The Culling of the Voiceless was a vicious sight to behold, filled with falling innards, mangled viscera, and a growing number of dead bodies littering the Pit. And the onset of Kieran's vengeful rampage only contributed to the gruesome sight.
His eyes glinted with pure madness so potent the followers of the War and Flame faith cheered him on. At least, it seemed that way. All these children within the Pit were nameless, and as such, it was difficult—downright impossible—to distinguish who the cheers were aimed at.
Kieran wiped the warm blood from his face and swept his gaze filled with murderous fury across the battlefield.
'Kill them. It could all be so easy. Flay their skin, flay their muscles, obliterate their bones. They are children… and they are so weak. Oh, then again, you are weak too. Shame. All too weak.'
Another mordant voice had appeared in his mind, fomenting the flames of his murderous fury with great success. The voice's skill at inciting, manipulating, and exacerbating the leading vile emotions was absurdly perfect.
So perfect, in fact, Kieran's suspecting mind couldn't resist it.
Listening to the suggestion of that taunting voice, Kieran tossed aside the body of the lifeless boy in his hand. A bestial and raspy growl was caught in his throat as he choked on the pungent taste of his blood.
He was weak and bleeding, just like the other Voiceless fighting for their pitiful lives. This was no skirmish; it was a glorified bloodbath. That was the theme of this battle or this War, as the Order called it. Fight until the bitter end. Savage until the blood in their veins was no more, or until one emerged triumphant.
There could only be one victor of the Culling in the end.
'Have to survive. Overcome the test.'
Kieran slashed his broken blade while toppling over, clutching his torso that spewed blood in an endless trickle. It seeped down his leg, staining his rags a brownish-red color. He was disappointed in himself.
How could he allow small, untaught children to drive him to the brink of uncertain life or death?
"Fight children! War! Wage exquisite War! Let the flames of the battle temper you. So many of you are falling, but it is all for a great and supreme cause in the end. The Dawn of the Flame shall come and of the Voiceless… an Unspoken will arise."
Within the Order of War and Flame, the Unspoken was the Champion of the Culling. However, Kieran did not know how long the Culling would last. One round wouldn't suffice to instill the tenets of War and Flame within a child. There had to be more, and though his reason was sparse, Kieran dreaded the thought.
What purpose did all this cruelty have? Was the Testament of Dying Blood trying to break him? It did many things, and attempting to break a challenger's will was high on the list of potential tribulations.
Understanding his fate, Kieran staggered to his feet and held his blade in a way that made Weiss pay close attention to him. The young boy had tenacity, and he knew how to wield a blade despite its broken state.
"The Spirit of War flows through you, boy with the broken blade and pierced belly. Your knowledge of battle exceeds the rest. Survive. Oh, but don't forget to slaughter. Survival means nothing without purpose!"
Cardinal Weiss gazed upon Kieran with spirited eyes. The perverse emotion within that gaze was sickening. His devotion to the cause of his Order was rabid and obsessive. That kind of twisted piety had to be unhealthy for the mind. It stood to reason that acceptance of this faith corroded the mind like a caustic curse.
'Lunatics, mad people.'
He cursed Cardinal Weiss and the Order in his mind, but Kieran couldn't disobey. He had to keep fighting. The moment he stopped, his body would break down. Grit was the only thing stopping the massive blood loss from rendering him unconscious. And, if he closed his eyes for too long, death's permanent embrace would come.
Was dying as this child the end of this Trial, though?
Again, Kieran found himself questioning the reason for having been given the role of this child in the Trial.
'How can I succeed if I can't use the very power that the Myths wield? This doesn't make any sense.'
Kieran's frustration was transferred into his blade as he swung the broken, serrated weapon. Its teeth hooked onto the flesh of a Voiceless at arm's length, and he wrenched it free, liberating bowels from the petrified Voiceless.
Then, Kieran kicked the Voiceless away and trudged across the Pit.
Each subsequent step felt burdened, but every additional step gave him another reason to kill, slaughter, endure, and survive. He felt like he was back within the War Phantasmagoria for a moment.
The principles were similar, but the setting and scope of the battle could not be compared. Inside the War Phantasmagoria, Kieran could slay several opponents with one swing of Crimson Ashrune; here… he was relegated to a nameless miscreant.
Kieran's traipse across the Pit was filled with savage roars, wails of despair, and grunts of Voiceless bludgeoning each other to death. It was a grisly sight that Cardinal Weiss and his faith took pride in. They extracted pleasure from seeing scenes like this.
From their perspective, the blood-stained Pit was a breathtaking sight—a beautiful picture with death as its artist. How morbid.
From the initial hundreds, the number of remaining Voiceless fell quickly.
For untaught savages, the Voiceless fought valiantly. They understood death was inevitable from how they were treated leading up to the Culling. Their destiny as whetstones for the blade known as the Unspoken—Champion of the Culling—was inevitable. An inescapable fate devised by the Order.
Hatred burned in Kieran's eyes as he continued to stumble across the Pit. He despised that smile upon Cardinal Weiss' face. If the opportunity ever arose… he would eradicate them all—wipe the Order of War and Flame from history.
The lives of these children would be avenged. Not today, not tomorrow… but perhaps someday retribution would be exacted.
Soon, Kieran reached the steel gate that warded off the Pit and forbade exit. He had no idea how long he had been fighting for but knew he had claimed tens of lives and was on the verge of death.
Now that he was at the precipice of the unknown and clinging to his fleeing life with fervent tenacity, he felt embers of something ablaze within him. It kept the threads of life together as desperately as it could, but this feeling was nascent at best. It couldn't provide what Kieran needed.
He could no longer stand, but there was similarly no other Voiceless left standing.
Before he blacked out, Kieran wondered.
'Was this the Flame these zealots talked about?'
This strange Flame spread through Kieran's body as he fell. Before he fell, he was doused in blood, but now he was drowning in it. It was formed by the interconnecting streams of red flowing from the lifeless corpses of today's Culling.
"Sublime."
Cardinal Weiss grinned, chilling glee dancing within his eyes.
"Boy, you have won the fight. But the War… the War is not over. The Flame has not purged you. You have only been kissed. The Culling intensifies, and Flame blazes. Rejoice… for your War continues soon! The Bloodbath has only just begun."
