13 Testing?

"I've inspected your psychological analyses, personality descriptions, backgrounds, et cetera prior to your arrival," said the strange man closing the door. "I apologize if you view it to be a breach of your privacy, but I must know what I am working with. Those acquired particulars allowed me to make a few connections, and I have found there just so happens to be a few swords which might suit you two."

On what basis?

"Now, whether or not they truly do is an entirely different matter, but I implore you to not worry if that is the case - my predictions are often flawed, as these works of art tend to be fickle and uncompromising. If the forecast swords do not adhere to our expectations, we shall begin testing at random."

He must be quite important to get that information. Presumably, he had access to the same files as Leonidas did - and while I'm not sure if this is a euphemism for the fact that our 'privacy' isn't valued or that we're not as important as I thought, it's something to keep in mind.

It doesn't matter in the end, though. The psychological analysis can't have much information in the first place, and, from what Leonidas read out to us, everything else is minor or unimportant. What is he to do with the fact that my father taught me Latin? Nothing. The fact that such a statement was a significant detail in my 'biography' shows their lack of meaningful details.

Or I'm getting tricked by redactions and personal assumptions. To be honest, it's wholly plausible.

I tend to go off into unrelated tirades that warp my reasonings, in case one hadn't noticed.

"Oh, forgive me - I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Valper Galilei, and it is a pleasure to meet you both. I suppose this is not the first time I've encountered Lord Leonidas, though."

"Don't call me Lord," Leondas scoffed, halting his search for a place to sit. "That title is for the Angels above. It's distasteful to use it for an Exorcist." 'Even if I'm related to a Cardinal and rank highly' were the unsaid words, but I'm sure everyone understood.

His loyalty is impressive. This Valper's, on the other hand, is not.

Anyone with sense would never refer to another mere man as 'Lord'; as said, that title is for the Heavenly Host and God Himself. It's telling that even those senseless nurses from yesterday knew to say something respectful, like 'Mister', while not going too far with a 'Lord'.

"Ah. I see. I'll be sure to keep it in mind," Valper responded, giving a thoughtful nod. He turned to us afterwards. "However - and I can't help but notice - my most important guests have been quite reserved. It is understandable; I had an even more amazed reaction upon seeing this treasury of ours for the first time, and your eyes can't help but wander."

He pushed his circular glasses up.

"It must be cut short, though a shame it is, as I must make sure you have no additional questions before beginning the testing. Do you?" Clasping his hands behind his back, he waited for a response. He even began fiddling with his sad excuse of a mustache.

Hm. Do I have any questions?

Checking over what had been said so far, I did have a question. Valper claimed to have read our 'biographies', psych evaluations, et cetera, et cetera, so what exactly does all of that have to do with our Holy Sword Affinity?

Actually, a better question would be, what does resonating mean, in general?

While Priska - being strangely quiet thus far, even though she was probably one of those raucous gypsies - resumed looking around without having any questions, I asked my own: "What does resonating entail? What sort of factors do they 'resonate' with?"

"Your question is understandable, if a pity, as, even though referring to it as 'resonance' is the best way to put it, the term does cause undue confusion. 'Holy Sword Affinity' is equally guilty in this respect. To answer, resonating is simply the process of finding similarities between the Holy Sword and the tester, whether in personality, history, or ability. To aid your comprehension with an example, most wielders of Excalibur Destruction," he gestured to the strange combination of a sword and an axe hanging on the wall, "seek strength or wish to destroy things, people, or simply enjoy destruction in general - hence the name. Understand?"

"Yes." I understand that I have a chance to wield Excalibur Destruction, what with my commonsense desire to eradicate unholy beings. I'd say that counts as destruction, though not as defacing or vandalization, since the target isn't anything of particular worth.

Honestly, it's pitiful that not all of the swords have been taken by now. They should all resonate with men of the cloth willing to enact God's will, so it implies that there aren't many of those kinds of men around here.

"Et toi, my lady? Perhaps anything amiss you've noticed that I should clear up beforehand?" he said, focusing his attention on Priska.

She stopped looking at the swords and turned to Valper. "No. And never speak that godforsaken language ever again, otherwise any sort of attempted interaction shall be met with justified retaliation in the form of self-defense and defending the dignity of humanity."

For once, I can agree with her. The language-that-shall-not-be-named and the people who speak it are horrific affronts against the 'dignity of humanity', as she aptly phrased it.

If I could say anything positive about my place of origin, it would be that I was as far away from the modern-day iteration of Sodom and Gomorrah as I could be while staying on the same continent.

Now, I've traded that sense of safety for the chance to be a true Holy Man - and I will triumph over the associated apprehension for my goal.

Anyway, she's still a harlot.

Hm. It appears I've fully recovered from any negative mental effects caused by the recent chaos. My thoughts are running rampant now.

If Valper was offended, he didn't show it, moving on unabashedly. "So! Now comes the frustrating portion of today's events. I'm sure it'll be a strange, perhaps even maddening, experience for you both, but it shall ultimately be a beneficial one. Additionally - and this quite possibly the most important thing I'll say throughout our short-lived interaction - keep in mind that these are the Lord's gifts and should thus be treated with the utmost respect, reverence, and care." Obviously. Why is this rat stating the obvious as if I'm stupid? "Now, to begin."

Moving with slow, measured steps, he gingerly picked up Excalibur Destruction, nursing it as if it was a newborn child, and brought it over to us.

"I cannot be sure that you are capable of safeguarding the sword during its adverse reactions to your touch, so we must put it in a holding device before undergoing the test. Leonidas, if you could escort the wheeled cart to our vicinity?"

"Sure."

Instead of using his weird lightning-quick speed, he walked over to a strange black contraption near the door that we hadn't noticed. Its main frame was a waist-high black box with wheels on the bottom, but the top was the important part. It had clamps and other such contraptions, obviously meant to hold the sword in place.

…Is that really necessary?

If these swords are meant to cleave through bone, rock, and demonic beings, why is he acting as if it'll shatter if it ever gets touched? I sincerely doubt that these swords are so fragile, no matter how much he pretends otherwise. I'd even call it a genuine act of disrespect towards the Lord for treating His almighty weapons like brittle glass, were it not for the fact that he is showing respect, even if it's in a distasteful way.

Perhaps it's a personality trait of his. He seems to have an obsession with them, if that strange, almost nasty - from a certain perspective - smile of his while handling the sword is any indication.

Hm. I take back my initial impressions of him as 'fine, if very long-winded and overly dramatic' - he's a freak. Artifacts of Heaven should not be gazed upon in such a harrowing, slimy manner.

I'll be sure to remember this.

Tentatively placing the artifact in the holding place and strapping it tightly, he sighed and muttered something about how he disliked having to strap down the swords or something, even going as far as to mention sacrilege.

I bet the next thing he'll say is that getting blood on these swords is savage and heretical. Such a self-righteous, unrealistic attitude is sickening - these are swords, creations meant to be roughly handled. How would one battle while being careful with their weapon?

Unless you count verbal fights in this scenario, you can't.

Valper straightened up, stopped caressing the sword, and was back to business. "Upon inspection, I would think Ioann possesses a more probable chance to resonate with Excalibur Destruction. Not to offend," he cleared up, despite no one really caring, "but those are my firsthand musings. Come here and hold the handle."

…Why is he looking at me and the sword like that?

What a strange man. Well, not merely strange; he's disgusting and vile, going by that face.

His expression before was merely disturbing, unprofessional, and unfitting for the circumstances, but this time it was all of those three turned up to the maximum and seasoned with even more sinful adjectives.

That evil eye upon his face was noticeably filled with slanderous accusations and haughtiness, as if daring me to even try touching the sword.

How revolting. I know at least thirty verses of scripture condemning him to an eternity in Hell.

This is the straw to break the camel's back.

What is this heretic's thought process? That I'm unsuited to wield the sword? That the sword should stay with him, rather than me? Is he envious of my opportunity to sample them?

It's funny to think about. This piteous boy, for whatever reason, doesn't want me to have the sword. ME. As if he's a better keeper.

I needn't pay any mind to a creature like him. Such people end up trapped in a grave of their own creation and construct the coffin as well. They only become aware of their foolishness after pounding in the last nail, but by then, it's too late. The soil is already coming down upon those who are powerless to stop it, the shoveler of that earth only doing his job.

Their obviously self-destructive tendencies and mistakes are only viewed as such when the maggots and worms are burrowing within the ripe flesh they've found.

In layman's terms, he's doomed himself and will continue to do so. All I need to do is become the shoveler in that situation.

It should be easy enough. I have plenty of motivation to do so, what with the amount of people I already plan to bury.

With a newfound desire to spite this man, Valper Galilei, whose name I will make sure to remember, I grabbed the hilt with only thoughts of fire and brimstone raining upon the enemies of God.

And instantly, the sword sent a pulse of energy toward my hand, repelling it and leaving an intense sting.

After having my hand blasted away, I questioned where it went wrong. 'It', not 'I' - it is the sword's mistake. The only traits I have are favorable ones; these weapons have no grounds to deny me of my ownership.

It appears that this sword is unworthy of me.

Very well. If that sword is content with a lesser master, who am I to deny it?

"A shame. Now, Ms. Priska, it is your turn."

He looked so despicably smug after my failure. It's as if he's waiting with bated breath for the girl's failure, even though there's no reason to anticipate it; we both know that no sword will favor her.

And I was right, her hand repelled with a pulse, though with noticeably less force - likely because of the difference of required power to achieve the same effect between us two - and he took the sword away.

"What a brutish, godforsaken, disgusting thing," she spat, caressing her hand. "I have been lied to. Tricked. Bamboozled. Hoodwinked, deluded, cheated, swindled, duped, fooled, misled. I showed the respect that you," she turned her gaze on Leonidas, communicating through her eyes rather than words her want of retribution, "told me to. Now I feel as if I am a dullard for listening to the advice of a simpleton."

Hm. I see why she kept quiet. She thought Leonidas was implying that being respectful to the swords would help her chances, and so she shut her mouth.

How witless.

It's like how little children only start behaving during Christmastime in the hopes that it's the only period of time judged by Saint Nicholas. Priska Freya Ilse von Ernst truly is a 'dullard', as she put it, no matter how much she may deny it.

I feel joyous to continually see such a whore slip up.

Leonidas found it amusing, however, at least when going by his smirk. "I never promised anything. I'm afraid that was your own desperation to be chosen at hand."

Exactly.

"Please be respectful to the swords," muttered Valper, bringing around a new one. "Calling them such names is extremely uncalled for."

True. They are the weapons of God, after all.

We went through a few more, and the one we were now on was a sword from Irish mythology, though I'm confused how this was God-given if it's not from Christianity.

Then again, Excalibur isn't necessarily a Christian thing either. Is this a common trait with the Holy Swords?

"This is Caladbolg, the sword of Fergus mac Róich in the Ulster Cycle of Irish mythology. Ioann shall test it first," he said, strapping it down.

(Picture.)

Naturally, I'm first to test it - which is something I don't care about this time around, for good reason. Such greasy, smudged pagan heresies would be unfit to even touch, let alone wield as a symbol of strength. I'd never forgive myself if this, of all swords, is what I resonate with.

Although, that happening would mean that it was dictated by God, meaning that He has a plan for me to use that sword. Most likely to great effectiveness against Hell's Hordes.

Maybe even while accompanying Heaven's Legions.

I went through the testing process, failing and getting zapped, though there was no feeling of disappointment this time around upon rejection. I doubt this sword can even be considered 'Holy' considering its origins.

Next up was Priska, and she walked up to it with a similar amount of excitement as when I tried - that is to say, none at all.

At least that Nazi race theory puts Irishmen in their rightful place. You can see it in her disdainful expression; she's also hoping to botch the test.

Only, rather than a hand-numbing show of sparks when she touched it, there was no adverse reaction. It even glowed a bright gold.

"...It's mine!" she cackled, trying to pull it out of its makeshift holding case. "Give me the sword, rat! I must test it out on him!"

Fitting that the only sword willing to choose her is a pagan one. The true will of the Lord would never favor such a harlot.

Also, where did that apprehension and scorn for the supposedly inferior Irish sword go? Are they thrown away after a single moment of carnal indulgence?

I suppose it's not surprising that her opinions changed immediately upon gaining power. Women are fickle creatures, after all.

There's a reason you don't see female ideological leaders.

Joan of Arc would be the closest thing, in my opinion, and it's no coincidence that her unwavering ideology and unbreakable will was because of her devotion for the Lord.

If only all women could be as agreeable as she.

"Not quite yet," he responded, a disappointed hunch in his posture - it appears he really does despise having the swords claimed. "I cannot grant you Caladbolg until my submitted paperwork pertaining to your newfound possession is affirmed. I'll be writing out that paperwork after your exit."

"You cannot strip me of my rightful property," was her intellectual response, still trying to pull the sword out.

Her 'rightful property' belongs to God and the Church, to begin with, and it's unbecoming to behave like a spoiled brat whining for a toy.

Actually, what do I expect at this point? She's already fallen short of every expectation I have of decent men, which is no surprise, as she's a woman.

"Regardless, do you wish to know why you resonated with Caladbolg? It is customary to at least learn that, and I do know the associated reasons; this is a sword I predicted would fit you."

"Not particularly," she responded.

He continued anyway: "An old poem chronicled the sword as passing down from Saturn - or Kronos, alternatively - to Julius Caesar, to Cú Chulainn - a demigod - to Fergus, to Medb - a queen - to the grandson of Fionn mac Cumhaill, and finally being wielded by Saint Patrick. In case you were unable to follow, its history revolves around those of noble birth and high prestige, which a long line of German nobility possesses. Congratulations, Ms. Priska. You are the first wielder of Caladbolg seen in centuries."

Hm. I know about some of this sword's lore - although not to the degree that he apparently does - and the most notable thing I remember is that Fergus mac Róich temporarily lost the sword during intercourse with a whorish succubus of a queen: Medb, who was, as mentioned, a future user of the sword.

And Medb was killed by a piece of cheese.

Now that I think about it, this sword truly is the perfect fit for the girl.

"And me?" I asked. "Surely we will continue?"

"You needn't worry, Ioann," he said. "There are still thirty or so swords to test out. Surely one fits you."

…

Well, to spoil the surprise, he was incorrect.

"Hmm… This is troublesome."

'Troublesome'? Don't play games with me. Your smirk tells me all I need to know, you sordid heathen.

He's finding amusement in the thought that I've fallen for his lies. But I know better.

It's impossible for this outcome to be naturally-induced.

This feeling of venom is unprecedented - and for good reason. I, a faithful clergyman fulfilling his biblically-ordained duties, was the one saddled with such a malignant act of fate?

Well, no. It wasn't fate. I know who it was - it was the man celebrating his triumph with a wicked grin. The one manipulating this 'test' behind the scenes, granting an apostate, sluttish girl a sword that cleft through three mountains in its past while leaving me with nothing.

He is the man to direct my hate towards. A saboteur, working for the Accuser within the Vatican's own treasury, degrading and polluting the precious relics of Christendom.

He has tampered with the Holy Swords. There is no other explanation as to how I have not been chosen.

"Well… that's a shame. You don't really need a Holy Sword in the first place, though; your Gear is more than enough," Leonidas said, resting against the wall. He's not wrong - I'm simply displeased regardless because of the implications behind such an outcome.

It means one of two things. The swords were either sabotaged or don't view me as worthy - and the truth is obvious. I've already gone over this at length, but allow me to repeat myself.

I am, quite literally, the most perfect wielder for any Holy Sword. The latter isn't even a reasonable option, so I'm left with the former: Someone sabotaged me.

Valper Galilei. I'll be sure to always remember that name.

My memory is not so easily cleansed of ill will, and my vengeance will be so mighty that a mere Holy Sword will never measure up.

He will die, painfully and horrifyingly.

Two Thessalonians, chapter one, verse six: '...indeed God considers it just to repay with affliction those who afflict you.'

The Bible expunges such blatant truth, and yet still people deny its validity.

Just look at what Valper Galilei is doing away from the eyes of everyone else. A vicious retribution is not far off for him.

The Day of Judgement will come early, in recompense for his desecration of the Vatican's coffers.

Those swords are semen-stained; I am glad that I never received one. It's laughably easy to discern how his acts of sodomy are wholly enacted upon those poor swords, the Heavenly Artifacts defiled by him, day by day.

But, I do not need one in the first place. I do not want one, even, upon further reflection.

Could an Excalibur ever measure up to the Great Flood's almighty imperium, lasting for forty days and forty nights, rendering the world nearly barren of all life?

Nay. And my future will be a reflection of that pathetic comparison. I will wipe out the sinfulness of man with power greater than any mere tool.

My zealotry shall be felt across every corner of the globe.

No one is safe.

In devotion to the nature of my existence as a man of God and champion of spite: every grievance's origin, every grudge's creator, every resentment's root, every mainspring of rancor and wrath, everyone - upon my ascension, they will all receive their rightful punishment.

The corrupt, the blasphemous, the heretical, the malicious, the sacrilegious, the malign, the bitter, the cruel, the impious. All of my enemies, and I've already begun chronicling the list.

And it will be a long one.

Number one is a certain Eve, number two is a certain man who fornicates with swords behind closed doors.

Revelations, chapter twenty-one, verse eight: 'But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.'

The Lord bestowed this all upon us! The Lord has given us the opportunity of eternal life and salvation!

And yet they still transgress! They stray from His Infinite Light.

Who could avert their eyes from Heaven's glory, to stare covetously upon the foul, polluted world? How could one possess such perpetuous, nauseating avarice?

Do they not understand?

Is the promise of holy, unending eminence not enough?

How many more verses, chapters, and Books are required to satiate the unending indecision of this world's inhabitants? How much more universal truth will it take to end this eternal Dunning-Kruger Effect?

I am a messenger! I deliver the truth!

And yet they all vilify me. I am treated like begrimed sewage by the very lowest of scum. They don't understand, Father. They refuse to. They remain eternally ignorant to a basic tenet of morality, the vileness of scapegoating and of persecuting the martyr - the basic moral of Christ's final message when he died upon the cross! It has been thrust in their face, but still, they continue to partake in such wickedness without a second thought when they criticize me so.

They decry the very foundation of our world, refusing to bow their heads to the Alpha and the Omega, to the Architect, to the Everlasting Light, to the King of Kings.

They revile me. I am labeled a fiend for doing as the Lord has taught us.

If the Bible and Lord encourage my actions, who am I to abstain? Are the words of blasphemers and pathetic creatures of doubt and indignity what will guide my body and soul to Heaven?

The answer is no. For every damnèd accuser and offender of mine, the ones trampling upon the redemptive potential of humanity by abusing the power vested in them, a rain of fire and brimstone is reserved.

And I will personally make sure every last drop of misery arrives.

If people like Valper Galilei wish to hinder my rise as the Sword of God, what I must do is certain.

Deuteronomy, chapter thirty-two, verse thirty-five: 'Vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly.'

Psalms, chapter fifty-eight, verse ten: 'The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance; he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked.'

Exodus, chapter twenty-one, verses twenty-four to twenty-five: 'Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.'

And finally, Romans, laughably enough.

Romans, chapter thirteen, verse four: 'For he is the servant of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, an avenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.'

Indeed. I bear the sword in righteous anger, not in barbarous, sinful wrath. My sword will be mighty and ferocious in a way that any of his will pale in comparison.

After all, who am I to betray the example set by the Father, the Most High?

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MC got a little heated at the end there. Tell me if I didn't portray the wrath well enough. Also, a 4,328 word chapter makes up for an accidental week of no chapters, right?

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