THE VISION OF HEAVEN ON FIRE
The following is the second drafts, or "demo" version, of Witch City: The Vision of Heaven on Fire. It contains a prologue, all routes of chapter one, and an extra intermediate piece of writing. At the end is a Google form that I would deeply appreciate you filling out so that I can receive feedback.The Vision of Heaven on Fire features heavy discussion and portrayal of cult abuse and religious manipulation.The larger work will also feature themes or mentions of: suicide, self harm, cannibalism, murder, sexual acts, religious trauma, and religious eroticism.The characters, themes, and ideas in this work do not reflect all of my real life views, and is very much a work of fiction.
"The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell."James 3:6
In order to wake up in the morning, you must first surrender yourself to the night.Dreams are fickle, but heavily revered in the world you're about to descend into. Whispers travel through sleep, on both sides of the war on faith. Lonely gods reach out, when our brains and bodies are most vulnerable to receive their messages. It has become a privilege, and an honor, to dream. This time will be much different than the usual subconscious. You have to accept this in order to continue.
Choice will soon matter, but not here. You accept this.
It is important to know, first and foremost, as you’re releasing yourself to your dreams, a victim to sleep, and stepping foot into the void your mind creates, that you are not being chosen by anyone. You must be the one choosing to listen. And when you listen, you hear the call that beckons you before you can sense anything else.
????: Is anybody out there?
Darkness gives way to darkness instead of colors and splashes of light. No nonsense, no deep seated wishes or repressions. No construction and destruction. You stand in the void, only populated with the broken, disembodied voice.When you begin to follow it, something shifts. A light dimly awaits you, far off in the reaches of your vision. The voice changes too.
????: Find me, please. Please…
Your walk contorts into a run as their voice picks up in volume and intensity, cracking with tears from the very sound of it.You find them, your beckoner.A shackled body, littered with bruises and scars on the skin between their fur, looking for you. They kneel in the nothingness, with something akin to a dim spotlight shining down on them. Seemingly bound to the empty floor with chains around their wrists, they can only weakly glance around through the black eyes of their battered mask. Their bloody veil hangs over their face as they look around. Until they spot you. You don't need to see their face to feel their spirit ignite, as they come to life upon seeing you approach out of the darkness.
????: Oh, it’s like seeing the sun again. It has been so, so long. Come closer, please. Let me see your eyes.
You get close to them. They’re much taller than you, you can tell, but their circumstance has made them frail. They go to reach a hand to you, their hoof-like fingers going to cup your face.
????: I wasn't sure if anyone would listen.
They pull their hand away.
????: I'm sure you must have questions before we begin, yes?
They laugh to themselves, quietly but with feeling. It must have been so long, since they've laughed, from what you can gather.
????: Ah, yes. Inquisitive. The urge to know, the hunger. It's an instinct that will take you very far, I know it. I’ve been looking for that: someone with the instinct to know. Why don’t I just make sure you're entirely up to speed?
I am without a name anymore. I have a long, unwinding history in my hunt for the truth. I'm sure there's books that talk about it, but they misconstrue me into a villain, like how religion always does. Gods always need their devils, I suppose. The weight of it all, it took its toll on me. A tale for another day, yes? When you come back and we talk again. For now, you may just call me Oracle. If you would prefer to refer to me with “The” as your signifier, that is up to you.
They reach a hand out to you for you to shake, the chains clambering as they move. When you take their hand, they pause, processing the connection and the presence of another person being with them for the first time in decades.
THE ORACLE: I think this place was built for me. This void, this box. A little prison of some kind for a lonely ghost like myself. You can escape it, when you wake up and take control, but I remain stuck, only with glimpses of the city below.
THE ORACLE: A powerful and funny word. I utter it with the same vitriol I hold for other words such as ‘heaven’ and ‘saint’, and the same respect I hold for words like ‘freedom'. And yet, here I am, controlled by my loathing. You, too, are a creature of control.
Though it may confuse you, you will soon be in control. Yes, you will let the ghosts move through you. You will act on your impulses. Instinct. You will deliberate and seek the means to the end. You will be in control, or so you think. After all, this is Witch City: nothing is bound by rules anymore.
The Oracle looks upward, and nudges you to do the same. Above you, in the black emptiness of the void’s sky, a light. Like parting clouds, you begin to see a bird’s eye view of a city. Gothic cathedrals, black painted houses, foggy cemeteries with dewey, purple flowers all over, and a beach with runes and symbols carved into the rocks and sand. Witch City.
THE ORACLE: A north shore coastal town breaking out of the mountains and the forests. A bit of a diamond in the rough, I suppose. It is quite secluded from any neighbors, the nearest town must be over 70 miles away. Just a tiny dot on the shore, surrounded by nature that would consume it if its people weren't so fascinated by it. Witch City, like its very name implies, is the epicenter of spirits, magic, and faith. Religion is, of course, its crowning jewel, with many rituals and traditions and beliefs that uplift it. The Coven Revolving, the covenant that rules the city, populates cathedrals, and paves the path towards their idea of spiritual peace. You’ll learn more once you see it firsthand. Now, as I’ve observed from my little prison here, I can’t help but start to see…. a deeply concerning dependency to this faith. A collection of people, so passionate and so devoted, but with no room to question the word of the divine, or even to develop thought outside of it. So inward, so conflated, so dogmatic. A faith so obsessed with itself that it refuses to admit it has gone against its own tenets. A city that is so hungry it may begin to start chewing its own bones. Oh, Theists are so…. funny.
The Oracle closes the image above, somehow, and it disappears.
THE ORACLE: You see, long ago, I once dared to question the act of blind belief. What if the faith didn't shelter me? No masters and no kings and no Gods, I offered to my people. Could it not be freeing, even the tiniest bit so? They asked me how would I go on, knowing the spirits would be unkind to my atheism? Knowing I would not rest at peace? You know, maybe they turned out to be right, given the circumstances. But their refusal to even entertain differences irked me. I defied them, so they made me a part of their history. The very thought of an alternative makes the skin of the city crawl. Funny, considering its loud history with counterculture, its deafening cry to break the mold, being a love letter to the gothic and strange and macabre… and yet to not conform to its nonconformity makes you see the venom. Every spell, every prayer, every ritual, you see a repressed narrow-mindedness. The slick of everyone's teeth, in living color, as they hound you.
The Oracle shakes their head.
THE ORACLE: Oh, here I go, running my rebellious mouth again. I apologize. I do not mean to alarm you. I care for Witch City deeply still. I am enamored with its energy, and for many of its people. I believe it has grown a bit kinder to those who stray away from the congregation, the atheists and the agnostics, those who feel lost or discomforted or different. My exile was long ago now, so as long as deserters do not attempt to sway the coven, I suppose Witch City can function on everything it was built on: embrace of the strange. Who knows, maybe my story has served as a cautionary tale. Maybe. I am no omen, and I’ve done no evil or attempted to interfere. But I can't help but notice the underbelly of the city changing. Which is where you come in.
The Oracle gets cold, for the first time since you’ve met them.
THE ORACLE: It’s been a lot about me, hasn't it? My apologies again, I think I'm just excited to have company for a few moments. You… You're the important one here. You. The one that listened. With such a big ask I am going to make of you, I’d love to know who, exactly, will be my agent. Who is it, exactly, that you are? Better yet, who is it that you would like to be?
You feel a body start to take shape for you, noticeably vague but becoming tangible as you think on The Oracle’s question. A vessel, taking form around you.
KIER EMRYS
How the night falls in love with the morning. Kier works at one of several Witch City graveyards, theirs being the Bethesda Cemetery. Kier is elusive, a keen watcher without spilling much about themselves in turn. Overnight, Kier assures the dead remain at peace, and they watch the sunrise every day from beside their favorite grave. Though it appears the watcher might just be nosy, for this owl will surely not turn down the chance of discovering Witch City’s dark secrets.
FREYA HAZELWOOD
Even in sickness, a spark of light. Freya is enjoying life before she can't any longer. While in good health, she is in love with her city, her Witch City, whether the view is from her hospital window or her backyard. Her disease is unrivaled to her passion, and she will light up even the darkest corners of this town. Her future is heavy with some major surgeries on the horizon, but she has time to still seek more. Adventure always calls for Freya, and she still has some songs left to sing.
JERICHO ATHAME
Witch City needs its soldier, and Jericho is willing to step up. Jericho is a student at the local university studying Gothic literature and Witchcraft studies. He wishes to make himself known by the Tarot Court, the local figureheads of the powerful magic happenings in town, known for their swift hands of justice and power, along with their anonymity and enigmatic personalities. Though his own magic isn't very good, he would defend Witch City with a sword if he had to.
Child of night, you become. May the graves not twitch for you. Keep your eyes open.
Just a little more time in the light for this one. Don’t let the illness deter you, for you will soon be blessed with the fervor of the healthy.
The sword may hang above your head with this one, may be best not to let it fall. Caution is a virtue as patience is.
The Oracle takes in the image of you, the person manifesting before them. You think, for a moment, you hear a sniffle behind the mask. And you hear their smile when they talk.
THE ORACLE: Witch City still makes people just as beautiful as the day I left, it seems. My friend, my agent, I hope you will continue to hear my cries.
They take your hands.
THE ORACLE: This beautiful city that I love, Witch City. Where outcasts are welcome and the macabre is beloved. A living and beating heart, breathing with its darkness. The very garden that bore you and me, decades driving us apart. Ablaze with a thousand candles at their altars, witches trying to bless every street corner, and the union of life and death hanging in balance, the sides of the pentacle all even. An animal itself, eyes alive with wonder, ringing the bells along its neck for spirits to come dance along to the song it hears.
But there's a stomach to the animal, and it aches. It wants to bite back.
THE ORACLE: Word gets around Witch City; the whispers still echo in cathedrals that are hollow. Mystery hugs the city like fog. The candle wicks dance with a fever, like they fear being snuffed out. Glazed over eyes, hands tight on rosaries and amulets, as if they might be ripped from them any minute. It feeds off of its own strangeness. Witch City has that beautiful dark side it's always been adorned with and wears so well, but even its darkness shakes now. The faith does not waver, even when it's questioned, but what if it was not a question this time, but a challenge?
THE ORACLE: I can only see so much from here. But there’s something in the forest. A man-made movement, working out of the trees, to disrupt the flow of the city’s status quo. A religious movement, moving underneath them and against the tides. Some may call it a cult. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you something a little different about it, leaving you to wonder what is fact and what is fiction. Some have claimed to have had extreme fits, these newfound religious experiences, they claim, like seizures but prophetic. Visions of heavenly bodies so new and untouched and bewildering. Not any God they used to worship, but something hungrier, maybe even more powerful. There's so many different sides to it, consisting of first hand experiences, grapevine rumors, and, of course, blatant lies. So many people have gone missing, for one reason or another. So many people… having visions. Kind of like you are right now, I suppose. All different stories they may be, these whispers have caused a shockwave of a low-lying panic, with uncertainty making the whole city tense. People shudder when asked for names of anything related to it. Not out of lack of knowledge, but fear that speaking it will summon it. But we must know what they know.
THE ORACLE: I am shackled here, but you are not. My urge to know cannot be satiated, and I can certainly offer no assistance to the panicked corners of the city. I have been shouting, trying to catch dreamers as they pass by, but it’s never enough. It has never been enough, until now. I’ve been desperate for someone that can listen and carry out my wishes for me. Someone, hopefully kind, brilliant, and curious enough to descend back into the city and know what they know. About the cult, about the Coven’s plans for it, about any of this unrest that disturbs me so. Someone that can comfort the disturbed, in these uncertain and tumultuous times. That someone, as it appears, must be you, right? If you choose to listen to my warnings. I need someone to carry out this work for Witch City in my stead.
I need more than just ideas. I need substance. I need details. I need names.
So, I ask you, please, descend into the city like lightning. And learn these names. And say them.
Do you understand?
THE ORACLE: Oh, how happy you’ve made my ancient soul. I promise, the efforts shall be worth the good of this city.
When you awake, you will find a letter from me on your person. I entrust that you will read it, and refer back to it if you need it. Things to know, to consider, and so on and so forth. It might help you get a head start.
You feel your body get heavy. The darkness slowly fades into a dull white. You’re waking up. Just as you feel your eyes go to flutter open, The Oracle grabs your hands one last time.
THE ORACLE: And one last thing, my agent, though it may take some time to understand. You must know every last thing you can about The Visionary.
The Witch City Tribune
Cult Manifesto Haunts Witch CityOctober 5th, 2020Written by an anonymous author, who asked to just be referred to as Saint.
On the night of October 4th, 2020, a small animal carcass was found, lying inside an open copy of The Book of Rebirth, near the entrance of Bethesda Cemetery. The animal, a rat, was disemboweled, with blood staining the Book’s pages. This copy of the Book was furthermore defiled, notably burned and torn on many pages, with some instances of graffiti-like writing on certain pages from an unknown author. The Tarot Court is determining this display to be of cult related activity. The animal’s body has been taken to the Witch City science lab for testing, and the Book is in possession of the Court. The person who found this animal and copy of the Book wishes to remain anonymous.The following is details about the contents of the defiled Book while we wait for results from the lab.The burns and tears in the book seem intentional, as if the goal was not to destroy the whole Book, but rather just create something new. In fact, some pages have just been added, once blank sheets now marked with scrawlings and writings of what detectives believe to all be the same author, despite differences in penmanship.There is some notable evidence to suggest this copy has become a makeshift manifesto of sorts, written in and over the Book’s texts. These are the notable sections of interest.“Scripture One: CreationDissiri, King of Organs, descended on the empty field. He felt the spark of creation between His fingers, and decided to build a perfect vessel. Dissiri constructed a system of life in which powers the vessel, and a body in the visage of animals like Him. He has created us as citizens, in His image, and gave these vessels to Karsia to imbue with souls.And the sky, twisted with light, opened, and draped Him as He constructed. Bathe and clothe Him, for He is our architect and founding poet…”The rest of this page is burned away. On the opposite page was an artist’s depiction of Dissiri, more literal than the commonly accepted abstractions of Him. Over this artwork were some scrawlings and collages, similar to a scrapbook or art journal, written with a new creed. It read as follows:“THE EYE OPENS. IT READS US FOR OUR FILTH AND OUR GOLD. HE SPITS ON DISSIRI AS HE CRUSHES HIM.HE IS THE EVERSAINT. HE HAS TAKEN THE POWER OF THE COVEN AND LOCKED IT IN HIS CHEST, TO ONE DAY FEED US.I HAVE SEEN THE VISION OF HEAVEN ON FIRE, AND I AM BLESSED BY FLAME.I WILL FEAST ON THE FLESH OF THE VISIONARY, FOR HE WILL LET US EAT OF HIM, AND BATHE HIS BLOOD ON ME IN REVELRY.I WILL SEE A CITY CRASH AND RISE ANEW.THE EYE OPENS. BAPTIZE ME IN FIRE. THE EYE OPENS. BAPTIZE ME IN FIRE. THE EYE OPENS.”Several instances of, “THE EYE OPENS” and, “BAPTIZE ME IN FIRE” were present in this defiled Book.Some pages later, the section describing Karsia’s sacrifice is defaced. It reads as follows:“Karsia, so lost in Her domain, has given us our escape, our means of shedding our skins, and coming clean. She is our Martyr, our Queen of Death and Rebirth, and Her change shall rule the Earth…”The page is overlayed with cutouts and scraps, held together with tape and glue, stained with some old blood, which is currently being tested. The page then continues, in a similar pen as the previous addition:“THE PARADISER DIVERTS THE PATH.THE CYCLE WILL NOT CHURN MY BONES AGAIN.MY SPIRIT WILL DIE WITH MY BODY THIS TIME.PARADISE WILL TAKE ME IN.FOR I HAVE SEEN THE FLAMES I MUST BRACE TO GET THERE.BAPTIZE ME IN FIRE. I AM CONSUMED BY THE PLEASURE.”Later on in the book, a page has been altered in the section describing Kavalta the Dissenter.“...Kavalta, shiny with his own blood, was beaten by the citizens of a pubescent Witch City, for the fear of the unknown gave birth to their rage. He attempted to climb the stairs in which they beat him, reaching for help, reaching for The Tarot Court, reaching for the answer we all seek. But it is here that Witch City cast him from their cycle, and into a death that would not continue. Voided of body and spirit that could breathe and walk the earth, Kavalta was left to die alone on The Oracle Ladder, the stairs just outside The Tarot Manor. It is our duty to bless this area and purge it of Kavalta’s corruption…”The page is then blacked out with a permanent marker, and done over in white ink.“WE HAVE FAILED. MAYBE HE HAD THE RIGHT IDEA. I SHALL MEET KAVALTA IN PARADISE, DRAGGING HIM WITH ME. THE EYE OPENS.”Directly after this is a page that's been added, taped in where the pages meet the Book’s spine. The page is yellowed, and slightly smaller than a normal page of the Book. This handwriting is much neater at the top, and becomes more illegible as it continues. It details some sort of cult ritual that is sexual in nature, and seemingly indicates the author to be female, engaging in sexual activities with people of any gender, according to the writing. In totality, it is too explicit to include here, but I shall highlight some notable lines.“THROUGH FLESH, I AM CLOSER TO THE ALL-SEER. HE WILL SEEP HIS TONGUE INTO ME AS I AM VULNERABLE AND OPEN.”“I FEEL HER INSIDE ME, AND THE EYE OPENS.”“I AM GIVEN TO SO MANY, FOR MY PURPOSE IS BUT TO HOUSE PLEASURE AND SIGHT AND SERVICE.”“HE TOUCHES ME, AND I RUN HOT LIKE THE EMBRACE OF PARADISE.”“I AM FREE FROM MY SHAME AS THEY ALL SHARE ME.”“MAY PARADISE FEEL JUST AS WARM AS THIS.”Much of the other additions were scrawlings of the same phrases over and over or drawings of different symbols depicting eyes. However, there was one last added page of note. Towards the end of the Book, the handwriting suddenly changed, almost as if by a different author, and it was strangely directed. It read as follows:“They will find me eventually. But that’s okay. I may die knowing Paradise waits for me. I may die, but I have feasted on my former Prophets and will
inherit their wealth before I do. I will be rich with power and touched by the very fire that will take me away. They will move within me, and make my servitude to The All-Seer worthwhile. I have even picked my next title. The Hedonist I will be, once my
visions become clearer.This world is about to be cleansed again, that I can truly see. Witch City can shed its shackles and our ghosts can find a way to flee our grounds. We will no longer be haunted by a past that clings to us. The only way is up. And maybe The All-Seer will move the spheres to create an inverse of our Paradise, so the filth does not muddy the waters. We will be clean with our sight. We will be baptized in fire.I had a dream the other night that He came to me. The All-Seer, the Eversaint. He inhabited me and told me Paradise was close enough if I reached for it. He choked me. He riddled my body with pleasure as He brought me over. I felt the blood in my mouth.I felt the heat of the flames. I have seen the vision of heaven on fire. I believe He will spare us. I believe we will be cleansed. While the others will burn and rot, we will be cleansed. We will be baptized in fire. And the hungry animal that is Witch City will not ache anymore.I have seen the vision. I am inhabited by Videnti.”The Tarot Court is doing further investigation into the identity of this individual.If you have any further information regarding this individual, or any information about this emerging cult, please reach out to The Witch City Tribune.Saint
You've reached the end of The Vision of Fire's first ever public demo! Thank you so much for reading.
Thank you to my friends who helped guide me during the drafting process, especially to my partner, Jer, and two of my best friends, Zhiwen, and Devon.
It would mean a lot to me if anyone who has read through this demo to give me some feedback using the form below. This is to help me continue editing and also guide me moving forward as I continue to write, as well as think of avenues for the format this project will take.
I hope to continue to share my work and get feedback from both those that know me and those that don't. Thank you for taking your time for my art, it truly does mean the world to me. I will continue posting about Vision on my Instagram, and likely other socials as well when I remember. You can check out my stuff on my Linktree!
If you'd like to send me (or The Legion) any anonymous questions, please check out this mysterious, very real, Witch City website....
Thank you, and may you be granted the eyes to see.
Salem