"The Corruption of Knowledge"
Chapter 10: The Light That Devours
Author: Frenames
By some stroke of luck… the bullet struck the priest's head.
The sound of the gunshot did not just echo through the church—it seemed to mark a boundary, a line between life and death that momentarily halted time.
If not… I would have been the next to be impaled—laid out like an animal for slaughter, defenseless, without mercy.
In Fray's mind, his gun was still aimed at the priest even seconds after the shot. As if his body had yet to accept that it was over—or perhaps, deep in his consciousness, he knew it was never truly over.
But slowly, his body weakened.
His fingers began to tremble—not a simple tremble, but as if control itself was slipping away, as if some force were tugging at every tendon, loosening his grip on reality.
Until—
His hold gave way on its own.
The gun hit the floor with a heavy clang.
A sound that seemed far too loud for the silence—like a bell heralding not only the end of a battle… but something deeper, something inexplicable.
At the same time, Fray's body surrendered.
He collapsed—not only from exhaustion but as if a structure long forced to stand had finally given way inside.
The only reason he had been standing before was to execute that final action—the shooting—like a last command given by his will to a body ready to surrender.
"I didn't expect the hooded man to fall so quickly… I thought I was safe, but everything went wrong…"
He whispered, each word struggling to escape, as if the air in his lungs had turned to heavy iron.
Each breath seemed to chase his own soul.
After a few moments, he recovered a fragment of strength.
Not full strength—just pieces, drawn from the remaining remnants of his being.
He slowly lifted himself.
Pain coursed through his body—not only in his flesh, but in his bones, in his blood, in the very core of his mind.
His knees shook violently.
It was not mere weakness—every bone seemed to have its own desire to give in, as if gravity had grown heavier only for him.
Like fragile bamboo in the eye of a storm.
He managed to stand.
But each second was a battle.
A silent, desperate fight against collapse.
Fray knelt to retrieve the gun.
But before he could even grasp it—
He fell again.
It was not an accident.
As if his own body were mocking him.
As if it had a mind of its own, refusing to obey him.
But he forced himself.
Teeth clenched, muscles aching—he pushed upward.
Resolute against weakness.
He looked at the corpses.
The priest.
And the hooded man.
Silent.
Too silent.
He decided to reload.
In this world, silence cannot be trusted.
Because silence… is often a deception before the next nightmare.
"If there is life, there is hope… and if there is hope, there is danger…"
He whispered.
The words were not just a reminder—but a warning to himself.
He retrieved the bullets from his pocket.
His fingers trembled as he inserted them one by one into the gun.
Every movement was slow.
Not from caution—but from strain.
As if even the simplest action had become an intricate ordeal.
Then—
He looked at the priest again.
He needed certainty.
Faith was not enough.
Hope was not enough.
He needed to see it.
With his own eyes.
He walked slowly.
Each step was heavy—like chains were attached to his feet.
The church floor was littered with shattered pews and corpses.
Bodies lying silently—
But in his mind, each one had its own story, its own scream, its own final moment.
Several times, he nearly tripped.
The corpses seemed to block his path—not just physically, but as if unwilling to let him approach.
As if something wanted to pull him down with them.
After a few moments—
He reached them.
He raised his gun.
He prodded the priest's corpse.
Then kicked.
One.
Two.
Three.
But there was no movement.
The monstrous form remained frozen—like a dead tree that would never grow again.
Only then did he breathe freely.
A breath he had held for too long.
"Truly dead… even the hooded man. No one can survive with a hole in the chest."
He was certain.
Too clear were the memories—how the priest's hand pierced the hooded man's back.
The blood.
The depth of the wound.
With that damage—
No one could survive.
"I need to leave the church and get help."
A decision.
A small light of reason amid the darkness.
But before he could turn—
Something changed.
The two corpses began to flicker.
This was no ordinary light.
The priest glowed with a cold, bluish light—like light without life, without warmth.
The hooded man emitted a deep red light—thick, heavy, like blood in motion.
Like water and fire, simultaneously reborn.
Fray's face froze.
His heart suddenly raced.
He could not comprehend what was happening—
But he felt it clearly.
Danger.
Pure danger.
His heartbeat was like war drums in his chest.
Loud.
Fast.
Unstoppable.
Moments later—
Two orb-like lights emerged from their bodies.
One blue.
One red.
Both flickering—
Not ordinary light.
But as if alive.
They floated in the air.
Silent.
Yet present.
Approximately a meter from the corpses.
Their glow slowly illuminated the dark church.
Like stars in a moonless sky.
But instead of comfort—
It caused dread.
Fray's eyes instinctively squinted.
He could not stare directly.
Something was wrong.
Something that should not be seen.
And then—
He stiffened.
A thin line emerged from the two spheres.
Slowly connecting.
Like a thread.
Like a rope.
Like a root.
Like something that should not exist in this world.
The instant it connected—
It moved.
Propelled itself toward him.
"Fuck—!"
Fray cursed as he tried to evade.
But—
It was too late.
It struck his body.
And immediately—
They became one.
The light exploded across his vision.
He could not tell where he was.
He could not tell if he was alive.
He braced himself for death—like a soldier facing the final moment.
But a few seconds passed.
Nothing.
No effect.
He slowly opened his eyes.
A breath of relief escaped his lips.
He thought—
It was over.
But the silence did not last.
Suddenly—
Something flowed into his mind.
Not water.
Not air.
But—
Knowledge.
A flood.
An endless stream.
Like an entire ocean poured into a small vessel.
Relentless.
Ceaseless.
Merciless.
So much.
Too much.
He felt—
His head would burst.
He clutched his head.
Tightly.
As if trying to prevent himself from shattering from within.
He sank to his knees.
The pain was not only physical—
It was mental.
It was spiritual.
It was as if his very being was being crushed.
His vision blurred.
The world spun.
His body trembled—
Not from cold.
But from overload.
Then—
He gave in.
Completely.
Collapsed to the floor.
Lying face down on the cold stone.
Gradually—
Darkness consumed his consciousness.
Not abruptly.
But slowly.
As if something were pulling him down.
Inevitable.
Unstoppable.
His eyelids weakened.
Until they finally closed.
And in the last moment—
Nothing remained…
But silence.
To be continue