The Server's Chronicle: A Fantasy Of Faith

Louis's fingers danced over the organ keys, weaving a melody that seemed to carry the weight of his thoughts. The hymn he had begun moments ago had evolved into something more reflective, a tune that mirrored the storm within him.

"Well, I think my work here is done for now," Jesus said casually, leaning against the side of the organ as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His white suit practically glowed under the faint light of the church.

"Wait, what? You're just leaving me with all this? No manual? No guide? Nothing?" Louis's voice carried a mix of disbelief and frustration, though his hands never faltered on the keys.

Jesus smirked, tapping the organ's frame lightly. "You don't need a manual, Louis. You've got something better—your heart and faith. Besides, you're doing fine already."

Louis frowned, his left hand hesitating on a chord before he quickly corrected it. "That's just... incredibly vague. What if I mess this up?"

Jesus chuckled, standing upright. "Oh, you will. Everyone does. That's how you grow. Even I tripped over carpenter tools back in the day. You just get back up, dust yourself off, and keep going."

Louis groaned softly, his forehead brushing the organ's polished wood for a moment. "Great. I'm doomed."

With a playful flick to Louis's forehead, Jesus grinned. "Relax, kid. You've got potential—more than you realize. And by the way, that tune you're playing? It's divine. Keep it up."

Louis blinked, momentarily distracted by the unexpected compliment, as his hands transitioned into a brighter, more hopeful melody. "Uh... thanks?"

Jesus stretched, cracking his knuckles like someone wrapping up a long shift. "Time to head out. Got a lot to handle—omnipresence and all that jazz."

Louis's fingers slipped again, hitting a wrong note that echoed awkwardly through the church. "Wait! You're seriously just leaving like this?"

"Yep." Jesus winked, stepping back slightly. "But don't worry. I'm always around... kinda."

"Kinda?"

"Well, I'm omnipresent, but I've got my hands full. Still, if you need me, just pray. I hear everything."

As Louis opened his mouth to retort, the golden glow around Jesus grew brighter. The shimmering cracks in the air reappeared, spreading outward like the petals of a luminous flower. He stepped halfway into the rift, pausing to look back at Louis.

"Oh, and one more thing—smile more. It suits you."

With that, Jesus disappeared into the rift, which was sealed shut with a soft hum.

The organ music swelled again, filling the church as if time had never stopped. Parishioners murmured, flipping through hymnals, oblivious to what had just occurred.

"Louis!" his grandfather's voice called sharply from the pews. "Play properly! What was that mistake just now?"

Louis shook his head, exhaling as his fingers resumed their practiced path over the keys. He adjusted his posture, correcting the melody with a calm, steady pace.

As the music flowed once more, a small smile crept onto his face. The world around him was ordinary again—but for Louis, nothing about it felt the same anymore.

...

Far from the serene church where Louis played the organ, a gathering of shadows convened in a cavernous hall buried deep within the earth. The space was vast, its boundaries lost in oppressive darkness. The air was heavy, thick with an unnatural stillness that seemed to swallow sound.

A long obsidian table stretched endlessly through the center of the chamber, its polished surface reflecting a faint, pulsating red light that emanated from the walls, like the beating of a monstrous heart. Around the table sat cloaked figures, their forms shrouded in shifting shadows that defied the faint glow. Their faces were obscured, but their eyes burned with unnatural luminescence—red, yellow, green, and piercing violet.

The silence was suffocating until a low, rasping voice finally broke it.

"He was here."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Murmurs erupted around the table, a discordant symphony of whispers, growls, and guttural tones.

"You're certain?" asked another voice, cold and calculating, like the scrape of steel on stone.

"Beyond doubt," the rasping figure confirmed, their shadowy form shifting as though coiling inward. "The energy was unmistakable. It rippled through the threads of this plane, disrupting our work—if only briefly."

A third voice, softer but dripping with venom, chimed in from the far end of the table. "Why now? He hasn't set foot in this realm for centuries. What could have drawn him back?"

"It matters not why," growled a hulking figure, their glowing yellow eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. "It matters what he intends to do. His presence alone is a threat. He could unravel everything we've built."

The figure at the head of the table, whose eyes glowed an eerie, almost blinding violet, raised a hand. The room fell silent instantly, the weight of authority in the gesture commanding unquestioning obedience.

"If he has indeed returned," the leader began, their voice deep and resonant, echoing through the chamber like a tolling bell, "then it is not without purpose. He does not act without reason, and his timing is always precise. This is no coincidence."

The murmurs resumed, but now they were subdued, laden with unease.

"How do we counter him?" asked a voice from the shadows, shrill and anxious.

"We watch," the leader said, their tone icy. "We listen. The mortals are fragile and easily manipulated. Somewhere, someone will have seen or heard something. We must find the threads of his interference."

Another figure leaned forward, their voice oily and insidious. "There was a mortal—a boy—in the church. The threads point to him. Should he be... dealt with?"

A tense pause followed.

"The boy is an anomaly," the leader said finally. "His connection is unclear. He may be a pawn in this, or he may be irrelevant. Either way, he bears watching. If he proves to be a threat... he will be eliminated."

A figure with crimson eyes laughed harshly. "Mortals are weak. They always fall, one way or another."

The leader's gaze shifted, their luminous white eyes narrowing. "Do not underestimate them. They have often been the key to his plans. Dismiss them at your peril."

The murmurs grew louder again, a chorus of concern and disdain until the leader rose from their seat. Their silhouette towered over the others, the shadows around them writhing like living things.

"His presence changes the game," the leader said, their voice cutting through the din. "But we will not act rashly. Patience has always been our greatest weapon. He will overstep. He always does. And when that moment comes..."

The red light in the chamber dimmed, pulsating slower, deeper as if echoing the leader's final words.

"...we will be ready."

One by one, the figures dissolved into the darkness, their forms melting into the shadows until only the leader remained. They stood motionless, their glowing eyes fixed on the space where the others had sat moments ago.

"Let the game begin," the leader whispered, before vanishing into the void.