Netori: Stealing The Hero's Party!

They tell a story of a nun, one bound to a god's service. To him, she bowed, and to him, she looked up to. Her smile was as pale as milky morning dew resting on a tulip, her skin more fair than a wisp's glow and her laughs a sweet melody. She had no name for her master deemed it not necessary, and yet she was happily being one of the many congruent to her deity.

But gods have a knack for testing the faith of the faithful while ignoring the devilish. And yet she was supposed to pray every waking moment of her being even though the sinful were let loose and instead, she was the one being punished?

"Why must you test me so often, my lord?" She questioned in defiance, kneeling in front of the idol of the deity.

Carved in stone was neither a man nor a woman but something in between. Radiating through its head was the concentrated light of the sun reflected through the many stained glasses inside the church. It painted the idol in a rainbow glow, almost blinding to its own priest and priestesses.

"No answer, again?" Her hands clasped in prayer finally let go, she hadn't lost faith but merely been challenged by her own self.

Laying down her dark gown, she plucked the only other outfit present in her closet–a white gown, similar to the other but only worn in mourning for someone's death. That became her first act of defiance, and the head priestess made sure to lash her well for dawning those clothes unceremoniously.

'I merely wish to test my lord, why can't I? If he can always do the same to me?' Her defiance grew with such thoughts, and so came the cigarettes, the alcohol, and eventually the hashish. With no name, no duty, no family, no deity, she would stay outside the church puffing smoke that made her cough out her lungs.

"If there is a god, one as benevolent to the sinless and malevolent to the sinful as they claim, then strike me with your own hands and I'll bow my head to you until my finite days come to an end…" Yet, contrary to what she'd expected, the more she let herself fall into depravity the less became the lashing. The more hopelessly lost she seemed, the less people around her cared.

It was at that time that she realized that those who are lost are not lost because of their sins, but the holier-than-thou nature of the sinless towards those who didn't know any better. After all, why couldn't they serve their god by helping the sinful instead of bowing their head at an idol that doesn't speak a word? Why not feed the hungry instead of offering fruits to a stone that had no mouth?

Vanity was the answer, they'd rather praise a stone for forgiveness and their entry to heaven than help those who need it the most and do more good than the sins they committed.

Once she realized the true nature of her people, the nameless nun adorned in a white gown and leather boots, both of which adjusted to reveal as much skin as possible, blew smoke into the face of the nuns, the citizens of her town, and even the head priests and priestess as they walked into the church.

It was her way of getting attention for at least one of them to tell her to stop, and yet the more egregious her means the more she was let off the hook without consequences for her action.

"Die…" Swinging the executioner's scythe after being turned into one, the nameless nun's days passed amongst countless dead bodies. In return for the killing, she was given a place to stay, food every night, and even enough pay to indulge in depravities like booze, cigarettes, and young boys.

'They pay me for blood in gold, how poetically strange?' Her hopes, her beauty dwindling with time caught the attention of none other than the arbiter of discord–the demon lord himself.

She was young when he approached her, masked as a peasant who stopped her hand as she attempted to blow smoke on his face. Her eyes widened at the glimpse of hope for reprimand to the sinful, and she looked into his earthy crimson eyes, she knew that she'd found him.

A deity who would reward those who praise him and punish the dissident, but more importantly one that was present in the flesh right in front of her.

But even so, she didn't just walk away with the stranger. It took months of attempting to do something unusual to him until finally, she decided to stop and ask the burning question.

"Who are you?" She asked.

With a smile the demon lord replied.

"The impartial judge," a greater power that judges his own the same he judges the heretics, just hearing it was enough to spark up the nun's eyes.

She'd been looking for him throughout her teenage years and now as an adult inching closer to her later years, she'd finally found him.

"Come with me and I shall reshape this world under the iron rule of one," his wrinkled hand stretched towards her, and without a second thought the nun of the god of law let herself fall into the worst of arms.

However, even years passed she never regretted her choice for the lord of all demons, the source of all corruption, to treat the innocent and the sinful alike. Under his iron rule she learned to undo death itself, and even phase through realities through a flick of her fingers.

Through it, she could witness anything and everything without ever being touched by the enemy with the only drawback being that she couldn't fight the heretics herself and instead needed a pawn that would do as she commanded.

And to what end was her service? Past the demon lord's death by Nighsilver's hands? To spread corruption throughout the world, unnoticed by any and all. Just like the sinless ignored her presence as she blew smoke, she went unnoticed even though her presence could easily be sniffed out by the veterans of the last holy war.

Her name? The ever-present horror or simply the White Nun of The Silver Scythe. A human turned monster, living behind the thin film of reality. She was there and she wasn't, nobody could touch her much less hurt a single hair on her body.

However, watching every move of the hero's party to gauge the level of threat the demons should be prepared for, she wanted to reach through the film and toy with them a little.

'Perhaps now, perhaps later.' Thankfully for the party, however, she kept her curiosity reeled in.