Hall of Faces
by -Tigress-
UNIQ Sungjoo
Genre: fantasy
Word count: 9,684

(Sorry this is so long, I actually cut it down from a longer story and so this version is a bit different than any others anyone may have seen)

The heavy rain fell from the sky, soaking the unfortunate individuals still stuck out on the streets of Atherpefta. The beggars who had nowhere to go still sat in their places, their bowls held in their laps as if they thought that a passerby would even notice them in the downpour. Small children darted from awning to awning, lingering as long as they could before being chased away by the merchants. The usual press of customers were all packed inside of the boothes, being sure to make a fuss over whatever the merchant was selling so that they would not be harried out into the downpour. The merchants themselves looked as if they might have a heart attack at any given moment, as they tried to hawk their goods to the crowds under their awnings while simultaneously keeping watch on the street children's thieving hands.

Sungjoo allowed a slight smile to cross his thin face as he noticed one boy- his height suggesting that he was a mere five years old or so, but his eyes showing that he was likely double that- take advantage of a jewelry merchant's split attentions and slip a heavy necklace off of one of the tables and into his pocket. From experience, Sungjoo would be willing to guess that it was not worth a lot of money, but for an urchin such as that child, the money from hawking it would probably feed him for at least a fortnight.

The boy's eyes met Sungjoo's as he glanced around the crowd, and he instinctively froze for a moment. Most people did that when they were unfortunate enough to lock eyes with the assassin, but Sungjoo simply made a shooing gesture with his fingers and the boy darted away, casting glances over his shoulder.

Moving gracefully through the muddy streets, Sungjoo made his way into one of the covered stalls, keeping his cloak tight about him as he did so. Few people even glanced his way, only seeing a rain-soaked man of average height in a plain, unremarkable cloak: nothing special. He kept his head down as if he knew that these people were his betters, and it worked. Their eyes slid to him and away again, not even a flicker of recognition that he was even there. It was a skill he had perfected when he, too, was a street child, where being overlooked meant better chances of stealing coin. Had he not been taken in by the Temple of Kergisa when he was still young and taught her ways, he would likely be among the beggars in their hovels.

Or dead.

The dark goddess had found him, though, and now he served her of his own free will. It was more than he could say of the slaves and of the city, the backbone of life in Atherpefta. He had been lucky, if luck could have any say when the Goddess of Shadow had her way. It had been a rainy day like this one, and he had taken shelter in the eaves of the temple, despite the knowledge that Kergisa accepted blood sacrifice. Maybe he had been ready to give up on the life he'd known in the streets of the city, ready to quit the endless fight against starvation. He hadn't been sure of his motives even then, but when the priest stepped out of the temple and beckoned him to come, he had obeyed. 

Instead of meeting death in the halls adorned with masks of the dead, Sungjoo had met the goddess herself. The priest left him standing alone in front of a dark, massive crystal in the vague shape of a flame, and after the man had exited the room, the crystal had begun to glow. Her voice came out of it, both beautiful and terrible at once, the force of her power knocking him to his hands and knees as she spoke to him. She told him of her designs, of how the world was made up of those who suffer and those who cause it, and how there were none who stood in between. Of how light and goodness were the wishes of fools. He found his soul resonating with her's, his mind agreeing with her dictions; he had seen nothing in his young life to tell him otherwise. And so as Kergisa told him of what she would use him for, he had agreed, and become one of her many hands of darkness, to reach out and snuff the candles of life of those she chose.

His first kill had come when he was only thirteen, and the list had only grown since then. The goddess directed who he was to assassinate, and he carried it out to the best of his ability. Even now, eight years later, he had yet to come across a single soul who could prove the goddess wrong. Every target he'd been directed to had been someone deserving of their fate, someone whose own soul was so tainted by life and their dark deeds that he felt as if their end must come as a relief to the world's soul.

Such as the man he was after now. Sungjoo tipped his head ever so slightly to the side, his sharp eyes picking out the robust man situated a few feet away from him. He was silent and brooding, his meaty left hand wrapped tightly around the leash of his slave, a young man who stared mutely at the space in front of him. His eyes were devoid of any sparkle, his face carefully blank as he had likely been trained since birth. Little more than an animal, Sungjoo thought, a twist to his thin lips showing his distaste for the situation.

The rain finally began to let up, just enough that people began to take their chances and slip back out into the streets to head for their homes, wherever those might be. Sungjoo's target barked a command at his slave, who obeyed him immediately and bent to lift the small box of goods that his master had acquired. It was now or never, and Sungjoo made his move, stepping into the flow of people re-entering the street, a dagger the length of his hand finding its way into the grip of his left hand.

As he moved past the fat merchant, his hand moved quickly and covertly, stabbing the dagger into the man's side underneath his armpit, then pulling it out and back into the hidden confines of his cloak. He cut the money pouch hanging from the man's belt as well, to take suspicion off of the slave and make it seem as if it were done by a thief. It happened so quickly that none of the crowd noticed, their gazes elsewhere as they moved purposefully for their own agendas. The merchant gave a gasp of surprise, staggered a half step forward, and fell, dead from the wound inflicted on his heart. By the time he went down, though, Sungjoo was out of the booth and moving casually down the street, a small smile on his lips.

He passed the boy he had noticed before, the thief's sharp eyes catching the bit of blood on Sungjoo's left hand. The boy looked up at him in fright, his arms wrapped around his thin frame, obviously thinking that he would be next to die. To his shock, instead of pressing his blade into the child, Sungjoo tossed the coin purse at the boy's feet. "Be careful how you spend it," he warned, then moved on before the boy could recover from his surprise and say anything.

By the time he turned around, the purse tucked discreetly inside of his tunic, the assassin was gone.

Stepping into his quarters at the temple, Sungjoo peeled his soaked cloak off and hung it on a hook to dry. A quick glance around the room told him that everything was where he had left it, but he went about his own paranoid inspection anyway and searched his room carefully for anything out of place. After he was assured that all was well, he settled onto his bed, a strange feeling in his heart.

It was the boy, he thought. He could tell that Kergisa was not happy with him for showing the child kindness, could feel her displeasure hanging over him like a dark cloud. Sungjoo could pass of the act as being one of necessity, of getting rid of the money so that suspicion would fall on the child, but he knew that he was just rationalizing his decision. He had acted out of sympathy for a mistreated slave and a starving child, he knew that, but he knew well that Kergisa looked down upon those who could not fend for themselves. "It was necessary," he whispered out to the darkness, though her displeasure still hung over him.

After a moment, he stood, and made his way from his chamber to the main temple. The Hands served her wishes and so took rooms in the temple itself, but he had never felt as if it were home, not truly. He could vaguely remember 'home', a small lean-to made of sticks and cloth, a woman's blurry face over him as she cared for him. Those were the only memories he had of any family, though he couldn't be sure that the woman was his mother. He only knew that he had felt safe there, with her, and even now when he thought of the word home, that memory was what came to mind.

The dark temple was far from safe, the other Hands viewing one another with suspicion while battling for Kergisa's favor. Her priests and acolytes served them, making sure that he instruments had everything they needed, but there were no relationships to be formed amongst them. There was no trust there, no safety, and so despite having all he could need, he could never call it home. Despite being surrounded by other servants of the goddess, he always felt so... alone.

He entered the main temple, waiting in the shadows until the acolytes tending to the petitioners noticed him and hurried the people out of the room. The Hands of the Goddess were always given priority over anyone else, always allowed audience with the goddess no matter the line of people waiting. Sungjoo approached the crystal with measured steps, trying to settle his heart with the knowledge that she was displeased with him. It would not matter to her that it had been a clean, swift kill, one that could never be traced back in certain lines to the temple; all she cared about was his folly afterward.

"Sungjoo," the beautiful, terrible voice came from the crystal, power reaching out to caress his face with unseen fingers. "Why?"

She didn't elaborate. She didn't have to. He felt sudden fear lance through him at the realization that he might die for his random act of pity.

"I am sorry, Dark Lady," he said, his voice coming out as a harsh whisper in the silence of the temple. He could feel the weight of stares from the stone masks peering out from the walls, each of them possessed by a reaped soul and each of them weighing him. "I was not thinking. Please, goddes... I was not thinking."

Silence stretched in the hall for a long moment, the only sound that of the whispers amongst the faces of the souls in the stone. The goddess's grip tightened ever so slightly on his throat, a reminder of how easily she could end his pathetic life, and then she released him. "You know my designs. What do I say about those unable to rise above on their own?"

"They are not worthy," he answered immediately.

"And of those who rise above what I allow?"

"They must be cast down."

"Very well. Remember this, Sungjoo, and heed my words. You've been a faithful servant for me," she said, her voice hardening into something he'd never heard before. "Do not fail me now."

"Yes, Dark Lady," he managed, bowing low before the crystal. The light within went dark as the goddess retreated, and Sungjoo heaved a shaky breath before he gathered himself and left the temple.

The night was long, Sungjoo sleeping fitfully and waking in the morning to find that he was more tired than he had been the night before. He sat on the edge of his bed, still dressed in only his bedclothes, his brown hair sticking up at odd angles all around his head. He had dreamt, dark dreams of Kergisa and her displeasure, and though he was pretty sure that they had come from his own mind, he couldn't be positive. His goddess was not one to suffer fools, and she taught that any kindness was a fool's act. Anyone being kind was sure to have their own motives, while anyone accepting kindness was being played for all their worth. He knew better than to disagree with her, but he couldn't help but to always wonder if there wasn't something that could challenge her teaching. Not that his own experience hadn't taught him that Kergisa's view was the correct way.

Lysrai was the one that most considered to be the opposite of Kergisa. The goddess of beauty taught that everything and everyone was perfect and beautiful in their own way, each with a purpose to be fulfilled. Sungjoo had been drawn to her as a youngster, enticed by her gentle and loving manner that the teachings spoke of her to have. He should have known better than to believe it true. The goddess herself might be so welcoming, but her followers were not. Sungjoo frowned at the memory of being chased from Lysrai's temple by her acolytes, angry that such a dirty child had dared to enter their goddess's dwelling. 

And then there was the goddess of war, Therisa. She taught that strength and power were what counted in the world, that if one could not take what they desired, they were below her notice. Therisa's followers were made up of warriors, men and women who had the physical and mental prowess to beat down anyone who stood in their way. No, their path could never be Sungjoo's own, even if he were not already following Kergisa's bidding. He had strong, wide shoulders but a slender build in general, which no amount of food and training could seem to add mass amounts of muscle onto. His lithe form added to his ability to move quickly, though, and he was naturally acrobatic, lending well to his chosen course. Therisa frowned upon assassins, teaching that they were merely cowards who dared not face battle and had no honor. Sungjoo had to disagree with that; while he could never face one of Therisa's followers in an open fight, he was pretty sure of his ability to kill them using the many tricks he'd been taught.

The fourth deity of the people of Atherpefta was the goddess of the weak, one that Sungjoo had turned to for help once long ago. Siakera was supposed to help anyone in need, to appear as a loving and kind mother who would heal the wounds and sorrows of those who wholeheartedly asked her assistance.

Maybe Sungjoo's questioning of her existence had stopped her from helping him, but he would never forget that moment. He had been so sick and unable to care for his small brother, Seungyeon, and as a last resort they had gone to the White Temple. Siakera's faces had looked down on the brothers as they stumbled into her halls, both starving and sickly, with no parents thanks to the war ravaging the streets of their city. Sungjoo had fallen on his knees at the statue of the goddess, a carved woman clad in flowing robes, and begged her mercy for his brother's sake. He had fallen asleep at her feet, only to wake and find that Seungyeon had passed on in the night hours, leaving Sungjoo alone in an un-kind world.

He had cursed Siakera then and there, leaving her temple with his brother's body, intent to never return.

Like many of Atherpefta's citizens, Sungjoo had been determined to live without worshiping any of the deities. They had shown how little they cared for those who cried for their help, so what made them worthy of worship? Kergisa, though, had stepped in to intercept him, and through her teachings he had found a way to empty the pain from his own soul. Some days he thought that he might actually be empty of a soul at all, and yet he couldn't find himself to care. 

He had angered his goddess, and he must make it right. Starting with the boy in the marketplace. He would find him and... something. He wasn't sure yet, but Sungjoo knew he had to find a way to appease his goddess's anger. Standing from his small bed, he dressed quickly in a plain grey tunic and black pants before pulling on his well-worn brown boots. He paused for a moment to try and settle his messy, too long hair before he gave up, and moved out of his chambers into the temple hallways. 

As was typical with the mornings, the temple was bustling with petitioners - people seeking a way to a better life through any means necessary, or revenge or justice from the Hands of the goddess. Those last requests were few and far between, mainly because people feared to bring down Kergisa's eyes upon them instead and send her Hands to mete justice out.

Or at least, what the dark goddess considered justice.

While most believers assumed that she was a fair and just goddess, Sungjoo knew that she picked and chose who to target of her own whims. He had been sent to assassinate many different kinds of people, ranging from those who truly made his own anger rise - such as the filthy child traders - to those that he had to fight down his own surprise at targeting them - like the baker's wife that he had recently killed. The priests claimed to know Kergisa's reasons, but Sungjoo doubted that even the goddess knew who she would target next until a death was either requested, or her own ire was raised.

It wasn't his place to question, though, and so he just did as she bade.

He waited in the eaves of the hall once again, this time taking care to not be seen by the acolytes and petitioners gathered there. He liked to have a chance to settle his thoughts before approaching the goddess, and he found that watching the common people helped him to do just that. 

A young woman wearing a dark shroud caught his eyes, one hand hanging by her side but the other wrapped protectively around her midsection; from the expression on her face, anger jumping to indecision and back again, Sungjoo could tell that she was there to ask for revenge. Maybe for the father of the child she carried, especially if it were one that had not been wanted. That was common enough among petitioners to the dark goddess, and yet it was the one that Kergisa rarely responded to. The dark goddess cared little for those unable to protect themselves, and women such as this one were the weakest of the weak in her eyes.

Sungjoo pulled his gaze away from the woman even as the girl began to shift, unconsciously reacting the eyes on her. The Hand moved back deeper into the shadows, back until he could feel the wall behind him, the faces reminding him of the fate of those who his goddess targeted. He knew that if he searched the temple, scoured every nook and cranny, he would find the face of the man he had killed the previous day, etched in the stone as if it had always been there, locked in a fearful mask of death. It was some strange magic that bound the dead to her temple, that carved their faces into the walls after they were killed, and Sungjoo had often wondered if the souls of the dead were locked there, staring from behind their visages. He could swear he had felt them before, eyeing him balefully as he passed, with whispers just beyond hearing following his footsteps.

The crowd in the hall moved slowly, the petitioners each making their way to face the dark crystal and speak with the goddess in hushed tones. As they gained their answers, they left, most with a look of satisfaction on their faces as they assumed that Kergisa would take care of their problems for them.

Sungjoo knew better, knew that his goddess was picky about who she would favor and who she would scorn, but as long as the people assumed that she watched out for them, she would still have petitioners. He'd wondered before if she somehow gained power by how many people believed in her, and if that was the reason why she still met with petitioners despite rarely helping them with their problems. Even as he watched, he saw the young woman in the shroud stand from where she knelt in front of the crystal, and leave the hall with a slight smile of relief on her face, as if she were sure that Kergisa would take care of her troubles.

Shaking his head slowly, Sungjoo watched in fascination as each of the people cast their cares to the goddess and left in peace, happy to have Kergisa watching their backs. In a strange, twisted way, Sungjoo thought that maybe it was better this way. After all, he had gone to two of the other aspects's temples and been turned away with no help and no hope. Wasn't it better to believe that a deity would help you, even if the assistance offered was a lie?

When the hall had finally emptied, the last of the petitioners leaving out the side door reserved for those who had finished, Sungjoo moved to go make his question.

Before he could even draw even with the pillars lining the main hall, he froze, pulling back into the shadows. A moment later, a man with a pretty, square jawed face and intent, round eyes approached the crystal with sure, confident steps. His slender frame was covered in well-toned muscle, shown off by the sleeveless cut of his pale grey shirt. 

Wenhan.

Sungjoo's mouth twisted in distaste and he moved silently back into deeper shadow, not willing to be seen by the other man. Wenhan was another of Kergisa's Hands, one whose light and easy laughter belied his quick and brutal violence. Sungjoo took no shame in being an assassin, but neither was he proud of it, while in contrast, Wenhan bragged about his conquests to the acolytes of the temple. His rough treatment of the servers had riled Sungjoo's temper more than once, but Kergisa seemed to favor him above all of her Hands, obviously proud of his violent mannerisms.

The other Hand knelt before the crystal for only a short while, the magic of the goddess's presence making it impossible for anyone to overhear what was said between Kergisa and anyone kneeling before her. When he stood and left the room, Sungjoo thought he could see an expression of anticipation on Wenhan's face.

He waited several moments this time, listening closely from his place among the masks until he was sure he was alone. Stepping forward, he approached Kergisa's crystal and dropped to his knees before it, head bowed in respect as well as thought. 

"Sungjoo," the goddess said, coming to him immediately, her voice a caress on his mind. "I was just speaking of you."

Surely she had known that he had been in the temple for hours, so why would she give away that she had spoken of him to Wenhan? Unless she was lying, just to set him off kilter...

Shaking those thoughts from his head - he was never sure what she could read and what she could not - he only bowed lower. "I must make amends, goddess. How can I please you?"

He waited a long moment, bowed over with his nose nearly touching the floor. His back began to ache from the prone position but he dared not move, especially when he was in such tenuous standing with her. "I have a task for you," she finally said, the soothing touch of her voice gone, the sounds now echoing in his mind like a rasp on his consciousness. "I have a target for you, one who must be killed, and the death be known as the act of a Hand of Kergisa."

That was unusual; usually the goddess wanted her Hands to work covertly. "Anything, goddess," he agreed immediately, and felt her pleasure at his quick response.

"I want the death of a Priest of Siakera."

The knife made an ever so slight whistling sound as he turned it in his fingers, letting the blade roll across the back of his hand before he caught the hilt to pin it once more. It was a nervous habit that Sungjoo had developed in the last several years, something to occupy his hands as he stalked his targets while in wait for the actual killing.

Which was what he was doing then, his gaze locked on the temple of Siakera across the busy street. The marble arches caught the glint of the late afternoon sun, making the entire place seem to glow with a light that beckoned worshippers and petitioners alike to come stand in the goddess's sacred place. There was a mass of petitioners flocked outside of the closed doors, waiting for the priests to come and let them in so that they might make their cases to the goddess. It was in the evening hours, at vespers, that the goddesses of light gathered the most petitioners, all asking blessing upon their lives for the following day while offering thanks for the one just passing.

It was folly, all of it. These people were lining up to plead for some uncaring goddess to give them false hope, for some priest to prey off of their wishes and make themselves rich in the process. Sungjoo could taste the bitterness in his mouth as he watched the crowd churn, everyone jockeying for an advantageous position for when the doors opened. If they were such good people as they pretended to be, they would find the most needy among them and ensure that they went first, instead of fighting over their place in line.

A sting of pain ran through his hand and he looked down to find that he had, in his anger, clamped his fist down on the knife he'd been fiddling with. Two small cuts, across his palm and fingers, showed where the blade had dug into his skin in his thoughtless action. Muttering a curse to himself, he sheathed the knife back up his sleeve and wiped his bloodied palm on his brown trousers, and by the time he turned back to the crowd, the doors had opened.

The temple of Siakera was a place that he had never wanted to find himself in ever again, and yet as the crowd surged forward in their press for the goddess, Sungjoo reluctantly joined them. He let the hood of his cloak fall down around his shoulders, exposing his face to the world, but he knew that there would be no one there who could recognize him for what he was until the deed was done. In his sharp cheekbones and large eyes, there was nothing that said that he was marked by Kergisa. His shaggy brown hair and thin lips spoke not at all of the fact that he was a Hand of the Dark Goddess. To any onlooker, he was simply a slender young man of average height, yet another petitioner for the goddess of light. 

No one could ever suspect that he was there for an entirely different reason than the other petitioners.

His gaze locked onto the man standing at the doors, a soft smile on his oval face as he murmured quietly to those passing him. He was dressed in the simple grey tunic and trousers of an acolyte, but around his neck he wore a plain metal chain. Hanging from it was a pendant shaped in the form of the sun, marking him as a priest of Siakera. The single gemstone set into the center of the sun, catching the fading light and reflecting it brightly, told that he was the high priest of this temple.

Told that he was Sungjoo's target.

The assassin's hand twitched ever so slightly as he passed the man, his own anger and bitterness toward Siakera for letting his brother die making him want to kill the priest and be done with it. Kergisa had already told him when he must do it, though, and he must wait until her specified time. Until then, he needed to inspect the inside of the temple so as to get a clear route of escape once he killed the man.

The White Temple itself was huge, with Siakera being easily the most popular of the goddess that watched over the world. Sungjoo could still remember that time years ago when Seungyeon asked him why there were only female deities; he'd been such an innocent young boy, his eyes round and wide as he stared up at his older brother.

"Because the goddesses are the mothers of the world," Sungjoo said, his hand clutching Seungyeon's even as his wary eyes surveyed the streets, ready to run if anyone came to demand their shelter for the night. "Therisa fights for her children, Lysrai teaches them about love and beauty, and Siakera takes care of their pain." Though he had to wonder why she couldn't be bothered to help two starving children such as they.

"And Kergisa?" Seungyeon asked, his eyes staring out at the dark, unforgiving streets. Sungjoo couldn't help but to glance down at him, at the boy who was everything dear in his life.

"Kergisa punishes. But you don't have to worry," he promised, giving the smaller hand in his an extra squeeze."I won't let her hurt you."

In the end it wasn't Kergisa who had hurt him. Siakera's refusal to save Seungyeon had fueled Sungjoo's anger toward her, and Kergisa had simply taken that and turned it into a sharp-edged tool. 

Pushing that anger aside for the moment, he moved deeper into the halls of the White Temple, feeling out of place amongst the pale marble statues and bright lamps illuminating the place. He longed for a place to be able to slip into the shadows, but in the temple of the healer goddess, there was no such thing as darkness to hide in. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head screaming that he should not be so out in the open, that he needed to find a place to hide, but his hands gripped the edges of his cloak in a white-knuckled grip.

He hated this place. 

As the flood of people entered the main hall, pulling him along with them, he steeled himself for what he knew he would see. The statue of Siakera herself, the one under which he had spent the last few hours of his faith begging the goddess to save his brother. Now a full-grown man, he stared up into the face of the goddess, hate seething inside of him at the false kindness shining from those marble eyes. He longed to destroy something then and there, to do something to ease the pain that sprang up inside of him, but he forced himself to wait.

Kergisa wanted the priest to die when the world was turning from Siakera's hour and into Kergisa's. When the sun was falling beyond the horizon and night was overtaking the world, he would strike. Right at the heart of vespers, when Siakera's worshippers would be most attentive. It was to be a public killing, one in which the world would know who dared to attack Siakera's own; Kergisa wanted it known. Sungjoo could only guess that she was making a move against the others in the pantheon, taking her chance to eradicate the weaker goddesses and make herself the strongest. Honestly, he couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted to have the satisfaction of seeing a man who preyed on those who thought him to be kind die by his own blade, to watch the life slip out of him even as he recognized Kergisa's power within his killer.

Yes, that would be worth the wait. 

Sungjoo turned from the statue of Siakera and allowed his gaze to sweep over the crowd until he located the high priest. The other man was only slighter taller than Sungjoo, with dark circles under his eyes and full lips that curved into a smile when he met the gazes of the petitioners. He moved amongst them slowly, methodically, taking no heed to the line that they had arranged themselves into and instead seeking out those who appeared to need his help the most. 

Sungjoo had heard of the miracles that Siakera's priests could perform, had heard that they could heal in her name, but he had never seen it. After what had happened with Seungyeon, he only halfway believed it. But as the man paused next to a young man covered in lesions and blisters, probably right around Sungjoo's age, the crowd moved back as if controlled by one thought. The priest laid a hand gently onto the young man's shoulder, his eyes closing as his lips moved in prayer to his goddess.

And Sungjoo couldn't deny the healing that visibly fell across the young man, nor could he deny the surge of power he felt fill the temple as the sores and blisters disappeared from his body. The assassin fought down sudden trepidation, knowing that any hesitation on his own part would only anger Kergisa more. 

The crowd let out an appreciative murmur of awe as the priest continued on his way toward the front of the hall, nearer to where Sungjoo waited next to the goddess's statue. He stopped several times to speak with or to heal others, though nothing so drastic as the leperous young man, but finally he reached the main dais and raised his hands for silence. The crowd hushed immediately and Sungjoo could only barely stop the sneer that threatened to overtake his face as he realized how in thrall they were to the priest.

"We are gathered to offer praise to Siakera, for what she has given us this day and for what she will give us tomorrow and the days after. If there are any with pressing matters to attend to, please speak with me before you leave. Otherwise, let us enter this hour of prayer and praise with thanks that Siakera shelters each of us in the palm of her hand."

"She shelters only those who the floors of her temple," Sungjoo hissed, and the priest turned surprised eyes toward the assassin even as the shorter man stepped closer. "Kergisa sends her own blessing for you, high priest." He spat out the last words with an angry shout, his right hand leaping forward with a dagger aimed for the priest's throat.

It should have been a quick kill. There was no one who could possibly move fast enough to save the man from Sungjoo's blade. It would have been a quick and easy kill, had there not been a surge of power from the statue of Siakera beside the two men. A sharp, blinding pain pierced Sungjoo's head and he screamed in agony, not even aware of anything else as he dropped the dagger and fell to the floor of the White Temple.

Eyes blinked open to a dimly lit room. It took a long moment for Sungjoo to realize that he was no longer in his own chambers in Kergisa's temple and instead he lay somewhere at the supposed mercy of the priests of Siakera. He shifted to lift a hand to brush his shaggy hair from his eyes, and that was when he realized that his wrists were bound to his sides.

Panic set in and he began to thrash about on the bed, only to find that his ankles were tied as well and there was no hope of escape. The commotion must have alerted someone, because after he lay still for a moment, catching his breath, the door to the small room opened. The high priest of Siakera entered then, his long face showing relief as he took in Sungjoo's condition.

"Good, you didn't hurt yourself," he said softly, stepping closer to the bed where the assassin was bound. He snarled up at the priest, knowing that the man's concern was more likely for himself; if Sungjoo had gotten free, the man would surely be dead.

"Are you hungry?" he asked softly, drawing up a stool to take a seat beside the bed. When there was no answer forthcoming, he sighed and ran a hand through thick, slightly wavy black hair. "I am not your enemy," he said, his voice ever so quiet as he looked down at his hands on his lap. "Siakera is not your enemy. She loves all and helps any."

"Bull," Sungjoo retorted before he could stop himself. He had been determined to not say a word, to offer the priest nothing, but he couldn't let that last lie stand. "She only helps those who it benefits her to help."

Instead of shouting at him for his sacrilege, the priest only shook his head gently. "I don't know what happened to cause you such anger, but I assure you, that is not the case. She gives me the power to help people in her name, how would that be of any benefit to her? She gets nothing in return for her healing except that people are happy and healthy and safe. I think you have a misunderstanding of her," he added, which only earned a dirty look from Sungjoo.

"I think you're a jaded piece of crap who uses her power to your own means. Nothing is for free, priest, you can't possibly be stupid enough to think so."

The other man only smiled, his full lips curving up into a gentle admonishment. "I suppose, then, I am stupid in your eyes, because I truly do believe that her help is for free. I will be back," he added, standing up once again and picking up the stool to place it back beside the wall. "If you need anything, ask for me. My name is Yixuan."

"I don't care who you are, priest," he spat, but the man was already closing the door. Sungjoo fought against his binds once more in an effort to free himself, but it was to no avail. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he took in the room for the first time. 

Plain brown, wooden walls, and a plain brown wooden door. It was a bare room in all, with just a small, single bed placed against one wall in which the assassin himself now lay. A small stool and table were against the wall beside the door, only enough room for one person to eat or write something, with a single candle on top of it. Either the followers of Siakera were complete ascetics or they had stuck him in a back room of the temple, out of sight and out of mind. He honestly hoped it was the latter because at least then, he would have a hope for escape. The less attention paid to him, the better.

Looking down at his wrists, he saw that he was tied with a simple leather thong around each one, secured to the bed frame. His ankles, from what he could see from his position, were secured the same way, and that gave him hope. Leather could be worn and stretched: all he needed was patience. 

Patience itself had never been his strong suit, nor had he ever been enough of a devout follower to pray, but after the display he'd gone through in the main temple, he felt that maybe he ought to touch base with his goddess. See if she could get him out of this sticky situation, as it were. 'Dark Lady?' he thought, but when there was no answer, he cleared his throat and hesitantly repeated it out loud. 

It didn't matter either way, though. Silence greeted him and he felt like a fool, first embarrassed and then angry. Why should he have thought that she would help him? He had already managed to incur her anger, it was ridiculous to think that she would now choose to help him. Besides, as one of her Hands, he should be able to get out of this on his own. Kergisa had never been one to share her power even with her priests, always selfishly guarding it to herself. Sungjoo had been so shocked when Yixuan had actually displayed that he held Siakera's healing power, and maybe the fact that his goddess obviously favored him was the reason for Kergisa's hatred of the priest.

"You are quite observant," a woman's mellifluous voice sounded, startling Sungjoo out of his thoughts. He looked around the small room with wide eyes, but there was no-one there. "I am not here," the voice chided, and his eyes narrowed as he realized that the voice seemed to be coming from inside his own mind.

"Ker... Dark Lady?" he asked, the question croaking out of his mouth. Even before she answered he knew it was not his goddess. He had spoken to her often enough when receiving his targets that he would recognize her voice anywhere. 

"You know who I am, Sungjoo," she countered softly, and he gave a grunt of anger and discomfort. To have the goddess of the high priest he'd been trying to kill inside of his mind was disconcerting, to say the least. Then again... "Why did you let my brother die?" he demanded, the question at once full of anger yet tinged with his pain, brought back to the surface by his time at the White Temple.

The goddess was silent for a long time, in which Sungjoo's anger grew more and more intense. "Well?" his voice was now brittle with hatred, and he waited for her answer so as to be able to shoot her reasons down. But the answer never came, leaving his anger to slowly die back down to a simmer once more, still waiting for its chance to boil over.

When finally the door opened again, he was ready for something, anyone, to lash out at. It just so happened that the target was to be the priest again. Even as the slender man entered, a tray of food in hand and a smile on his lips, Sungjoo was ready for him. "You're a hypocritical, lying parasite who feeds off of the world's poor and helpless," he shot, and was ersely pleased to see the priest's smile fall from his face. The man shook his head ever so slightly before he turned to place the tray on the table, then turned back to Sungjoo.

"I can see that you are angry. I won't pretend to know the reasons, but I can offer help. An ear to listen, if you'd like."

His kindness only pushed at the Hand's anger, especially since he was positive that it was just a front for the darker soul hidden underneath. No one was that good, to actually care about the person who had tried to kill them. "I am sure your goddess has told you my reasons," he snarled, and this time was rewarded by a genuine flinch.

"Please don't call her..." Yixuan began, then frowned and once again rain a hand through his hair to rest it at the back of his neck. Shaking his head, he continued, "Siakera does not speak with her priests. She gives us power to use for the betterment of the world, and nothing more."

Sungjoo's eyes narrowed immediately, his lips curling upward in a bitter smile. He had caught the priest in a lie, and it had been so easy! "I knew you were a liar," he taunted. "Of course you speak with your goddess, all temple followers have a line of connection to their deities."

"So you speak with Kergisa?" Yixuan countered, and for a moment Sungjoo thought that he saw genuine surprise there. That, or the man was good at faking. He gave no answer, figuring that the priest would have to draw his own conclusions, and after a moment he nodded. "That would make sense, I suppose. I had always thought that the Hands of Kergisa simply chose their victims of their own accord, but if she speaks with you, then that means she gives you your directives of her own choosing."

"As your goddess gives you yours," Sungjoo countered, but Yixuan shook his head.

"I swear to you, Siakera has never spoken to me. Unless the feelings of my heart which direct me to offer help are from her touch." His slight smile there was meant to show how silly he thought that the idea that his kindness was because of a goddess's interference. Despite himself, Sungjoo had the distinct feeling that this man, no matter that he was a hated priest, was not lying.

But what that meant for the assassin, he couldn't say. Why would Siakera speak to him, and not to her own priests? He shifed uncomfortably, and Yixuan took his action as stemming from something else. Stepping forward, he pulled a slender knife from his robe, and for the briefest of moments Sungjoo thought that the man would plunge it into the assassin's heart and be done with him.

Instead, he cut the leather thong on Sungjoo's right wrist, giving him a wry smile as he did so. "I am not fool enough to release all of your bonds," he admitted, taking backward steps toward the door even as Sungjoo worked on untying his other wrist. "If I were to do so, you could and probably would kill me with my own knife. As it is, you can free yourself and have something to eat." He let himself out into the hallway, humor lighting his face. "Sleep well," he added, then closed the door behind him.

The distinct sound of a bar falling into place sounded from the hall, and Sungjoo knew that they had taken extra measures to keep him secured. It woul have been almost enough to make him laugh, if only he weren't so preoccupied with his conversation with the man. 

Even as he freed his last leg and moved to the table to uncover a bowl of soup and hunk of bread, he was still going over the words in his head. The man had to have been lying, even though Sungjoo's gut instinct was that Yixuan was telling the truth. But why would the one goddess that he hated, the one that he had acted out against, the one that had failed him so many years before... why would she speak, not to her own devout priests, but to a Hand of Kergisa?

And more importantly, in that moment, why would Kergisa not answer him?

"Because Kergisa intends to let you die." The light goddess's voice came from inside his mind once again, and though he wanted to refute her claims he had no evidence to the contrary. "She wanted me to kill you, but I see the goodness in you that you hide from everyone else. Serve me, Sungjoo, and we can stop Kergisa's plans together."

Instead of answering, he rolled pushed the voice out of his mind and focused on the meager meal in front of him. And tried to make himself believe that Siakera was lying.

When he woke it was to the sound of people screaming.

Sungjoo leapt out of the bed and moved toward the door, but even as he reached it he knew that it was futile. The door was locked into place with the solid bar on the outside, and any amount of energy spent trying to break it would just wear him down. He tried it anyway, just to be sure that the bar was still there, but as soon as his suspicion was confirmed he gave up.

Instead, he turned to search the room for any other way out. As it was, the stool, table and bed were not of any use to escape, nor could he use the candle for anything useful. Unfortunately, Yixuan had not left the knife that he had cut Sungjoo's bonds with; if he had, the assassin could have used it to begin prying boards loose.

Instead, he was left with no options. As he sank down onto the bed, head in his hands, he realized that he could no longer hear the screams. Whatever had been happening, it was over now.

The sound of running footsteps sounded outside of his small cell, drawing closer by the second, and he lifted his eyes when the runner stopped outside of his room. He heard the scrape of the bar, then watched in disbelief as the door was pulled open.

A young acolyte stood there, one hand still grasping the bar, the side of his oval shaped face streaked with blood. "Please, help us," he pleaded, and to Sungjoo's surprise, he tossed a knife at the assassin.

He caught it in midair and turned it over in his hand, testing the weight of it. It was a mere kitchen knife but it had a solid weight and the tang extended into the handle, as it should to be of true quality. He raised his eyes to the young man. "Why would you think that I would help you? You serve Siakera."

The boy shook his head roughly, tears springing to his eyes. "Yixuan said that you would. He said that you're not as evil as you think you are and that you would save us." Oh, did he? "Please, sir, hurry. Yixuan is holding him off but the man moves like a snake!"

The man... Sungjoo stood quickly, his mind pulling him back to Kergisa giving Wenhan direction in the Hall of Faces. "This man, what does he look like?" he asked, already brushing past the young acolyte to head down the unfamiliar hallway. Outside of his prison room, the halls were once again white, decorated with the same carvings and candles that adorned the main entryway. 

"About your height, with a square jaw." The boy paused in his words as he worried his lips with his teeth, his own running strides keeping pace with Sungjoo. "He was... smiling. When he killed..." his voice dropped off in a whisper, but that was description enough to solidify the man's mind.

It was Wenhan, come to finish him off. So what then, Kergisa had come for him? So the goddess truly had intended for him to fail at this and die in the process, and if not, she had a contingency plan to finish him off anyway.

As they reached the main hall, he realized that whatever fight had happened there was already over. The lights were out and not a noise arose from it; to see such darkness in the temple of Light was disconcerting, to say the least. Sungjoo drew to a stop before he turned and caught the boy's shoulder in his grip. The acolyte was taller than him, only slightly, but his face and nervousness told of his young age. "What is your name?" Sungjoo asked, voice cast soft so that it would not carry.

"Yibo, sir," he answered in the same tone, though his eyes were darting about the darkened hall. They lingered longest on the shadows as if he expected Wenhan to leap out of them and attack.

Sungjoo nodded and caught Yibo's attention once again with a firm squeeze to his shoulder. "Listen to me. You stay here until I engage him, do you understand? Don't run off, he will only chase you. Hide here, stay still, and once I catch his attention, you get out of here with anyone you can find. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded quickly, his eyes wide, and Sungjoo gave him another squeeze. "Good man," he praised softly, then, taking a deep breath, entered the dark hall. His steps were silent as he stepped over broken statues that littered the floor, his gaze darting around to try and find his enemy before he could strike.

"Wenhan," he called as he reached the center, his voice echoing around the room. It was usually filled with worshippers and petitioners for the goddess's favor, but the only signs he saw of people were the dark stains on the floor. Where the bodies had gone, he didn't know, but he recognized those pools as being of blood. "Where are you?" He pulled his gaze from the blood to look around the room, peering into the shadows to try and find the other Hand.

"Sungjoo." The soft voice was not that of the assassin, but one weak and brittle. His heart sped up as he turned to find the source, and after a moment his eyes landed on the broken form of the High Priest, lying amongst the rubble. 

Sungjoo crossed the room quickly, moving through the broken shards to kneel at Yixuan's side. One look at all the blood staining the front of his white robe, and Sungjoo could only wonder how he was still able to speak. "Priest, don't speak-" he began, but the man focused his eyes on Sungjoo.

"She spoke to you," he gasped, seeming to labor for every breath. "I could... see it. The Light... in you..." Before he could finish whatever he was saying, his words dropped off and his breathing stilled.

The slight scuffle of noise behind him was the only warning he had. Flinging himself to the side, away from the dead priest, Sungjoo smacked one shoulder into a large chunk of a statue before he rolled back onto his feet. The blow stung but he still had mobility in his arm, and he was glad for it as Wenhan pressed the attack.

Yibo had said that the Hand was smiling, and it was true. His pretty face was split with a bright white smile as his knife darted in toward Sungjoo's chest, making the more slender man have to fall back and out of balance to avoid the strike. He nearly stumbled over another piece of statue, and the half-fall actually saved him, as Wenhan's other hand came across with another blade, right where his hip had been.

Using the momentum from his trip, Sungjoo dove into a roll, coming up several feet away and with a small chunk of marble in his left hand. He turned to throw it at the pursing Wenhan, knowing that he would miss since it was not his dominant hand, but it was enough of a distraction that he was able to turn fully to face him, solid on both feet by the time that Wenhan reached him.

The stockier man drew to a halt, his smile widening as he acknowledged Sungjoo's maneuver. "Nicely done," he said, in a teasing tone that served only to ignite the other man's temper. "Where were you when I first arrived, Sungjoo? Hiding in the back rooms, under your blankets because you were afraid to face me?"

Ignoring his taunt, Sungjoo took the chance and leapt for the man, his kitchen knife leading the way. Wenhan's smile faltered as he backpedaled into a defensive posture, both of his blades coming out in front of him as protection. He blocked the more slender man's attack with his left hand blade, while his right hand tried to take advantage of the situation, the point reaching for Sungjoo's stomach. He caught Wenhan's wrist with his free left hand, though, clenching as tightly as he could to try and force him to drop his weapon.

Unfortunately, Wenhan was a quick thinker. Ducking his right shoulder in, he shoved forward, knocking Sungjoo off balance once again and breaking his grip on his wrist. The slender man stumbled and began to fall, and Wenhan's smile flickered back onto his face as he dropped his left hand knife to pull the kitchen knife from Sungjoo's grip.

Then he stood there as Sungjoo fell, the broken statue pieces digging into his back as he hit the ground with a sharp cry of pain. "You know, it's a pity we never had the chance to fight before," Wenhan taunted, throwing the kitchen knife away into the shadows of the hall before bending down to pick up the knife he had dropped. "You could have learned so much from me."

"What, how to be a heartless backstabber?" Sungjoo retorted, trying to wriggle into a favorable position so that he could regain his feet. "When did Kergisa tell you to kill me?"

A look of surprise flickered over the other assassin's face, but he shrugged it off and smiled once more. "A long time ago, Sungjoo. She told me that I would be the one privileged enough to kill you, if I but had the patience for it. I guess she always knew that you would betray her," he mused with a small shrug. 

That was when Sungjoo knew that he was out of options. That unless Siakera stepped in and intervened somehow, he was going to die. He couldn't see any reason that she would do so, and when the other Hand closed in, ready for deliver the killing blow, she did not interfere. 

END