text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy, fantasy, grimdark]
  
  Darkness drapes the central room of the temple, an ever-present curtain. You smile; the disciples have been following your bidding correctly. The darker the room, the more potent the magicks—that teaching isn't bullshit whatsoever. As you near the pulpit, you trip over a loose stone in the floor, and nearly collapse onto a jagged obsidian-backed pew. Unfortunately, you have not yet gotten any of those wonderful night vision concoctions: you still need a number of corpses to trade to the alchemist, seeing as you lack money (or at least that's what you told him).
  
  "I really should've added the obsidian spikes after we figured out how to see," you think out loud. No one else is at the temple this early. Your faithful minions are probably busy self-flagellating or gobbling up those scriptures you keep feeding them.
  
  Somewhere, glass shatters. Looks like you might have company. You hear it clear as day, but can't determine where it came from. The wonderful acoustics are both a blessing and a curse. The shattering is quickly followed by a slow and determined cacophany of clanking, thundering footfalls. It could be a mercenary troupe, which gives you an opening to simply escape. Mercenary units are generally low in numbers, which means they probably can't have the temple surrounded, but they would still completely destroy you in a fight. Could also be paladins, and that's about as bad as it can get for you. They're certainly righteous and good, which is the exact antithesis of what you are. They're also very enthusiastic about their work, which also doesn't bode well for those on the wrong side of their glistening steel. And if this is the Inquisition brand of paladins, then you're trapped in here; the temple would certainly be surrounded by this point. The stairs to the basement demon summoning chambers are oddly beckoning right now, but some simple mechanical traps have no chance of failing, or of raping, killing, and eating you (not necessarily in that order). The temple is also a winding array of dark hallways, darker corners, and somehow even darker closets. You could probably find a sufficiently hidden spot quite quickly, but you would be totally defenseless if they were to find you, and it's all dependent on how thoroughly they search for you.
  
  > Hide
  You look around at the various doors and corridors leading out of the main hall. With the darkness and the anxiety setting in, you find it harder and harder to remember what's where.
  
  Before you go completely crazy, you remember that there's a fairly long hallway where there are some acolytes' dorms, and you scamper off in that direction, a feeble mouse running from a very violent cat, except unlike the cat, the soldiers after you will hopefully be unable to smell the fear that is reeking through your clothes.
  
  The corridor is very dark, so you're forced to stay low and move slower than you'd like. Running into something now would be a dead giveaway of your position. Indeed, this area of the church has a lot of random furniture in the hallways, and a lot of furniture in the rooms. None of it is the same quality as in the main hall, instead it's mostly composed of lopsided tables and chairs that lack legs or have one much stubbier leg for no good reason. You've rarely, if ever, gone back here, and you quickly realize that the environment of your church really breeds a lot of spider webs. Some are uninhabited, but others have a juicy, poisonous spider sitting on them, right in the middle of your path. These spiders aren't normal, because why would normal spiders live in an evil church: these monstrosities seem to be at least twice at large, and their eight beady eyes just beg you to come closer and find out what their venom does.
  
  You're forced to open a closet and try and find a broom. It's so dark, you nearly fall after slipping over a mallet; you mistake a paint can for a rat, and after trying to dodge it, you kick it angrily. The clattering sound carries, reverberating down the corridor. You wince, and try to hurry. Hiding in this closet would be no good, because the sound came from here and there's a bunch of things littered on the floor for some reason. You finally chance upon a broom, and begin destroying the spider webs. The very first one wraps around the broom, and the spider begins climbing up towards you, slowly but surely. You throw the broom backwards, and when you look to confirm that it's further than the spider can walk in a lifetime, you can see the edges of torchlight, encroaching just like the spider.
  
  You duck into the room past the closet, close the door, run as far into the room as possible, and hide under the furthest bed from the entrance. The pitch-black darkness seems to settle around you, but your heart is still pounding. You take a moment to try and make out your surroundings. There are beds, which you noticed upon running it, but also chests and pouches. Snatching one of the pouches off the nightstand next to you, you pour out the contents—drugs, a plentiful variety of them. Not all of your disciples were as loyal as you thought. Good thing it no longer matters, although it would be nicer if they had smuggled in some spell scrolls or something.
  
  You begin hearing a faint sound. A thumping of some sort, getting closer by the minute. Eventually, each thump is accompanied by voices, shouting agitatedly; the intruders are smashing doors open, searching for you. You lie in terror, hoping that they don't find you.
  
  The sounds get even closer, and they become more distinct. You can hear how the searchers rummage through the closets, throwing down the robes and hoods, and you can hear how they smash open the personal belongings chests and toss aside their contents, as if you'd fit in a box that your disciples have struggled to smuggle cats in.
  
  Suddenly, as you're thinking about the various beats that your disciples have tried to bring to their lodgings under the pretense of "pets", the door slams open with a violence that nearly shatters the tough wood. You manage to avoid making any loud and panicked motions, but you feel desperation soaking through you. The form of an Inquisition paladin is revealed at the door. A barrel-chested, no, barrel-bodied man. Every limb is more muscular than all the followers you've ever had combined. It makes you wonder what they're fed, and how much magic is involved. As the muscle-bound forms spread out across the chamber, you realize that there's no way you go undetected. The boots clunk past you, encircling your the beds. The sniffs and snorts of the paladins become apparent to you; even their breathing, a steady, unwavering, and somehow righteous sound, becomes noticeable. You need a last resort.
  
  As you watch the paladins check under the first bed, down the row, you panic. No ideas are in your mind, but something is in your hands. You stuff your mouth, nose, and ears (just in case), with all the powdery substance that's left in the pouch you ransacked earlier. The next bed is checked; your mouth goes dry. The next bed is checked, leaving only three more before your prison, where your eyes begin to move. Up, then down, then left, then right. Two beds left, and your heart begins beating like a drum. A very anxious. Kind of lacking rhythm drum. One bed. One liter of drool seems to fill your mouth, while your throat remains dry. Dry. Peek-a-boo! A paladin has found you.
  
  Your feet are grabbed roughly, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as your stomach. Is your heart beating? A little too fast. Up, down, left, right, your eyes are having lots of fun! You're shaken for a moment, and you watch little snow. Snowflakes fall. And you can hear sounds in the distance.
  
  "This is definitely him! Heretic Urga, you are under arrest for your crimes against the Church!" Someone shouts. You feel an impact in your gut. Whoopsie! A little bit of vomit erupts from your mouth and coats the shoes of the paladin and a lot, woah, a lot of the floor.
  
  Someone else says, "Eww, what the fuck is wrong with him?"
  
  The first responds, "Judging by his eyes, his pulse—"
  
  You giggle, "No touchie my throatie!"
  
  "—and his irrational behavior, he is suffering from, hmm, this is tough, but I would hazard a guess at a distinct lack of divine presence. Move these beds out of the way, we must allow the Greats to reenter his body. As you can see, this vomit is his own organism finally fighting back at his lack of spirituality."
  
  The beds are moved. Quick, quick, quick! Efficiently they move. The paladins. The beds. You are dropped on the ground, an unceremonious ceremony.
  
  "Get the clampers," one paladin orders.
  
  "Right here boss," another paladin responds. He hands the boss some funnies. Funny clampies. Funmps. Fun-mps. Your mouth struggles with the syllable, even though you're not. Talking. Your lips are dry but the vomit is wet! How? How did this come to be!
  
  "Owwwww," you moan, as the paladins pull your jawbone off with a grisly crunch. Some vomit spurts out of your mouth as a goodbye. Goodbye jawbone! The clampers bite!
  
  You just now hear the prayer of one paladin. He holds the holy symbols of several Greats. Axe! Paper! Glass vial! Bread! Yummy yummy bread! You're surprised that you can remember these symbols as belonging to the Greats. They should be happy, you are quite well acquainted with them already. Already!
  
  One by one, like little paladins, cute little paladins, the holy symbols march toward your wide open mouth. Mouth so wide there's no jaw! That's as wide as it can get. In goes: axe! The. Paper, in a ball, follow. Vial shatters on his way done, your throat goes tingly, tinglier than your jaw. Yay, yummy bread! Yummy bread tingles too though. Maybe tingle is good. Good! Great! Tingles, all over your. Your body. Wait, this is bad! The tingles turn bad. Tingle turns to ouch. Your whole body hurts. Hurts so bad. So bad. Bad!
  
  You scream, well, gurgle. Vocal cords tear, glass shards yanking them apart like malicious little guitar picks. You scream again. The agony is great. Great! Not good, but great! Big. You scream again, shrill and loud.
  
  "Once he screams thirteen times, that means that each of the thirteen Greats has reentered him with their presence," a paladin explains to two curious young comrades.
  
  "Why give him only four ingredients?"
  
  "Ah, good question! Those are the four pieces of the Greater Greats, who are so busy that they must be summoned one by one. Once they come, however, the other Greats follow, moths to a flame!"
  
  The young paladins' smiles beam through their helmets. Learning is wonderful!
  
  You learn that pain is not wonderful. Did you know that? Already? You scream a couple more times, each one more fervent, more agonized than the last. Your voice is hoarse, not horse. Gone. You rasp out another scream. And another. Things hurt now. Did they hurt before? Already? Ouch. You try to remember just five minutes ago. Ten minutes ago. Hundred minutes ago. Snow falling from your ears. Your nose! Nose. Mouth! Gone. You laugh, which transitions into a raspy, gurgling scream as the pain catches up with you again. EXCRUCIATING.
  
  "The procedure is complete," the main paladin announces triumphantly. Triumph! Wait, not yours.
  
  A trident-like implement, just with thirteen points, is thrust into your torso. Hehe, thrust. YOUR TIME HAS COME.
  
  You groan. The pain arrives at your brain, on a tiny, tiny train. Was it there already? You spasm, your body trying to regain control. Futile. FUTILE.
  
  Your vision is gone. Blackness! Yay, nap time!