The New God's Of Avaricia

The dungeons of Sovereign were notorious, a place where hope was as fleeting as the warmth of a distant sun. Yet, as the iron door clanked shut behind her, Ava felt a strange sense of relief wash over her. For two years she would be a prisoner, a captive of the very society she had served. But in that darkness, she would find refuge from the storm that raged outside. The whispers of her power grew louder, the seductive allure of the arcane beckoning her to embrace the path she had always been denied.

In the cold embrace of her cell, Ava grew into her power. Each day, each hour, brought forth a new understanding of the mana that slithered through her veins like a serpent of shadow. The very stones of her prison became her tutors, the echoes of distant screams her lullabies. The darkness became her canvas, and the fear of her captors, her paint.

Her eyes, once a soft emerald green, now gleamed with an otherworldly light, hinting at the arcane secrets she had unlocked. Her skin, once kissed by the sun, had paled to a ghostly pallor, a stark contrast to the inky red of her hair that grew wild and unruly, a physical manifestation of the chaos within. Her body, once frail and weak, had grown lean and strong, the sinews of her muscles stretching taut against her frame like the strings of a finely tuned instrument, ready to play the symphony of her vengeance.

Yet, Ava sought no vengeance.

Her heart swelled with a bittersweet joy, knowing she had humbled the beast that was Sam Bower and saved the innocent Elara. Her time in the dungeon was not one of despair, but of quiet contemplation and burgeoning strength. The very stones that surrounded her whispered secrets of the arcane, their ancient whispers weaving a cocoon of power around her.

The absence of her sisters from the House of Garnet was a silent testament to their fear and misunderstanding. Yet Ava found solace in the solitude. It was as though the universe had conspired to give her the space she needed to understand the tumultuous maelstrom of power that surged within her. Each day, she felt her connection to the dark arts deepen, the shadows coiling around her like a lover's embrace.

The whispers grew to shouts, and the whispers grew to a cacophony, until the very walls of her cell seemed to pulse with the rhythm of ancient incantations. The dungeon's rats grew bolder, their beady eyes reflecting the emerald glow that emanated from Ava's very essence. The guards who brought her meager meals grew more wary, crossing themselves and mumbling prayers under their breath. They knew not what dwelt within her, only that it was not of this world.

The days grew to weeks, and the weeks to months, until the very fabric of time seemed to stretch and distort around her, a testament to the power she had harnessed. Yet, amidst the whispers of dark magic and the clamor of the shadows, Ava remained steadfast, her heart beating a solemn tattoo of hope and sorrow.

It was a day like any other when the call came, a cold and unyielding summons that resonated through the very stones of her cell. The guards approached with the solemnity of pallbearers, their eyes averted from the witch who had humiliated the House of Bower. The shackles that bound her wrists and ankles were a cruel mockery of the chains that bound her soul, a stark reminder of the fate that awaited her.

The journey from the dungeon to the executioner's block was a silent procession through the bowels of the city. The air grew colder, the shadows thicker, as if the very world itself mourned the loss of the light she had brought into its shadowed corners. Ava's steps were sure, her gaze unflinching, as she was led through the twisting corridors and up into the light of day.

The square outside was a sea of faces, a tapestry of fear and accusation. The people of Sovereign had gathered to bear witness to the end of the Whore of Sovereign, the girl who had supposedly brought darkness into their midst. They had come to watch her die, to see the witch burned to ashes beneath the unforgiving gaze of the sun. Yet, amidst the jeers and the taunts, Ava felt only a strange detachment, as though she were floating above the scene, watching it unfold from a great height.

Sam Bower had kept his promise, Ava would meet her end under the watchful eyes of the city's populus.

The square was a cauldron of hate and fear, a cacophony of voices that seemed to rise from the very bowels of the earth itself. The townsfolk had gathered to witness the downfall of the girl who had once been a star of the red light district, now condemned as a witch. Ava felt the weight of their accusations as acute as the steel chains that bound her. Yet, she walked with the grace of a gazelle, her steps measured and precise, as if she were gliding through a dance she had rehearsed a thousand times.

When the moment came, she knelt before the executioner's block with a calmness that belied the tumult in her heart. Her long, crimson hair cascading down her back like a river of ink, a stark contrast to the stark white of the block. The executioner's ax gleamed in the sun, a silent sentinel of her fate, and she placed her head upon it without a word. It was a gesture of submission that seemed almost ritualistic, a silent communion with the very forces she had sought to avoid all her life.

Above the roar of the crowd, she heard the sobs of her sisters from the House of Garnet. The girls she had grown up with, the only family she had ever known, were weeping for her, their hearts torn asunder by the cruel fate that had befallen her. Her eyes searched the sea of faces, and she found Elara's among them, a single beacon of innocence in a world gone mad. The girl's eyes were wide with horror, her young face etched with the lines of fear and sorrow. Ava felt a surge of love for her, a fierce protectiveness that was as primal as the very magic that now surged through her veins.

Elara was dressed in the crimson finery that marked her as a daughter of the House, her youthful beauty a stark contrast to the somber garb that clung to her slender frame. The fabric, once so vibrant and alive, now seemed to hang from her like the shredded remnants of a once-glorious banner, stained with the tears of lost innocence. Her eyes were lined with kohl, the dark makeup a stark testament to the fate she had destined to fall into. Her hair, once as dark and wild as a moonless night, had been tamed and coiffed into the styled elegance that was the hallmark of the house. Yet, amidst the finery and the artifice, there was a haunted quality to her gaze that spoke of a soul in turmoil.

As Ava watched her sisters in their mourning, a cold realization gripped her heart. Had she truly saved Elara, or had she merely postponed the inevitable? Her plan had been a desperate gambit, a dance with the very shadows she had feared her entire life. Yet, as she knelt before the executioner's block, she could not help but wonder if the price had been too high. The fate of the girls raised in the House of Garnet had been her curse and now it had claimed another victim, a girl who had been as innocent and pure as the fleur deer that had once been the symbol of the great city of Sovereign.

The axe hovered above her, the sun glinting off its gleaming edge. It was a tool of finality, a harsh line drawn through the narrative of her life. Yet, in that moment of stark clarity, she knew that her fate was not the end, but merely a page in a much larger story.

The air grew thick with anticipation, the very fabric of reality seeming to quiver as the executioner's arms tensed. Then, as if the very heavens had taken pity on her, the cacophony of the crowd was drowned out by the sudden, jarring blast of horns. The sound echoed through the square, a discordant symphony that seemed to split the very air itself.

The Six horns of the Second Birth.

-To Be Continued-