Children of the Patriarchy - Chapter Zero

Chapter Zero: Long Live the Patriarch

“The Patriarch is dead! Long live the Patriarch!”

The life had barely abandoned the Patriarch’s mortal coil, sprawled across the ancient ceremonial table, when the unnerving chorus began. Around the table stood the senior priests of the Patriarch’s church. They all had pitch-black eyes that matched the corpse of the Patriarch near them. They stood in a semi-circle cloaked in black robes, with one of their number tied to a large stone slab opposite the PaAs an AI text-based model, I'm unable to directly add images. However, I can help you describe an image or suggest alternative ways to enhance your writing.
If you would like me to describe an image, please provide a detailed description and I will create a vivid representation using words. If you need assistance with other aspects of your writing, feel free to ask!triarch’s cooling body. Wisps of incense and smoke filtered through the stone room with the ceremonial table that was carved on one giant piece of marble that had been intricately crafted well over a millennium ago.

As the Patriarch’s corpse began its uncanny metamorphosis, the lifeless eyes that once devoured the light around them gradually lightened, the once jet-black hair now a shifting gradient of auburn and blond. The chosen successor, the high priest, bore similar features, though his eyes were a deep blue, and his hair a striking blend of brown and dark red. He struggled against his bonds but made no attempt to flee.

His wife and four sons stood outside the ring of senior priests. The eldest son, Paul, was a young man who stood in robes similar to the other priests, but gray instead of black. The high priest’s wife held the youngest son, Leo, who cooed peacefully, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation.

“Have you anything to decree before he returns?” one of the priests asked.

“No, other than ‘long live the Patriarch!’” the high priest returned confidently. “Son,” he spoke to the oldest boy, “use your influence wisely, and listen to the other senior priests,” he said, gesturing to the other robed figures. “Honey, I love you, and—”

As the high priest spoke, the corpse’s eyes ceased their insatiable consumption of light, returning to their original dark-green hue. An unforeseen agony surged through the high priest; his face contorted in a silent scream.

“I can feel it! I can feel it behind my eyes.” He squirmed and twisted in the bonds of the rope. “It’s like pressure. It hurts.” The pain rapidly escalated as the process of transfiguration began in earnest. He started to thrash involuntarily. “It hurts a LOT!” He screamed. His blue eyes turned to gray, then black, then blacker than black. The room’s orange-red torch light flickered and danced, casting intricate and ever-shifting streaks of gloom and shadow that drifted through the light layer of smoke and mist from burning ceremonial incense. Not a single one of the priests moved as the screams got louder. For most of them, this was something they had seen dozens or even hundreds of times.

But his family had not, so his pained screams made them flinch and cringe. Even the oldest son in the gray robe cowered at the sight of his father’s pseudo-death. The high priest thrashed and strained against the ropes, but they did not budge. His screams became more insistent and then suddenly quieted.

“Well then,” the voice coming from the former high priest’s body had changed to a much deeper bass tone. “How long was I out?”

“Scarcely two minutes, sir. They seem to be getting faster.”

“Indeed, I seem to get better at finding my way back each time. Well, what are you waiting for? Cut me loose!” The priests turned to the oldest son, who stood holding a long, curved ceremonial knife with gemstones set into the wide, silver hilt and cross guard.

The knife was still coated with the last host’s lifeblood. The new high priest’s hands that held it trembled at the sight of his freshly murdered father, splattering small drops of blood to the floor around the child.

“Oh! Sorry. I’m new at this.” He laughed soft and low, trying to conceal his fear. The Patriarch gave him a severe look. The new high priest shuffled across the floor deferentially through the ring of priests, stopping to kneel at the Patriarch’s feet.

The rope that tied the emperor to the stone slab was inlaid with three spiraling strands of gold braided into it. The metal gave no real resistance to the knife, so it cut through easily. But what blood remained on the knife was sucked away into the rope, leaving a thin crimson stain. Finally released, the ancient emperor free and he slid off the slab.

The Patriarch straightened and quickly examined his new body before giving a brief glance to his cooling corpse. “Well then, congratulations on inheriting your father’s title, um . . .” The Patriarch paused, uncertain of his name, and shot a quick look at one of the senior priests. The priest leaned in and whispered to him. “Congratulations then, Paul, I know this isn’t exactly what you would have expected. But sometimes, exceptions must be made. I am going to have to ask a lot of you; our empire stands at a critical time, and I demand you give your best effort. I know the other priests will get you up to speed with the command structure of the military and intelligence ministries at large. Let’s get you a new set of robes.”

The Patriarch turned away immediately to resume basking in the warmth of the senior priests praising his revitalization. Paul and his family were led away quickly. Paul’s siblings were surprisingly quiet as they were removed, but Paul could hear his mother trying to cover soft, shallow sobs. In the dark of the tower, his fear gripped him so hard that the ceremonial knife he carried shook from his vice grip.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. It was already late, and soon Paul was lying in his bed in his childhood home for the last time. He would have to live in the high priest’s manor from now on. It had been his uncle’s house, and Paul always liked him very much. He had always been nice to Paul in a way most adults weren’t. But following his alleged suicide and subsequent severe punishment at the hands of the church he had just been in control of, Paul’s father inherited the title, if only for a few days.

Paul pondered this as he lay in bed having great trouble getting to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the black eyes of the father that didn’t remember his name.