Act XII: The Destruction of Sodom (XIV)

fourteen

Yakov practically scrambled back up the steps. He drew his ruby-inlaid longsword from his waist, intending to disperse the crowd—all of them had stood up, staring at him with empty yet resolute eyes—Yesau stood at the head, blocking his way like a mirror.

"Give me back the child!" Yakov roared. "What are you going to do with him?"

“You said you could no longer control him, Yakov.” Yesau gave another annoyingly gentle smile. “He came here with you, heeding our divine decree, and he cannot simply leave. We must keep him here until he passes the third test.”

"Damn charlatans, you've all been brainwashed by vampires!" Yakov raised his sword with heavy hands. "Get out of my way! Or I'll kill you all!"

A battle was inevitable, he thought, staring at Yesau's sword. This blood slave, so similar to him, should draw his weapon and duel him, resolving the issue with the most primal violence, the method he was best at—but Yesau only slowly raised his hands, holding them above his head behind his head, in a gesture of surrender.

“…I’ll start by killing you.” Yakov sneered through his nose. “You think you’re some monk in a monastery, able to deflect swords with your words?”

“No, it’s because you and I are brothers.” His comrade spoke slowly beneath his long beard. “You cannot harm us, so we will not harm you.”

"What?"

“Our gods will protect us.”

Yakov suddenly understood what he meant, and a cold sweat broke out on his chainmail—this was a gathering of blood slaves. No matter how much they claimed to have no master, or called their master a god, they were still protected—the vampire named Inart was hiding somewhere. But now, Yakov's master, who could protect him, was not here.

He insisted on keeping it from Yubi and came alone. He was tempted by evil intentions, harboring a sliver of resistance and hope, and came to demand the truth of absolute freedom.

Yakov was momentarily at a loss, his legs stiff, and a fine, persistent pain spreading through his chest. Just then, the old man before the sarcophagus summoned several beggars who surrounded Daoud. Without a word, they loosened the belt of his servant and loosened the knot of his robe—"...Let me go! I don't want it anymore! I won't beg anymore!" Daoud had nowhere to hide and was forced against the sarcophagus, his hands and feet pinned down. His chest heaved violently. "My lord, save me! My lord! I was wrong!"

Yakov tried to push his way forward, but was blocked by the wall of people. "How can he pass the third test?" he shouted angrily. "What are you going to do to him?"

"Then what do you think is the answer to the third test?" Yesau pressed closer. "'Free Man' Yakov, how do you think it is possible to preserve the language of God while simultaneously freeing people from God's rule?"

"...Even if you ask me a thousand times, ten thousand times, my answer will only be the same."

"Then tell us your answer."

Yakov gritted his teeth and raised his sword. He had no choice but to walk into the trap.

“There has never been a god in this world; and all vampires who try to enslave people should be killed!” he replied.

Every word of those words caused him excruciating pain. Each breath felt like a sharp pebble slicing through his throat—Yakov plunged his sword into Yesau's left chest. He watched the blood seep out, staining his white linen robe. Yesau's face contorted in agony, yet he forced a smile, as if he were pleased with something. Behind him, the crowd surged forward like ghosts. Yakov's blade penetrated even deeper into the wounded man's back, seemingly piercing into another body—Yakov was surrounded. He struggled to pull the sword out, but the warm blood and flesh around him pressed against him, as if he were being submerged in a sea of ​​zombies.

"You're right!" everyone cheered. "You're our true comrade, and you should know our secret!"

"Tell me the secret!" Yakov groped through the crowd, pulling at Yesau's robe. "What is the secret?"

“You should have known long ago, the secret is the 'ring'.” Yesau made a circle with his fingers, forming an open ring. He moved the ring to the hilt of Yakov's sword, to the spot inlaid with a small ruby, and slowly drew the sword by lifting the hilt. “The method to kill a vampire, or rather, the method to bring a vampire back to life, you've witnessed it firsthand. Don't you remember? We were so close to succeeding.”

The buried memories finally poured out like a flood, leaving nowhere to hide. Yakov's mark was excruciating. He vomited from the pain, the wine he had just drunk gushing from his mouth like blood. His body felt numb; he writhed, being grasped and lifted by countless hands, his robe and turban stained with crimson fingerprints. Like being rocked in a small boat, Yakov was carried to the sarcophagus, his chainmail clasps being loosened. On his chest, the scar-like mark was revealed.

"Poor man!" The crowd took turns stroking him with pity and wailing for him.

"We understand your pain, we feel your pain!"

"Pain is the price of freedom, pain is a symbol of awakening."

"We will eventually slaughter the gods and be freed from boundless despair!"

Yakov's vision blurred. He kept pushing away the hands that were reaching out to him, trying to banish the countless faces of Yubi from his mind to quell the pain. But the more he thought about it, the more deeply the images tormented him. At that moment, Daoud was brought before him, his knees on the sand.

“If you want to understand the language of God,” the naked old man said, “find a way to understand our pain, not our joy.”

"...How do I do it?" Daoud stared at the engraving with trembling lips.

"Only you can know that," the old man shook his head. "Everyone's suffering is different, and we can only try our best to understand it."

Since everyone's pain is different, how can others truly understand or connect with it? Yakov leaned his head against the hard stone coffin wall, gritting his teeth as he tried to push himself up. Suddenly, a piercing scream rang out against his scalp—the Blood Slave's vision cleared instantly. He saw Daoud gripping the Damascus dagger he had given him, pressing it fiercely against the thin chest beneath his chainmail. The sharp tip of the blade grazed the young, dark skin, tracing contorted shapes resembling engravings. The young servant trembled violently, sweat pouring down his forehead.

Yakov's anger gave him his last bit of strength. He raised his hand and slapped the servant hard across the face—the dagger was knocked to the ground, and Daoud tried to pick it up.

"Are you an idiot?" the blood slave cried out in agony. "You'll just do whatever others tell you to do?"

Daoud knelt on the ground, tears streaming down his face. "But how can I live, sir?"

"You have to find a way to survive!" Yakov tried to calm his breathing, his eyes fixed on the crescent moon in the night sky. "That's the most painful thing, but you have to do it!"

"You are an extremely arrogant person," Yesau said with a smile as he stepped forward. "Who in this world doesn't find their own way to survive?"

“Those who place their faith elsewhere,” Yakov said, “those who sell their souls to the devil.”

"We exist precisely to save people like this."

“No, you are not.” Yakov grinned maliciously.

“You are a ‘free agent,’ you are the one who understands us best.” Yesau stared at his face with suspicion. “Why do you say that?”

“Because your wounds have been healed by your master.” Yakov propped himself up on the stone coffin, his hand pressed against his left chest. “Because you are still living off this miracle.”

"Perhaps there have been boys who sought the language of God, and vampires who sought their own destruction. But I am certain that all of you are still his slaves and pawns."

I don't believe him!

"As long as he is conscious, alive in this world, and capable of leaving an imprint on others."

"Even if he adheres to his creed until the last day, the last moment, the last second; as long as he still has room to repent, all of you only need one word from him, one command, one word of God, and you will all be plunged into an abyss of no return, turning back into the most lowly, wretched, and depraved slaves."

"As long as he has power, his promises and beliefs are completely unreliable!"

"Because power is freedom, and it is never under anyone's control!"

Yakov shouted and pushed open the lid of the sarcophagus. He expected to find a mutilated corpse or a fine leather bag inside—but it was empty.

"Coward." He sneered, feeling a sense of relief as if a knot in his chest had been untied. "I was right."

“You are slandering our faith.” Yesau finally drew his sword. “I thought you were one of us.”

“I am not like you.” Yakov grabbed Daoud by the collar and held the servant tightly to his side. “You are devout and kind believers, you believe in a religion called freedom. I believe in nothing, I am the most evil and blasphemous bastard. You are bound by freedom, but I can do whatever I want.”

Yesau frowned—his mark was clearly in pain. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you?” he asked cautiously.

“Kill me, and you will become as evil as I am.” Yakov grinned sinisterly. “Would your master allow that?”

Everyone stared at him, frozen in place, gripped by a horrific, ever-present trap. Yakov, supported by Daoud, retrieved his longsword from beneath the silent crowd and headed straight for the stairs. Behind him, the blood slaves wailed in agony. Some curled up on the ground in pain, others scratched their faces, and still others tore at their tangled hair. Hearing these commotions, Yakov burst into laughter.

“Pain is the first step toward freedom.” He laughed through gritted teeth. “I’ll return that phrase to you in full!”