Moth to a Flame

I walk across a landscape… barren and silent. The shadows creep across blasted rocks, and flesh-colored clouds entangle the sky above me. Before me, in the stillness of eternal night, stretches Odland, the Wasteland.

In the distance, across the desolate terrain, rises a constantly flowing beam of light from out of a wound in the earth. Pieces of stones float like globules of blood into the swirling clouds above.

I am a Knight of the Chalice. I am here to challenge the Hellmouth’s denizens, and I will die fighting this day.

I can’t see them from this distance, but the sounds of screaming souls, shifting around the column like moths attracted to a gaslight lantern, invade my mind and chills the marrow in my bones.

I kneel and pray one last time, then I move towards the beacon of death. I know there will be no rewards for my actions, and yet I march forward—not because I think I can rid the world of evil—I do it because, hopefully, I will offer the rest of the world a few more minutes of peace.

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