Connections- A Kny story of uppermoons 2 and 3

The young cult leader

It was warm and bright inside the eternal paradise faith cult. Like it always has been. The place gave off a sense of comfort, of security and of peace. Like the so called paradise it is. Rows of people, old, retired men and women all the way down to children young enough to be carried on their mothers hip as she prayed filled the room facing the throne of pillows and drapes that resided on the platform. Tears, cries and prayers filled the room as the desperate  people prayed for paradise, begged for the non-existant heaven after death. Begged all of this from someone who was bearly an adult. But this was nothing new. It had been this way all his life.  It was pathethic really, Douma thought as he smiled his way through the praying. The same smile that convinced every person so ever come see him that he genuienly cared about them and their stupid little heart wrenching stories. Years ago those same stories used to make him cry tears of despair for the poor souls, but that was back before the incident. Back when he could still feel like a normal person could. Back when he had living parents.

He was roused out of his thoughts as the crowd of people started to leave silently, respectfully bowing to him as they left. It was ludicrous fully grown adults bowing down to a teenager. But it was normal for him.  When at last the final person disappeared out the door he rose gracefully, aware of the ever-watching eyes of his many servants as he slowly walked out of the room and closed the massive door behind him and heading down the brightly lit hallway to his bedroom, pace quickening slightly as he made his way down the hall. Just before he reached his bedroom door he slowed to a stop, souless eyes scanning the walls for any sign of something out of the ordinary. Once again he saw nothing. There was something amiss, something Douma couldn't seem to put his finger on as he once again scanned the hall with a calculating glare before turning on his heel and slamming the door of his bedroom behind him as he entered. 

Dismissing the strange sensation from his mind, the boy carefully removed his long heavy cloak and oversized black and gold crownlike hat he wore, dropping the items carelessly to the floor behind him, as he slipped on a thin, plain red kimono. Something an average person would wear. It was the brief moments like this, the moment just after his followers left and he had some time to himself that he could drop the facade, drop the smile as easily as he could drop those priestlike clothing. His face settled into a blank expression, eyes dull, and lips a thin downfacing line. Much more comfortable and natural. Natural to him that is. It would be creepy to the average person. He had found that out the hard way a few years ago. He still had the five thin scars along his left arm and leg from the unfortunate event that bad occurred after dropping the facade in public in front of some rowdy street thugs one night. One of the many reasons he hardly ever left the temple. 

A scuffed thudding noise caught his attention as he strained his ears to try make out the direction of the sound. He had nothing better to do than go check it out anyways so he might as well go see what it was. Presumably some follower or local person had gotten the visiting hours wrong and arrived too late for the meeting. If that was the case then it wouldn't do for him to be seen like this. A small muffled shriek was what finailly caused him to slip silently out his bedroom door and make his way down the deserted, shadow swept hallway. Everyone was asleep so there was next to no chance he would be seen if he just went to check that noise out. It would be bad rep for the temple if someone was shrieking all night without anyone coming to help. 

The sounds had long stopped, but there was only so many rooms along this hallway, leaving it down to a quick search.  Yawning gently, Douma pulled open the closest door to where he had fist heard the noise earlier, his parents old room. Unlike most people he had no memories, no sadness or longing as he recounted that fact. His parents, like everything  else in his life meant nothing to him. Just names and faces that had come and gone quickly in his life.

A small triangle of light spread into the room as the door opened, not enough to see properly but nonetheless Douma stayed. There was something wrong in this room. An uneasy feeling, the air was heavy and even stranger. A familiar metallic smell that he had smelled 13 years ago in this very room. The smell of blood. There was a sound of heavy breathing coming from behind where the bed would be located in the darkness, getting louder as he hurridly flicked the light switch and illuminated the scene before him.