The Order of Cassius
The Order of Cassius: Phalaris is a grimdark adventure series following Rupert, Jeremias, and Annabelle. This group of monster hunters stumble upon a plot by the Bathory family to expand their borders starting with the small city of Rostovka.
The Order of Cassius
Chapter 9 - Yellow Eye Gospel
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The transformation is taking hold and refuses to be ignored.
Cast:
Writer/Director/Editor/Producer - DevDoc ( _devdoc on discord)
Narrator - Sir Captain https://linktr.ee/sir
General Mensur - Bear The Wizard ( https://linktr.ee/BearTheWizardVA )
Prince Daylin - Reggie LeSabre https://www.youtube.com/@AmberbladeStudios0809/featured
Annabelle - Risiblezombie https://risiblezombie-va.carrd.co/
Mouse - Michael McGeachin https://share.google/k2qVyHe6XLGisZeJe
Milko - JB
Annabelle stepped over the snow-covered road with purpose. Her skin no longer burned beneath the cold wind. The sting she had once relied on as proof of life was gone. Only her stomach complained now. A hollow, tightening ache that had nothing to do with cold or exhaustion. She focused on the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath her boots, counting each step like a prayer, anything to drown out the gnawing presence inside her. A hunger that was strong and continuous. A hunger that felt earned, as if her body believed it had a right to it. The forest watched her as it always had. But she no longer met it with the same wary discipline. Once her eyes had been trained to scan for threats, to measure distance and escape routes, to catalogue movement with the calm precision of a hunter of monsters and men. Now the fractures lingered, tracked, followed. Her gaze clung to the twitch of a squirrel's tail, the blue haze circling the movements like a faint glow, the subtle sway of branches heavy with snow, the distant rise and fall of breath she could not yet see, but somehow felt. The fractures bled into her vision with thin veins of blue light webbing around living things. They no longer stuttered or flared without warning, no longer screaming at her senses. They flowed and danced. Every creature carried a faint haze. A ghost of motion layered over the present, showing her where a body would be a heartbeat from now. A step before it happened, a moment before it was chosen. A branch snapped somewhere to her left. Her body reacted before her thoughts did. Her muscles began coiling, weight shifting, and breath quieting. Not to flee. Not to prepare a strike in defense, but to close the distance. The realization hit her a moment too late, and she forced herself to stop, boots skidding slightly in the snow, and she stood rigid and shaking. This was wrong, she thought to herself. This was the reflex she had drilled into herself for years, now twisted into something else. She had hunted creatures like this, tracked them through forests, memorized their tales, their hungers, the way they justified necessity as survival. She remembered the lectures, the warnings. They will feel reasonable to themselves. And now she understood them in a way that made her throat tighten. The hunger rolled through her again, sharper this time, and her stomach clenched as if it were reaching upward, pleading for nourishment. The thought surfaced unbidden, and she gagged, pressing her teeth together hard enough to ache. The idea was repulsive, with the warmth in the mouth, copper on the tongue, but her body betrayed her, responding with a low, aching need that made her vision blur at the edges. Now she remembered the chalice as if the cold metal was hitting her lips again, the bodies of her friends littering the snow, the square burning in her mind. But it all seemed as a comfort, as the taste was so sweet now. Like a child remembering their favorite after dinner treat. Annabelle now had the sensation of the sanguine liquid as her comfort. She hated that it felt right, the texture, the taste. She hated that the fractures seemed to lean her toward living things when the hunger surged, as if eager to assist, to guide her hand. What had once been a curse of an erratic, maddening storm of futures now became stronger. Something monstrous and even a primal urge. Annabelle wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking. Each step forward was an act of defiance, a quiet refusal to give in to the thing she was becoming, even as it learned her shape from the inside. She did not know how long she could keep denying it. Only if she stopped, if she listened too closely to the clarity of the forest and lingered too long onto the twitch of the blue haze, she might never convince herself to turn away again. And that began to terrify her more than any vampire ever had. Her rhythmic march was precise, reciting the processionary cadence that she had learned from her banshee training, only to have her focus be broken by the sounds of rattling and the faint sound of a horse breathing heavily. Annabelle looked up toward the sound, seeing a cart traveling down the road behind her. A broad figure sat in the center seat. On either side were lanterns that swung in time with the cart's jostling. The light from the lanterns was vibrant and in most of the figure's features from view. Only the heavy coat and the white brim hat were visible. Annabelle looked on, the swaying of the horse putting her into a trance as she watched the blue haze drift side to side with the beast. The cart was soon upon her, having not taken a step forward since she looked up. Now the man was known to her. He simply tipped his hat as he pulled back on the reins, halting the cart next to her. His face was old, but his beard was well kept. His dark black hair flowed out from under his hat, shielding his cheeks from the oncoming cold. The man looked down at her curious at first, then placed his hand over his heart and gave a courteous bow from his seat.
SPEAKER_03Blessed be the family, madame.
SPEAKER_02Annabelle's stomach turned again, hearing those words again.
SPEAKER_03I'm I'm terribly sorry for my manners. I did not expect to meet royalty on my journey. I do not wish to intrude upon family matters. I am but a humble servant of Lishka, and I would offer you a ride to Drakenwood, if that is where you were headed.
SPEAKER_02Annabelle relaxed her body as she heard the man speaking. Her eyes must have changed already, she thought to herself. No longer her brilliant green, now a tarnished and haunting yellow. Yet these were no longer a threat to the common folk, but now a status symbol and a disguise.
SPEAKER_00Your help is greatly appreciated.
SPEAKER_02Then she made her way to the side of the cart, now seeing the beautiful designs etched into the sides, long-flowing golden filigree decorated with vines and thorns circling a blooming rose. The man stopped for a moment, then shook his head.
SPEAKER_03I'm sorry, Your Highness. The cart is full. My contract from the Drakenwood University is that of isolation, purely for safekeeping of the student.
SPEAKER_02Annabelle tried to hide the confusion her eyes began to convey before stepping back from the carriage door.
SPEAKER_03The only open seat is here. If it would please you, I can sit lower here to avoid being seen as an equal.
SPEAKER_02The man began to lower himself down to sit on the footrest rather than the driver's bench.
SPEAKER_00That won't be necessary.
SPEAKER_02Annabelle watched as he struggled to get lower. She then climbed the side ladder to the seat and sat down. The man groaned as he strained himself again to return himself to his previous position, only offset now by his new passenger.
SPEAKER_03Thank you, madame.
SPEAKER_02He leaned to look over the cart and the surrounding road, giving the reins a whip and sending the horse off again.
SPEAKER_03I apologize in advance, my lady. I'm used to taking these roads alone. Well, mostly alone, anyways. I want to be a good host.
SPEAKER_02Annabelle began to rub her legs as she listened to the man, not for warmth, but to comfort the sting in her bones that returned. They had only just recently fused themselves back together, and her body was trying to make sense of the sensation.
SPEAKER_00You never told me your name.
SPEAKER_03But it is nice of you to ask. I have traveled these roads for many years, transporting students to Reakenwood. Many long weeks spent right here, in this very seat.
SPEAKER_00It sounds like you have found a purpose yourself, then, but doesn't it get lonely out here?
SPEAKER_03Quite. I have had my share of loneliness. Being away from my family, the wife, kids. It does weigh heavy on me. Yet every time I see them after one of my journeys, I get to feel the same warm welcome again and again.
SPEAKER_02Milko then takes a moment and glances over at Annabelle. Her head had lowered as the flashes of her mentor's face mouths silent words to her. His glassy eyes are empty and unfeeling.
SPEAKER_00I would rather not get so attached.
SPEAKER_02Milko turned his head back, his smile fading slightly.
SPEAKER_03I suppose it's different for the family.
SPEAKER_00Death can be comforting to know suffering has an ending.
SPEAKER_03It's the thought of knowing it all ends that makes life's moments better. Romanticizing death as a solution does not make it more appealing. Death is a conclusion. A final period in one story. The finality of it makes the beginning and middle far more interesting.
SPEAKER_00If you were to die now, would you be satisfied with your story?
SPEAKER_03That is the question I'm sure many of us mortals ask ourselves. Was it all worth it? Did I make a difference? Will my naming be remembered?
SPEAKER_02Luca's hands tightened slightly on the reins as the horse settled back into its steady rhythm. The cart creaked beneath them, the sound familiar enough to fade into the background of his thoughts.
SPEAKER_03I don't think satisfaction is something you ever truly reach. Not while you're still breathing. Satisfaction feels like something meant for the end. Something you're allowed only once there is no more time left to bargain with. Out here, with nothing but the road and my thoughts for company. It's hard not to. But I don't think the question is whether I'd be satisfied if I died now. I think it's whether I lived as if my time mattered while I had it.
SPEAKER_02He glanced at the road ahead, rutted and half buried in snow, the path worn smooth by years of repetition. Annabelle's jaw tightened. The fractures shimmered faintly around Milko's form, subtle and restrained, no longer screaming futures at her, but quietly suggesting the next shift of his shoulders, the next breath.
SPEAKER_00And if the answer is no, if you look back and see wasted years, wrong choices, and the pain you cause that can never be undone.
SPEAKER_03Then I guess you die knowing you were human. Mistakes are part of the price. That's the bargain mortality strikes us with. You don't get infinite time to correct yourself, so you learn to live with what you've done. Or you let it hollow you out before the end even comes.
SPEAKER_02Annaba looked away, her gaze drifting to the forest as it slid past. Every tree felt impossibly fragile now, every living thing carrying a quiet countdown she could almost see.
SPEAKER_00For someone who could never die, there is no final accounting. No last chance to weigh meaning against regret. Just continuation.
SPEAKER_03That sounds like a blessing.
SPEAKER_00It isn't. When death is inevitable, it gives shape to a life. When it's absent, moments blur. Loss loses its teeth. You can always say later. You can always wait. Always endure.
SPEAKER_02She flexed her fingers inside her gloves, feeling the strength there, the permanence. Milko was quiet for a long moment. The horse snorted softly, breath steaming into the cold air.
SPEAKER_03My wife gets angry when I take hunt tracks like this. Dangerous roads, long absence. She always says I'm tempting fate. Maybe I am. But every time I leave, I know it could be the last time I see her face. And that knowledge makes every goodbye heavier. And makes every return a miracle.
SPEAKER_02He looked at Annabelle then, really looked at her. Not as royalty or legend, but as a woman sitting beside him in the cold.
SPEAKER_03If I believed I would see her again no matter what, century after century, I don't know if I love her the same way. Or if I love her less. I know it wouldn't be less. But it it wouldn't be the same.
SPEAKER_02Annabelle swallowed. The image of her mental rose again. Not as a corpse this time, but laughing. Alive. Transient. His old face breathed in smoke as they sat in the weeping eyes tough him. The last moment they truly had.
SPEAKER_03To mortal death is not comforting because it ends suffering. It's comforting because it tells us the suffering matter. That it isn't just noise. It's our journey, and it makes us all unique.
SPEAKER_02The cart rolled on, wheels crunching over frozen ground. Annabelle said nothing. She wasn't sure there was an answer left for her to give. Only the slow, dawning realization that in escaping death, she may have escaped the very thing that once gave her life its weight.
SPEAKER_01Coffee gold cool face down window glass shaking when your name comes down. From the bridges that I burn every road I ever walk. Let me ride back to this church. From the bridges that I burn. From the bridges that I burn. Oh yeah, I got ash under my nails and a stupid.