The Vanquished

As told by your faithful scribe, this is the third installment; of my story about the "Torquemada".

     It had been so long since this torquemada had felt able to move, think or dream. The cold emptiness of the space vacuum had held him in thraldom for countless aeons. And yet, there was no bitterness in the heart of this torquemada towards his captors. For these captors were the greater gods, and thus beyond reproach. At the end of the day, it was entirely his fault that this situation had arisen.

 

     In spite of placing the sanctity of the greater gods in peril, they all knew that this torquemada's power had to be unleashed again. After all, there were only five torquemada's in all, and many different religious acolytes were up in arms. Ever since the great humbling of this torquemada, there had been a steady increase in acts of lawlessness and sacrilege in the solar system. Order must be returned.

 

     Without order, there is only chaos. That is how the greater gods saw the way of things. Indeed, they also feared the threat to their power of this mutinous behaviour, of late. And, so it was decided, that the failed torquemeda would be unleashed once more. Despite a few uncertainties in their dark hearts, the greater gods knew that the other four torquemadas would be of insufficient power alone. Come what may, this rebellion was to be thwarted. No matter, how long it might take.

 

   As you will recall dear reader, this torquemada had been mocked and frowned upon, following his defeat at the dark power of the Kladonite priests. And so it was, that the greater gods decided that his powers must be strengthened. This would take a special ritual, past down from the ancestors of the greater gods. Aeons ago, at the dawn of time, and long before the first known record of human history.

 

     If their powers had been up to the task, all of the torquemadas would have been strengthened by the greater gods. However, it was not so. Instead, it was decided that the defeated wraith ought to be brought to a greater state of solidity and power. The required ritual lasted for a number of days, but had never been known to fail. With a firm, yet melancholy countenance, the torquemada was placed in position for that very ritual!

 

     Initially, the torquemada felt a sense of fear and trepidation. Then, he was confused and startled by what seemed to be a humming sound. Surely, this was mere imagination? Real or not, that mighty wraith felt at the total mercy of this potentially malign force. Or, that was as he saw this unexpected strike at his very senses. And after that, the colours started to form.

 

     At first, there was little more than a small cloud of greenish hue in the distance. But, it gradually grew in size and nearness to his helpless form. Indeed, he was still trapped in the cold vacuum of space. As the humming sound intensified, and further coloured clouds appeared before him, the torquemada started feeling a cruel pain and ringing about his ears!

 

     The intensity of that hellish sound worsened, with a steady rhythm, whilst that malignant cloud drew ever closer. Its hue changed from greenish to maroon, then into a putrid haze of grey mist. The torqeumada felt at a total less, for once in his uniform existence. Indeed, he was soon aware that the grey mist had enveloped his helpless form; with the dubious and charnel grace of a funeral shroud. And yet, a torquemada cannot die?

 

     It was during such desolate moments as this, that the torquemada pondered the very nature of his existence. After all, his entire life was as a servant to others. Deities, though they may be. But, there was no further time for him to dwell on his lot. Indeed, this may well have proved to be a turning point, in the eternal subservience to greater beings, which comprised much of any torquemada's life.

 

     The cloud of grey mist gradually started to fade, whilst that hellish cacophony of sound weakened. And then, to his amazement, all went dark - as he fell into a slumber. Just before that sea of darkness enveloped his gaze, the torquemada had a fleeting glimpse of what was to come; during the days and nights ahead.

 

     In the torquemada's vision, was a swirling mass of chaos and wanton cruelty. It seemed as if, he could gaze upon every nearby planet at once - and yet, at a future point in time. Somehow, he also knew what was behind the anarchy of this dark vision. Fires raged out of control, and frightened citizens ran amock, in sheer terror. Not only, did they have to contend with the evil of malign cults, but also the retribution of those who still believed in the old ways (of the greater gods).

 

At this point, the torquemada awoke from his slumber and felt almost thankful to still be of an essence to his masters. But, what was to be of it? What did they have planned, for his future days or even mere moments ahead?

Author's Note

This is the third part of a story. The first section is "Torquemada", which was soon followed by "Vapour of Vengeance". This third instalment will be easier to follow, if you have read the previous parts.