“Hey,“ You greeted, keeping your voice low and soft, just in case any of the compound’s delusional zealots were nearby. 

The dry grass crunched softly under your footwear as you approached, hands stiff at your sides and shoulders squared.

His head tilted slightly in your direction, but he didn’t step forward and acknowledge you beyond that.

“You, uh… out for a midnight stroll?“  Your fingers twitched nervously at your sides as you looked up at him, tipping your head to the left in a tentative motion.

“…“

Well… that was awkward.

You swallowed thickly, nimble fingers plucking at the edge of your shirt, the fabric bunching and twisting under your restless touch. “…Can you talk?”

Is he mute? You wondered as the silence stretched on, long enough for doubt to creep in and take hold of your mind.

Perhaps… he wasn’t real, and maybe you were finally losing it. Perhaps all the stress, the death, and all fucked up things that happened to you finally snapped something inside of you.

But then, at last, he spoke, his voice soft and measured, cutting through the oppressive silence that filled the air. 

“I can.”

Tension bled from your shoulders as you exhaled sharply, only now realizing you’d been holding your breath.

Oh.. Good. That was… something… I guess it’s better than nothing.

“Cool, cool,“  you murmured, weight shifting like a nervous animal, muscles coiled with unspent tension.

You crossed your arms, fingers tracing anxious patterns against your skin, trying to dispel the  unease coiling in your gut. “So… who are you?“

The figure tilted his head, slow and deliberate, like he was considering the question in a way you hadn’t intended.

The movement was eerily smooth, lacking the usual jerks and micro-adjustments that made a person feel human.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Uh…”  The weight of his gaze was unnerving, prickling at the back of your neck like static, and you couldn’t help but shiver and feel awkward.

“A guy standing in the dark looking cryptic as hell?“

For a beat, there was nothing but the rustling of dry leaves and the distant flicker of torchlight along the compound walls.

Then, to your utter surprise, he laughed.

“You are bold.“ he mused, voice smooth, almost thoughtful.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, shifting your stance again as your fingers twitched at your sides restlessly.

“I get that a lot,” you admitted, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Do you really? Dumbass you don’t even remember anything. 

Your  mind chided, but you forced yourself to ignore it. “I’d say it’s a bad habit, but it’s really more of a personality trait at this point.“ You forced a  chuckle.

“I see.“ 

Well… this is awkward, but atleast he wasn’t telling you to submit to Yzrivis or threatening to ‘reshape’ you or whatever disturbing and fucked up rhetoric the zealots liked to throw around.

That was a good sign.

“So, do you live here?“ you questioned, jerking your chin toward the distant cluster of buildings.

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second — a movement so slight that if you weren’t already hyper-aware of him, you might have missed it.

“In a way.“

You resisted the urge to groan and roll your eyes.

Great, how cryptic.

“Are you always this vague, or are you just trying to keep the mystery alive?“ You asked bluntly as you lifted a brow.

“You enjoy asking questions.“

“Well, yeah,” You shrugged, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

He let out a thoughtful hum — it was hard to tell through the veil, but you got the distinct feeling he was amused.

“You do not belong here.“

…What is that even suppose to mean?  You stiffened, fingers curling slightly against your arms.

Then, your jaw tightened unconsciously, a quiet breath slipping through your nose. “Yeah,“ you muttered, voice quieter now, weight shifting from one foot to the other.

“I figured that out.“

The night stretched between you, thick with the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional, far-off groan of the undead beyond the fences.

Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.

“You should be careful.”

“Because of them?“ You questioned quietly, brows creased—he didn’t confirm it nor deny it; but he didn’t really need to answer because you already knew.

The them in question—the people of this settlement—were not safe.

You’d seen what they did to those they deemed impure—you’d seen how easily they justified cruelty in the name of their god.

But… he wasn’t normal either.

Your gaze flickered over him, taking in the sheer offness of his presence.

It wasn’t just the veil that unsettled you, or the way he seemed almost weightless despite his height.

It was the way he moved—or rather, the way he didn’t; he was perfectly still.

No fidgeting, no shifting of weight, not even the subtle ticks of unconscious movement that normal people had.

It was unnatural.

And, yeah, a little weird.

“So, what’s your deal?“ you asked, crossing your arms, tilting your head slightly.

“Mysterious, veiled, way too tall to be normal. Are you, like, some secret boss fight I haven’t unlocked yet?“

You almost cringed at your words, but then, you felt a sudden shift in the air enough to drown out the embarrassment that you were feeling.

It was subtle, like a drop in temperature, but it was there; the wind had stilled, and somehow, the air was colder.

“You shouldn’t speak like that.“

The amusement from before was gone and your pulse jumped. “Why not?“ you asked, keeping your tone light as a slow, creeping unease wrapped itself around you.

“Because it is improper.”

There was something unsettling about the way he said it; he wasn’t scolding you in the way an elder would reprimand a child.

No, this was different—quieter, sharper; less corrective and more… expectant.

Like he fully believed you should already know better.

“You are far too casual,“ he continued. “Careless words invite careless consequences.”

He sounded displeased, but not in an obvious way. There was no outright anger, no raised voice, no hostility; just that same, unreadable calm.

“Tell me—“ he murmured, voice quiet and steady. “Do you always speak without thinking?“

Something about the way he said it made your skin prickle. 

You felt like you had overstepped some invisible boundary you didn’t even know existed because he acted as if he wasn’t used to people speaking to him so casually.

Like he didn’t like it.

You swallowed, shifting your stance, forcing yourself not to take another step back.

“I think before I speak.“ Your voice came out steady, but there was a tightness to it. “I just don’t see the point in dancing around things.“

He tilted his head again, veil shifting slightly as he regarded you.

“No point,“ he repeated. “Hm.. strange, because here you are, surrounded by those who would burn you for saying the wrong thing. So I’d say that you should be more polite.

“Right, sure..“. you stated, exhaling slowly and forced another smile. “Noted.”

[ 宗教精神病; 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 ]

Time felt strange.

You didn’t know how long you’d been standing there, talking to him, or rather — yapping, because he was just there, listening to you babble.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, watching it billow out in front of you before fading into the night.

Your fingers twitched, restless, before you reached up to rub at the back of your neck, massaging the tense muscles there.

“So, yeah,“ you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other once again, the earth beneath your boots crunching softly.

“That’s the gist of it. The whole world’s has gone to shit, there are zombies, and this… cults. a severe lack of decent options.“

“You speak of it lightly,“ he replied and you forced out a chuckle, shaking your head as you dropped your hand from your neck.

“Yeah, well,“ you shrugged, voice a little too casual, “If I stop cracking jokes, I might actually process how screwed I am, and that’s just not on my agenda right now—“

“You are afraid.“ He commented randomly.

The statement hit you harder than it should have, and you inhaled sharply, feeling your chest tighten, your fingers curling into your palms, nails pressing hard against your skin.

You swallowed, throat dry, and tried to force a response past the sudden lump in your throat. “I mean… yeah,“ you muttered, voice quieter now.

“Who wouldn’t be?“

“You should not be here,“ he stated again, voice even softer than before.

Your brows furrowed as a flicker of irritation sparked beneath your unease. “You already said that, didn’t you? Don’t worry, I know,“ you muttered. “Believe me, I know.“

“You are different from the others.“

You blinked, caught off guard. “The others?“

Did he think that I was a weirdo or something? Hah! he should go look in the mirror — He’s the weirdo here! 

You thought, annoyed. Something was eerily wrong with this man; you didn’t know what, exactly though — perhaps it was the way he barely seemed to breathe.

Or perhaps it was the way the night felt heavier around him, as if the darkness bent subtly to his presence.

Or.. was it was the way he speaks or something?

Your instincts screamed at you to back away, but you were too tired to care, so instead, you let out a sigh, rubbing your temples as frustration gnawed at you.

“Listen,“ you muttered, voice edged with exhaustion.

“I don’t know what your deal is, but you’re the first person here who hasn’t tried to feed me some divine bullshit, so as far as I’m concerned? You’re alright.“

“You think so?“ He replied.

 “Yeah,“ you muttered.

Even if it was wrong, and even if he is potentially dangerous — at least, he was listening, and  right now, that was enough.

You weren’t sure when you started babbling — maybe it was after the first silence stretched too long.

Perhaps it was because you hadn’t had a real conversation in what felt like forever.

Either way, the words just started falling out of your mouth.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,“ you mused, crossing your arms.

“The way people think. Like, psychologically speaking, humans are wired to seek patterns. Even if none exist; it’s why people see faces in random objects — why they create gods in the first place.”

A soft hum came from the veiled man. “Go on.“ He encouraged you, so you continued to yap mindlessly.

“And religious texts—especially this one the codex of Yzrivis—it has so many examples of psychological manipulation. You’ve got fear-based control, divine authority appeals, guilt-tripping and the cognitive dissonance.“

“I mean, have you read this thing? It’s full of contradictions. Love and obedience, but also punishment. It’s like mercy will be given to you, but only if you suffer enough first — because it makes people desperate enough for salvation, so they’ll believe anything.“

“Is that what you think?“ he asked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?“

“Then explain this contradiction,“ he said smoothly, stepping closer and your spine stiffened, unconsciously taking a step back.

“You call faith manipulation,“ he continued, “Yet you still hold onto it — your faith in psychology.“

What the hell is that even supposed to mean?

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing half-moon indents into your skin as you inhaled sharply. 

“I—I don’t—“

“Then why do you hesitate?“

His voice softened into a quiet lull.

“And if faith is only fear, then why does it comfort you?“

Unease gnawed at you and your stomach twisted into knots. That.. wasn’t what you meant.

You weren’t comforted by any of this.

You weren’t blindly swallowing doctrine like the rest of them — your faith is valid, cause it’s all about logic.

You knew this was all a carefully woven lie, a system built on fear and control.

You knew that.

So why—

Why did his words make your skin feel too tight?

“I—“

“You are too certain,“ he interrupted, tilting his head. “It is making you blind.“

The irony nearly made you huff s humorless dry laugh. “I think I’m seeing too much, actually.“

“Are you? You dismiss belief as weakness,” he clicked his tongue, “but you cling to your own.“

Your jaw tightened, doubt creeping in your mind. “That’s not—“

“Your faith is in the absence of faith.”

“You seek truth, yet reject it when it is given. You do not want answers.“

“You want to be right.”

The words rang through your skull, reverberating, needling their way into your brain.

Every conclusion you reached frayed upon touch, every argument wilted before your lips could give it shape.

Your breath was shaky and your thoughts felt scattered, disjointed, unraveling at the edges.

Because that wasn’t what you were saying.

That wasn’t what you meant.

And yet— Why did it feel like he was right?

Your pulse thrummed against your skull.

This was wrong.

You knew how arguments worked, how debates functioned; you weren’t some fool grasping at straws.

You had logic, analysis, psychology on your side.

You knew how belief systems manipulated thought, how cognitive dissonance forced compliance.

So why—

Why did it feel like you were losing?

“You’re twisting my words,“ you accused, crossing your arms tightly, nails digging into your sleeves.

The veiled man chuckled as if he found your frustration endearing. “Am I?“ he mused. “Or am I simply holding up a mirror?“

You scoffed, your lips pressing into a thin bitter line. “No. You’re using rhetorical traps, reframing the argument so that no matter what I say, it fits your narrative.”

He tapped a gloved finger to his veiled cheek as if he was considering your words with  thoughtfulness.. “Ah. So, you are aware of your own bias, then?“

“I don’t have bias—“

“Everybody has a bias,“ he interjected smoothly. “Confirmation bias, for example. You seek evidence that supports your beliefs while disregarding the rest. You see only what you wish to see.“

“Even now,“ he murmured, stepping closer, “you refuse to consider that I might be correct. Tell me, why is that?”

You clenched your fists. “Because I know how faith works. It’s conditioning. Operant conditioning, actually. You promise reward for obedience and punishment for disobedience; it’s the same psychological mechanism that trains dogs.”

“A good argument,“ he praised, voice soft as silk. “but let me raise a counterpoint.“

“If faith is merely conditioning,“ he raised a finger, tapping your forehead, “then so is your belief in logic.“

“Logic is a system, is it not? A structured method of thought, taught to you, and you get rewarded when you used it correctly, but punished when ignored.”

“How is that different?” He whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine and your mouth opened yet no sound came out.

“Conditioning,” he whispered into your ear — breath gliding across your skin like frost — “is not exactly only exclusive to religion, isn’t it?”

“You claim reason is truth,“ he murmured, taking a step back.

“But in truth, it is merely the framework you have been conditioned to trust. You were taught to value it. And now, you cannot see beyond it.“

Your thoughts stumbled.

That wasn’t—

That wasn’t the same.

Right?

You struggled for footing — you were losing and you know it — it actually reminds you of that one time where you defended that 1+1=3 when you were in highschool to look like a mathematician.

“Logic is objective. Faith isn’t.“ Your voice cracked, brittle as dry leaves as you dragged your tongue across parched lips, swallowing hard against the vise-grip of tension in your throat. 

“Ah,“ he hummed, the sound vibrating like a tuning fork against the charged silence. “But who decides what is ‘objective’?“

“Objectivity is merely the consensus of those who hold power,“ he continued, his voice a velvet blade sliding between syllables, ever-so-gentle. 

“A structure built by human minds, just as faith is. You do not escape conditioning by choosing logic over belief. You simply trade one master for another.“

You inhaled sharply, the air snagging in your lungs. “That’s not…“

Shit, what do i even say?

You had studied this, yet you don’t even know what to say.

You knew how belief systems functioned—how faith could be weaponized, how cognitive dissonance kept people shackled to ideas they should’ve long abandoned.

Faith was fear.

Faith was control.

Faith was a lie that was made to be beautiful enough that people wanted to believe in it.

That’s what you had always thought.

That’s what made sense.

But then why—

Why was he getting to you?

Your breath rasped, uneven as you stood trembling, shoulders locked like steel cables, fists clenching so tightly that your nails carved half-moon crescents into your palms.

He took another step closer, towering over you until he was completely invading your precious personal space.

“You are intelligent,“ he murmured, his voice a whisper against the night, as smooth and cold as a polished stone. “Very intelligent.“

“But intelligence,“  he breathed, the fabric of his veil almost brushing your ear “is a dangerous thing without humility.“

A chill licked at the nape of your neck, your pulse hammering against your throat. “Be careful,“ he warned, voice low. “Pride blinds as surely as faith does.”

You swallowed hard, but the dryness in your throat remained, like dust settling in the back of your mouth.

“What is your name?”

The question hit you like a tidal wave. 

What the fuck kind of question is that? It was so random.

But it was a welcome distraction from  the mental storm that was currently raging within you, you suppose.

“Vaelix,“ you replied automatically.

His shoulders relaxed, and then— he laughed.
“You’re lying.“

Your breath caught in your throat, why on earth is this weirdo laughing? “What?“ you questioned in confusion.

“You aren’t Vaelix,“ he mused. “You don’t believe it yourself.“

He was right… Your tongue felt too thick, your limbs cold despite the heat creeping up your spine.

“That’s—“ You exhaled sharply, forcing your arms to stay at your sides, resisting the urge to cross them over your chest.

“They call me Vaelix.“

“But you do not call yourself that.“

The words hit deeper than they should have and you felt your pulse in your throat, a steady, uncomfortable beat.

“So tell me,“

“Who are you?“

The answer should have been simple; it should have been easy, but the more you reached for it, the further it slipped away, like grasping at water with trembling hands.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves once more, the ground beneath you suddenly feeling unsteady, like the world had tilted just slightly off its axis.

“I…“ The word barely made it past your lips as you looked up at him. “I don’t know.“

He hummed, the sound warm—almost satisfied.

“Now that is honest.“

“It doesn’t matter,“ you bit out, voice taut, stretched thin. “A name is just—“

“A label?“ he offered smoothly, amusement curling at the edges of his tone and you swallowed hard before nodding.

He sighed. “A name is an anchor,“ he murmured. “A tether to who you are.“ His voice dipped, lower now, softer. “And you…“

“You have none.”

The weight of those words settled into your gut, pressing against something you hadn’t realized was fragile.

“Which means,“ he whispered, “You are no different from those zealots because you are who whatever they decide you to be.“

“I do not appreciate pretense, you know.” he continued, voice soft and patient, like a teacher correcting a child.

“Say you don’t know, and say you’re afraid instead — but do not wrap yourself in false certainty and expect me to applaud.”

What the hell is that even supposed to mean?

You just stood there, dumbfounded, and the next thing you knew is that his hand had already seized your throat

“Ghk—W-what the?!  L-let go!” Your hands scrambled at his wrist in pure reflex, clawing at the smooth fabric of his glove as he pressed you back against the cold wall.

“L-LET GO! YOU FUCKER—”

You kicked at him, tried to elbow his jaw, moved your head forward in a wild attempt to headbutt him — you even heard the dull impact of skull meeting his veil and felt the sting in your forehead, but his grip didn’t loosen, it only tightened even more.

The panic consumed you, making a suffocating, and disorienting fog crawl into your chest and twist everything out of sync.

His grip tightened further, and your mouth opened, gasping, desperate — but no breath came, and your lungs began to burn viciously at the lack of oxygen.

The edges of your vision began to shimmer, black spots blossoming at the corners of your vision as the resistance began to slowly get drain from your body.

And then — just before you lost consciousness completely — he let go.

Your body hit the ground with a ragged thud, limbs folding beneath you in a graceless heap as air rushed into your lungs in a seizing, stuttering gasp.

Your throat ached, bruised from the force of his grip, and your fingers trembled as you dragged yourself sideways, trying to put even a few inches between you and him — whoever, whatever he was.

But then—

“Vaelix.“

The name rang out like a bell.

That voice came from the woman from before.

Your head jerked toward the sound, heart slamming against your ribs, and there she wqs standing at the edge of the clearing, her form rigid in the dim lantern light

Shadows carved deep lines into her face, making her expression unreadable and distant. Your lungs squeezed tight once more as you coughed, and you turned back but— the veiled man had vanished.

There was no whisper of movement, no the rustle of disturbed leaves. He was just gone like he had never been there at all.

You could still feel the ghost of the veiled man’s presence, the way his words coiled in your mind like parasites  — the way he almost choked you to death, but now, all you could do was gawk.

Because where the fuck is he?

“You shouldn’t be out here.“

The woman’s voice cut through the night like the edge of a blade.

“I—” Your voice caught, dry and unsteady as you rubbed your bruised throat..“There was a man. He was right here. I talked to him…!” 

“That fucking lunatic almost killed me—!“

“Vaelix,“ She breathed out, her breath hot against her nostrils. “You are treading dangerous ground.“

Your jaw locked, muscles rigid as steel, grinding against each other. “I’m not making this up! Look at my throat! It’s all bruised, Isn’t it?!” you snapped, gesturing wildly.

“What are you even talking about? Stop screaming, you’ll wake other people up, or worse, attract the undead.” She clicked her tongue. “Let’s go back, Vaelix. It is not safe here, you are still healing after all.”

“Fuck, listen to me, would you?!” You pulled the collar of your shirt down with shaking hands, baring your neck toward her. 

“See for yourself! I was attacked, you hear me?!”

Her gaze didn’t waver as her arms folded across her chest deliberately as she stepped forward silently, the lantern’s glow painting harsh shadows across her face as she peered down at you.

“What are you talking about? There’s no bruises there.” She stated flatly, eyes narrowing in irritation. “Don’t waste my time.”

What..? 

“No,” you croaked, blood running cold. “No, that’s—that’s not possible. I felt it. He grabbed me, I— I couldn’t breathe!”

You reached up to your neck again, fingers trembling, trying to feel the welts that should’ve been there, the bruises that had to be there — but there was only a smooth skin.

There was no swelling and handprint.

“Where…” Your breath hitched — where the fuck is it?! It’s supposed to be there — no.. were you just hallucinating? No, no, that couldn’t have been it, right? 

“You are just hallucinating,” She sighed in disappointment as she pressed her fingers into her temples.

“I’m not! I swear I’m not making this up—”

“Perhaps not intentionally.”

That made you pause as a slow, creeping unease coiled in your stomach.

“…What?”

She took a step forward, the lantern’s glow catching in her eyes, turning them unreadable.

“Doubt,“ she murmured, tilting her head just slightly, the movement eerily slow. “Doubt is a sickness, Vaelix. It festers in the mind. It warps reality.“

What the hell even is the connection of doubt in that man choking me to death?! You grit your teeth, fists clenching.

“I think,“ she continued, voice soft but unwavering, “you have been letting your thoughts stray too far. Perhaps your faith is weak. Perhaps your mind is wandering into places it shouldn’t.“

Her words settled into your bones and your eye twitch. “Hah,” You breathed out as you tilted your head slowly.

“You think I’m delusional?”

She watched you, gaze steady, unwavering.

“Perhaps Yzrivis is testing you,“ 

“Perhaps this is the consequence of your uncertainty. If you were strong in faith, would you still see such things?“

Your breath hitched.

She thought you were imagining him??

She thought that the goddamn lunatic was just a figment of your own failing belief??

Your fists clenched, you wanted to argue with her, but  what was the point? She had already decided, and already sealed the narrative in stone.

To her, this wasn’t a question of reality. It was a question of faith, and in faith, doubt was the enemy.

Your chest tightened, a slow, sinking weight dragging you down as the exhaustion hit you all at once, settling into your limbs like lead.

“…Okay,“ you muttered, dropping your gaze.

“Good,“ she said, turning on her heel. “Come. We should return before you stray further.”

You hesitated just for a moment as your gaze flickered back—to that empty space.

To the spot where he had stood.

The ground was undisturbed, but there was nothing to prove he had been here.

There were no footprints, no lingering shadow.

But the air—

The air still felt wrong.

If he was never real—if this was just you—then why did the air still feel wrong and why does your throat still hurt?

[ 宗教精神病; 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 ]

You cleared your throat awkwardly to break the quiet awkwardness that had bloomed between you two. “I… i never got your name.”

She glanced at you, almost surprised that you were speaking to her willingly.

“My name is Lysara.”

You nodded, filing it away. “You’ve been taking care of me.”

“I’ve been ensuring you follow the path,” she corrected gently.

“How long have you been here?”

“I was born here.”

That caught your attention and you raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve never left?” 

She shook her head slowly. “Why would I?”

Your lips curled into a frown. “To see what’s out there?”

She gave you a small, patient smile, as if you had just asked something naive. “Everything I need is here. The world outside has already fallen.”

You almost argued with her, almost told her that the world wasn’t just gone—that there were still things out there, places, people, things worth seeing.

But then you stopped yourself.

Because if she had been raised here, breathing this doctrine from birth, would anything you said even matter?

Instead, you shifted tactics. “What was it like growing up here?”

Lysara glanced at you again, as if assessing your intent, then, after a moment, she answered, “Safe.”

That… wasn’t the word you expected.

“Safe?” you echoed.

She nodded. “We are protected under Yzrivis’ watch. As long as we follow His teachings, we are spared from the horrors outside. This is a gift, Vaelix. To be here is to be chosen.”

Her conviction was unshakable.

You thought back to the book she had given you—the one with the skeletal hand and the unblinking eye.

You thought of its words, of the way they twisted truth into obedience.

Was that what she meant by safe?

Being watched? Controlled?

You swallowed down the questions bubbling in your throat.

Instead, you nodded. “I see.”

Lysara studied you for a moment, then softened. “You will understand in time.”

You doubted that, but you smiled anyway.

You walked in silence beside the woman, but your mind wasn’t with you anymore, and eventually, you stopped.

The woman glanced back, frowning. “Vaelix?”

You forced yourself to move again, nodding quickly. “Sorry.”

She didn’t press, just turned forward again, then you looked up and saw some guards signaling the others on one of the gates.

A lone figure shuffled near the treeline—a rotting corpse with sunken eyes and gnashing teeth.

Without hesitation, one of the figures raised their spear and hurled it. It struck the zombie through the skull and the body slumped.

Lysara turned to you. “They are not people anymore, Vaelix. They are vessels without sight. Yzrivis has abandoned them. We cleanse them in His name.”

“I understand.”

Lysara smiled. “Good. Then you are one step closer to being truly safe.”

[ 宗教精神病; 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 ]

Months had passed.

Time blurred together in the settlement, structured by routine, by duty, by faith.

Lysara kept you close, teaching you how to navigate life within these walls.

“You must contribute, Vaelix,“ she had said. “No one here is idle. No one takes without giving back. Yzrivis does not abide parasites.”

So, you learned.

Mornings were for prayer, always — that was non-negotiable.

After that, people scattered to their roles—some tended to the farms, carefully preserving what little food they could grow.

Others patrolled the outer barricades, spears at the ready, watching for movement beyond the walls.

Some worked on repairs, reinforcing the structures, making sure everything remained standing.

Lysara assigned you to assist in food preparation first. “A simple task,” she said. “You will learn the more complex ones in time.”

You worked alongside a small group, peeling and chopping what little produce they had, it was awkward, but you forced yourself to not say anything about it.

The scent of simmering broth and freshly chopped greens filled the air, a stark contrast to the usual stench of damp wood and unwashed bodies that clung to the settlement.

The kitchen—or what passed for one—was little more than a large communal space with makeshift tables, dull knives, and a single fire pit where a pot of stew bubbled lazily.

You sat on a crude wooden bench, a small pile of root vegetables in front of you.

Your hands worked methodically, peeling away rough skins, slicing them into uneven chunks.

The others worked beside you, their hands just as busy, movements practiced.

“You’re new,” one of them, a girl named Elya, remarked. Her dark hair fell in sharp angles across her face as her dark brown eyes gazed into yours. “Feels like I haven’t seen a new face in ages.”

“Guess I’m lucky,” you said dryly, eyes fixated on the vegetables and the blade in your hand.

She laughed as she shook her head in amusement. “If you want to call it that.”

“You always this quiet?“ Elya asked, her sharp eyes flicking toward you.

You barely glanced up as you muttered, “Depends.”

“On what?“

“Depends on the conversation.”

Elya smirked, elbowing the boy beside her. “Hear that, Hachi? Guess we’re not interesting enough.“

Hachi, a lanky kid with perpetually tired eyes, only grunted. “That’s fine. I don’t like talking much either.“ He flicked a piece of vegetable skin at Elya, who swatted at him.

“Rude,“ she muttered before turning back to you. “So, Vaelix—where were you before all this?“

The question made your hands still for a fraction of a second.

Before all this?

You could give the usual vague answer, the one you had rehearsed in your head.

But something about the easy way they spoke, the casual banter, made you hesitate.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to be genuine.. right?

They looked genuine enough after all.

“I don’t know,” you finally said, keeping your voice light. “I woke up one day and found myself in a lovely cult-run apocalypse. It’s been great.“

Elya snorted, her nostrils flaring with a sharp, derisive exhale. “You talk like someone who used to live in a world that made sense.“

Your fingers tightened around the knife.

Yeah. That was the problem, wasn’t it?

“So, what’s the deal with you two?“ you asked, stretching your limbs for a bit and changing the subject. “You seem like you’ve known each other for a while.”

Elya and  Hachi exchanged a glance.

“Since the beginning,” Hachi said simply, slicing through a carrot with more force than necessary. “Our families came here together.”

Elya nodded, her expression briefly unreadable. “We didn’t have much choice. It was either this or die out there.”

You tilted your head, neck muscles flexing with curiosity. “And you don’t… mind it? The way things are here?”

Elya arched a brow. “Mind it? You mean the prayers? The rules? The whole ‘blessed by Yzrivis’ thing?”

“Yeah.”

A low vibration in her throat came as she hummed softly, tossing a handful of chopped vegetables into a bowl.

“It’s not bad. It’s better than starving and better than getting ripped apart by the things out there. Besides, i do believe that we have been blessed by Yzrivis.”

Hachi gave a shrug that was all loose shoulders and resigned acceptance. “Not everyone gets to be picky.“

“Beggars can’t be choosers after all.” Elya added.

You understand their point but still, something about their acceptance made goosebumps rise along your arms, made your skin prickle.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you asked, voice quieter now.

Elya gave you a long look before shaking her head. “No. It doesn’t really matter.”  Her hand swept out, fingers splayed, tracing an arc that encompassed the cramped room, and to the settlement beyond.

“This is what we have. Wishing things were different won’t change that.”

You caught the inside of your cheek between your teeth, worrying the tender flesh.

She had a point, but it still didn’t sit right.

“You ask a lot of questions,“ Hachi remarked.

You lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s a bad habit.”

Elya smirked. “Well, at least you’re not useless.” She nudged your pile of chopped vegetables. “Not bad for a newbie.”

“High praise.” you muttered, the words dry as dust.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head.”

For a moment, it was easy to pretend this was normal.

That you were just some guy cooking with friends, trading casual jabs, not stuck in a nightmare built on faith and survival.

The conversation drifted as the three of you continued chopping and sorting ingredients.

The rhythmic scrape of knives against wood filled the space, punctuated by the occasional crackle from the fire pit.

Elya leaned back slightly, stretching her arms. “So, Vaelix,” she mused, “You never did tell us how you ended up here. I mean, Lysara did say that you came from Azkareth”

Hachi flicked his eyes toward you, mildly curious too as he added “Yeah, tell us.”

You hesitated for only a moment before shrugging. “There’s.. really not much to tell. I think..  I was just… existing, then suddenly I was running for my life.”

Elya scoffed, her lip curling with a sardonic twist. “Yeah, that’s pretty much everyone’s story nowadays.”

You hummed lowly, tapping the handle of your knife against the table.

“Yeah, but I woke up to it. Like, one second, I was somewhere else—maybe asleep, I don’t know—then boom, i’m in the middle of nowhere. I don’t really have memory of how I got there, just a bunch of undead running at me like I personally pissed them off.”

Elya’s eyebrow arched in skepticism. “That’s weird.”

Hachi nodded in agreement, “That’s concerning.”

You shrugged, the gesture loose and defeated. “Tell me about it.”

The corner of  Elya’s mouth curled into a smirk. “And I assume you ran?” 

“Oh, absolutely,”  you confirmed, your tone dry as desert bones.

“I didn’t get far, though. My luck ran out real quick when I stepped into a goddamn bear trap.”  Your hand swept vaguely toward your leg, fingers tracing an invisible wound. 

“It snapped right onto me.”

Hachi’s brows knitted together, a shadow of sympathy crossing his face. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you muttered.

“The next thing I knew, I was watching those things get closer, thinking about how I was gonna die in the dumbest way possible. But then—”  You pressed your lips together, then sighed.

“The people here found me.”

Elya’s expression shifted slightly—subtle but noticeable.

There was no surprise, no horror, just quiet understanding.

Hachi merely nodded. “Yzrivis provides, Thal’vaar.” he murmured, almost absentmindedly and your jaw flexed. “Sure.”

Elya rested her chin on her hand curiously. “So, what happened next?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the knife handle. “…They helped me, got me patched up. But before they even got me out of that damn trap, I saw something…”

“There was this guy,” you continued, voice quieter now. “One of theirs. A member, like you… and he… made a mistake.”

Hachi’s knife slowed against the cutting board as he craned his neck to look at you.

“What kind of mistake?” Elya asked, head tipping to the side inquisitively.

“He said the wrong thing. Something about Yzrivis. He cursed in his name or something. And then—” you inhaled sharply—“they beat him to death.”

The words hung in the air, and you expected shock, discomfort and some pushback, but instead, you got the opposite reaction.

Elya sighed, but it was less an exhale of frustration and more the slow release of something resigned as she rolled a small sprig of herbs between her fingers.

The candlelight flickered over her face, casting shadows that made it difficult to tell if she was amused or simply waiting.

“Zyval’korr, i see… well,” she murmured quietly. “blasphemy is dangerous.”

Across the table, Hachi didn’t even pause in his work, while the steady sound of his knife against the wooden cutting board continued, rhythmic, and unbothered.

“He should’ve been more careful,” he said simply, as if discussing the weather. 

“Zah’verash, torin’shal morin.” He added — you didn’t understand the language, but somehow, it sounds wrong.

You felt your grip tighten around the hilt of your own knife as your throat constricts like a wrung dishrag in partial disbelief and anger.

“You guys are serious?”

Elya turned her gaze to you fully now, and something about it made your stomach twist.

Elya gave you a knowing, and almost pitying expression.

“You still don’t get it, do you?”

Your brows furrowed, tension gathering at the base of your skull. “Get what?”

Hachi finally looked up from the cutting board, his dark eyes meeting yours.

He studied you for a moment, and then, with a quiet certainty, he spoke.

“Faith isn’t just belief. It’s survival.”

The words landed in your gut like a stone.

For a second, the room felt smaller, and the flickering candlelight seemed dimmer, the walls closer than they were a moment ago.

“Vel’zhar Yzrivis vah suul’eth.”

Elya leaned forward slightly, propping her chin on one hand, elbow resting against the worn wooden table.

“You’re new,” she said. “You’ll understand in time.”

Your fingers twitched against the handle of your knife and you forced a shaky laugh. “Right,” you said, shifting your weight in your seat.

“Because watching people get beaten to death is just part of the learning curve.”

Elya’s smirk softened at the edges,

“It’s not murder, Vaelix,” she said, as if explaining something to a child.

Your jaw tightened, indignation flaring within you. “Then what is it?”

Elya picked up the torn herbs, rubbing the leaves between her fingers, their sharp scent filling the air.

Her nails were short, dirt-stained from work, but her hands moved with practiced ease. 

“Zha’virath.”

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𝓐𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐇’𝐒 𝓓𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 !!

Hello my lil dragons! 
I’ve officially decided to make Yzrivis a black flag now heheh, I mean — he was already kind of giving those vibes in the original, but now I really want to lean into it and make it more obvious and intense haha.

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𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 ! !

Duties in the Settlement of Yzrivis

– Life in the settlement was structured, rigid, and absolute. Every breath was measured, every action weighed. There was no idleness, no wasted time. Each person had a role-a duty-that tethered them to their purpose. To exist without duty was to be nothing.

1. Cleaning & Maintenance – Purity is service, service is faith.

-Every morning, before the first prayer, the settlement had to be cleansed. The ground swept, the walls wiped free of dirt, the air made still and orderly. No place was neglected-homes, pathways, communal spaces. The temple, however, was sacred, and only the chosen could enter its depths to tend to its needs. The most revered task was the cleansing of Yzrivis’ statue-a duty reserved only for the priests and high-ranking devotees. It was said that to touch it unworthily was to invite ruin upon oneself.

2. Food Preparation & Rationing – A starved belly serves no master but hunger.

-Cooking was a communal effort, but food was distributed by rank. The priests and people who are on look out duty eat first, the workers second, and the lowest members last.

3. Gardening & Cultivation – The ground is barren; only faith makes it grow.

-The soil was poor, and yet they coaxed life from it. The sickly plants were not discarded. They were burned, their ashes mixed into the soil as a reminder that weakness must be reforged into strength.

4. Guarding the Settlement & Fighting the Undead – The unfaithful rise. Cut them down.

-The walls were always watched. The undead never slept, and neither could people – who patrolled were trained in combat-not just against the undead, but against traitors. Apostates, infiltrators, the faithless.If one fell in battle, their body was burned immediately. A soul lost to the undead was a soul lost to Yzrivis after all.

5. Prayer & Rituals – A day without prayer is a day wasted.

-Morning prayers began before the sun rose, a chorus of voices lifted in worship . Evening prayers were held in the temple, where the high priests led the congregation because in this world, faith was not optional-it was beaten into the mind until it became instinct.

6. Sacrifices to Yzrivis – A price must be paid. Always.

-Every three months, a life was given. A single person, chosen by the priests, offered up in devotion.The sacrifice was led to the altar, their wrists bound, their eyes covered. They were made to kneel, to recite the final prayer. Then, their blood was spilled. Their body was left outside the walls, a gift to the land.

Azkareth
-Azkareth is a desolate, cursed land where sinners are cast away, abandoned to the endless suffering of their own transgressions. It is once a thriving country, but its people strayed too far from Yzrivis’ light, indulging in forbidden knowledge, blasphemy, and defiance against the divine order. As punishment, Yzrivis withdrew his blessings, and the land withered into a wasteland of decay and ruin.
-It is believed that Vaelix came from here.

Thal’vaar
-A phrase that means that Yzrivis is the king

Zah’verash, torin’shal morin –
-A phrase that means Blasphemy is not punished, it is erased. Blasphemy did not linger in the settlement. It was not debated, not corrected, not warned against. It was removed. A whispered doubt, a misplaced word, a hesitant breath in the wrong moment-these things did not bring punishment. Punishment implied something could be redeemed. Blasphemy was beyond redemption.

Vel’zhar Yzrivis vah suul’eth.
-May Yzrivis guide you in the right way.

Zha’virath
-Purification is necessary reshaping of the soul, a chisel against the stone of imperfection. To speak against Yzrivis was not a crime-it was a sickness. A sickness that had to be cut out before it festered, before it spread. The faithful did not cast judgment. They did not condemn. They corrected.
Zha’virath could be as gentle as whispered rebukes, hands guiding the lost back to the fold. It could be days of isolation, fasting until one’s mind was no longer clouded by doubt. It could be prayer until one’s throat was raw, until one’s knees bled against the temple floor. Zha’rivat can also be a form of Zyval’korr if the blasphemy is way too serious.

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a/n: For those interested in updates or sneak peeks or theory shit abt this book, then feel free to join my discord server—the link is on my profile.