This post is part of a series. See the previous part here.
Part 5 – A Divine Purpose
The crusader knight Roland Cyrillian has been inexplicably transported to a nightmarish world, filled with evil creations of the Devil.
Yet, having seemingly defeated Satan, having banished his followers, the crusader remains. The salvation he seeks has eluded him yet. And for what reason? Cyrillian is uncertain.
It is this moment that the crusader feels his soul begin to soar. As if his entire body is being lifted towards the heavens. Was this…was this it? His final ascension? Would he be with God, at long long last?
He feels his entire body glide up, high above the ruined land. As far as the eye can see, the earth is dried, dead, and lifeless. Strange metal objects dot the landscape – tall, rusting and metallic objects. These twisted visions of a world similar, yet unlike anything Cyrillian had ever known, was almost certainly the work of the devil.
Yet, with Satan already defeated, the crusader was left to wonder what would become of this reality. And what would become of him.
“Cyrillian.”
The crusader feels a presence. Hears the booming voice. A blinding light envelops him, until –
“G-God?”
“Cyrillian,” the holy creator repeats.
The crusader is speechless. A single tear falls across his cheek.
“You have done well, my boy,” the divine says. “But your work is unfinished.”
“M- my lord-” The crusader stammers.
“The truth is, lad,” God says, “is that your work has only just begun.”
“What… what is this place?”
“This world… it is the future – one of many – of Humanity.“
“What happened?”
God is quiet for a moment. He runs a thumb along his beard.
“You destroyed yourselves, Cyrillian.”
“But- Satan-“
“Satan left this place a long time ago. As I did. The devil wishes he could create such destruction here, as the human race has wrought upon itself.”
Floating high above the earth, the crusader does not respond.
“It happened hundreds of years ago. You created weapons the likes which you could not imagine. Then… this. The world has now fallen to ruin.”
“Where are we?” the crusader asks. “When are we?”
There is a blinding flash of light. In an instant, the crusader is returned to the earth. Uneasily, he stands on his own two feet. He looks at his hands. Shaky. Unnatural.
“You were born in the year you call 1070AD.” God’s voice is clear as day. The crusader hears the Lord as if he were standing right in front of him.
“What you are seeing is the world in the year 2287AD.”
“A thousand…years…?”
“Yes. There is a reason I’ve brought you here, Cyrillian. You and your people have proven your faith to me in your own world. You have done so countless times. But what about here? In this place? The people here have abandoned my ways. Forgotten me. The world ended over two-hundred years ago. And yet… look at this place. It remains destitute. In ruins. The people live in shanties, they eke out meager existences. They strike each other down without reason.
“What would you have me do?”
“You must change that. I wish to heal this land – but I need followers to do it. My strength here, Cyrillian… it has faded. I may be omnipotent, but here? There is no such thing as God. They created technologies the likes you cannot imagine. They replaced me with their own mechanical idols.”
“They are sinners. Grave sinners. Give me the word, and I will destroy them, Lord.”
“No. I want you to change it. Together, Cyrillian, we will rid this world of the evils that plague it.”
With a heavenly chime, God vanishes. Cyrillian stands alone atop the church tower, looking out into a desolate horizon.
The Red Roke.
With a new purpose imparted upon him, the crusader returns to where his journey began. The Red Roke shrine. Whatever this place represented, Cyrillian had already decided to tear it down. With his bear hands, if necessary.
He would convert this place into a seat of heavenly grace.
With determination in his heart, the crusader gets to work…
An indeterminate amount of time later.
The Red Roke shrine is gone. In it’s place, the first of many shrines to the true Lord.
Upon its completion, as if by magic, trees and foliage begin to sprout about the holy ground. The land in the immediate vicinity has been consecrete. God’s light has returned to at least one place in his desolate world.
The crusader has worked for days. Perhaps weeks. Months. Years.
But the graves of lost souls remained. Was the crusader to become naught but a dealer of death in the Lord’s name? Could no creature in this waste land be reasoned with? Was the cost of carrying out the Lord’s will to be a toll in countless lives?
It has been months since the Crusader arrived in this “Waste Land”. His encounters with other signs of life have been few to one. Unfortunately, as Cyrillian would discover, one such encounter would cost him more than most. One such encounter resulted in the source of these graves.
A few weeks prior to the completion of Cyrillian’s first church, he decides to venture beyond the Red Roke shrine. To search for supplies.
Eventually, however, Cyrillian encounters none other than Preston of Garvey. The knight in strange armour who, despite his strange appearance, seemed to have good intentions.
“There you are,” he says, before the crusader can utter a word. “I’ve got word a settlement that needs our (your) help. I’ll mark it on your map. It sounds like raiders are giving them trouble.”
“What?” the crusader replies. “Help? Who requires help?”
“They are good people,” Garvey replies.
The crusader understands. “I shall render them assistance.”
“Thanks, man,” Garvey says.
“Indeed,” Cyrillian responds. “I am a man.”
The journey to this supposed new settlement is a short one. Despite the prospect of meeting more holy pilgrims, his unease has done nothing but grow. For if this world was real, if it was not an incarnation of the Devil’s mind, then what purpose did he have? No matter what he would do, eventually, it would fade away. God’s light would fade. Goodness would ebb away into the night. After a year. Perhaps ten. Or a hundred. Or even, as he was now seeing, over a thousand.
If God could be forgotten once, what would stop Him from doing so again? Perhaps the crusader’s work mattered none – for in another thousand years, both he and his handiwork would be reduced to dust.
The crusader soon arrives at this ‘settlement’. It was nothing more than a shack surrounded by a few sparse crops. Was this what constituted a ‘settlement’ in this age, this age of doom, satanic incantations, and hellish visions?
This ‘settlement’ has a single resident. A man carrying some kind of hand-held siege device.
The man is being troubled by a group of inhuman thugs. A group of miscreants who are no stranger to cruelty and malice. In the name of the Lord, Cyrillian promises to mete them out justice.
These thugs, these heretics, were holed up in a castle known as the ‘Corvega Plant’.
The crusader can see his destination in the distance. The castle’s battlements stretch high into the sky. On foot, it was a distance the crusader could cover in not much time at all.
What happens next? Find out in Part 6!
It's Only A Model 
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