Cloud 9
Day 101.
The Watchers have been stalking us for the past week. They seek a stolen relic our hive core does not possess.
Many of our brethren have perished.
Still, this is a beautiful opportunity. Their primordial shards are pure and might lead us one step closer to the Great Lord's rapture.
Day 102.
We have decided to seek the Star, as the Cloud and Sun are too close to this ignorant planet.
He is the weakest link in their quartet and the one closest to the other side. Two members of the hive should be enough to investigate his life.
Day 105.
Twenty-one more acolytes have died probing into the Star's life.
During the day, he is a high-school senior looking for employment to support his boarding house. During the night, he barters with the creatures of the moonlight. But no matter where he is, the shadows of the other three aren't too far.
Our section of the hive may go extinct before we can reach him.
It does not matter. Though our bodies may fade over this tiny sphere inside the cosmos, our souls will surely reach the Great Lord when his time comes.
The Star will be captured on his way to a job interview. Or this diary will no longer receive updates.
Day 106.
The Star is ours, but he is not cooperative. We have tried to open his mind to the Gread Lord many times, but his eyes refuse to see the truth. There is already something inside his head. Something that lets him cling to the material plane's ignorance.
Day 108.
The other Watchers are anxious. Our Escherian fortresses are barely enough to delay them as we move between abandoned houses with the Star.
One of our brethren suggested they might be experiencing the same reaction as a hungry beast. The Star was called by them "Famine," and he was also responsible for making the others' meals. Perhaps his absence means something to their race that we cannot see.
It is a foolish theory. The Star's shard is as valuable to them as it is to us, so they seek it.
Day 112.
Our demon allies have gifted us with the means to convert "Famine." A change of heart, physical and cerebral.
It was an easy process. However, "Famine" did his best to create difficulties. We must procure some Troll-made concoctions to heal his wings and eyes, which were harmed by the constant thrashing he made while we ripped open his ribcage for the replacement heart.
Day 113.
After healing "Famine," we can determine the operation was successful. His half-fallen, half-demon soul happily accepted the Great Lord's embrace... though more physical means were necessary to finish the connection.
A new devotee has been born—
Death clenches a fist, crumpling the almost unintelligible stack of notes into a faded paper ball.
At times like these, she wonders if she should be less swift in her executions.
But as always, the thought only lasts a moment as she steps over the bleeding corpses and squirming tentacles.
She looks down at her hand, then at the young man slumped against the cleanest wall she could find in this mad cultist's nest.
She crouches in front of him, reaching for his bandaged face before pausing. That damned diary said they healed him, but she cannot take those words for granted. Exposing his eyes now could irritate them.
Death sighs and resolves herself to wait for War and Conquest.
Until...
"... The Lord will afflict you with madness, blindness, and confusion of mind..."
Famine mumbles in his sleep.
His head shifts, facing the ceiling as his words become more coherent. "... At midday, you will grope about—"
"Like a blind person in the dark," Death continues, and the young man jolts, scurrying higher against the wall.
He looks surprised. Shocked that he's not shackled like when Death found him. Seeing her colleague acting like a cornered animal makes a small crack in her cold heart.
"Sachiel... Famine, it's me," she tells him before he can do something stupid.
"You... It's you... You... who are you?"
He's still out of it.
He can't even recognize her voice.
"Azrael."
"Ah... Of course... you finally... finally?"
He grips his forehead, posture shifting between tense and relaxed. "Stop interrupting me."
"... I'm not," Death says, frowning.
"Not you, Death," he snaps at her, then turns away from her, clawing at his bandages.
This is... far worse than she had thought.
"Run away. Ignore us for now," Famine whispers to himself.
He was a Fallen blessed by the Gemini, but he'd never shown signs of straining under their counsel. This ordeal must have changed that.
His posture suddenly straightens, and his hand hangs down.
"Hahh..." he sighs heavily, facing her. "How long has it been?" he asks, sounding like his usual self for once.
"Two weeks."
He merely nods at that, then sways his head around. Can he see the scene of her massacre? Through the bandages?
How odd.
Famine walks past her and stomps on an acolyte's head, cracking their skull open and killing some of her doubts about what was written in those dreadful notes.
Kicking them away, he turns to her again, looking like he wants to hug her, and is worried about his bloodied, dirty clothes. In the end, he settles for a pat on her shoulder and a soft "Thanks."
She nods. "Glad to have you back."
They leave the basement, and she needs to support his weight after the first steps of the staircase.
"Are Conquest and War alright?" he asks.
"Physically, yes," she answers as positively as she can.
"... Good enough," he huffs humorlessly.
There are still lots of questions she needs to ask him. That they need to ask him. But that can wait.
For now, Death will be glad that he's alive.