[This is taking from an old novel draft (one I haven’t touched in about 8 years) for a post-apocalyptic series, titled Whimper. This is from the point of view of one of the novel’s antagonists, the Grand Templar Mordecai. He is a high ranking member of the Holy Dominion, a theocracy which governs the wasteland that was once middle America.]
Monks infested the antechamber. Blind, deaf, and mute – their faces ritually erased. They swayed and trembled with ecstatic fervor, unaware of Mordecai’s passing. Joshua, his youngest son, once asked: “Where does their food go?” He was unable to provide an answer, despite his high rank within the church. An innocent inquiry, it was nonetheless a heresy to question the nature of the faceless. To spare the rod, Mordecai knew, was to spoil the child. Curiosity, like good intentions, paved the road to hell, and it was crucial to curtail its development at an early age. Corporal punishment taught Joshua to substitute free-thought for simplistic and easy to repeat aphorisms – not unlike his father.
The faceless served with mindless devotion, tending to the diverse and often singular desires of His Holiness. They approached tasks with unrivaled zeal, compensating for their lack of intelligence through avidity. A heathen ambassador from the Atlantic Trade Consortium once referred to the monks as “lobotomites”, a term Mordecai was unfamiliar with.
He entered the Eternal Sanctum, closing the door behind him. The interior was composed of black stone, polished and seamless. Decorating the walls of the spherical chamber were golden vines and jeweled flowers. Windows of stained-glass, four in number, depicted biblical legends.
The Forge of Eden: The place of man’s creation. Adam and Eve. Hammer and anvil, sword and sheath. Tools of immutable design and purpose, the story represented the cornerstone of Dominion ideology. Coiled around the base of the anvil was a familiar serpent, the same burned in effigy during the high holidays.
The Binding: The composition required significant use of red tinted glass. A lesson in obedience and sacrifice. The Word of God transcended that of man, their laws and ethics. Isaac was a good son. He loved his father and looked upon him with adoration. He loved him even as he felt the blade inside. Tender thoughts and tender flesh. Loved him even as it plunged again, and again, eviscerating him upon the altar.
The Flood: A reminder of the fleeting and inessential nature of humans. To be broken and discarded at a whim of its creator. It reminded him of a thought, a forbidden thought born during the naivety of youth when confronted with contradictions. The question died before asked, existing only as a momentary sense of cognitive dissonance.
The Fall of the Blasphemous Tower: Obsidian shards arranged in the image of a colossal spire. The highest tier formed a hand, its fingers wrapped around a crimson orb. Man sought to conquer the heavens. To see what lurked beyond even the stars. The Red World became a symbol for their godless hubris, a false idol of logic and reason. God toppled the tower and blackened the sky. He cloaked the stars in darkness, forever hidden from man’s covetous gaze. This world alone was their gifted domain, never again would they desire another.
A black tendril caressed his face, the sweet touch of an angel.
“You may approach.” spoke a voice, dissonant and disembodied. “Bask in the glory of my presence.”
Nevermeant 