Sir Jerah had served the Armies of Light for a long time before he realized that they were not simply disorganized, but frankly unaware that they were an army. They believed themselves to be besieged, remnant survivors defending a near-empty fortress against an infinitude of beings of utter darkness.
So very besieged, so deeply beset were they, that the vileness without invaded that was within, and many days, the only merriment was the crackling of the flames which burnt cheerfully around those who had been proven incontrovertibly of wrongdoing by the anonymous graffiti which angels scrawled on every surface when one uttered blasphemy. For a while, this blessed relief was marred by screaming; but a tongue removed is a voice unable to speak lies: everyone knows this.
And still, somehow, there was discontent.
One morning, Sir Jerah awakened to learn of his own actions:
slaughter of the innocent
sheltering of the guilty
the repeated kicking of puppies, a particularly gross act because no-one had seen a puppy for years, and so presumably, in order to kick them, he’d needed to find them, breed them, and heartlessly, clobber the innocent beasts
extra double secret triple-strength new improved blasphemy
slaying dragons under false pretenses
slaying false pretenses under the influence of dragons
smooching demons with tongue
plotting destruction of the Universe
Fortunately, he told them his many sentences would be suspended if he merely admitted his guilt.
He said that he wasn’t guilty.
He was told this was perfectly fine; they would treat him as guilty, but suspend his sentences, as long as he admitted his guilt.
He said that he couldn’t do that.
It was pointed out that he really had no choice in the matter.
He suggested that truth was a reasonable choice.
They all enjoyed a good laugh, except, sadly, for Sir Jerah.
He suggested that anonymous graffiti might not, in fact, be a total and absolute truth.
The next day, he found that not only was their more graffiti about him, but that entirely new buildings, of no purpose and structure, had been erected, apparently for the whole and entire purpose of the writing of new graffiti about him.
No-one died during his escape.
It took him many years to realize that this last detail was his only true sin, and he resolved that, if he did nothing else, he would change that before he, himself was killed.
Sir Jerah proved hard to kill. But the ideals of truth and beauty which cast him out would surely live on forever.
Because Sir Jerah was just a man; but Truth is a virus which is too perfectly-evolved to kill the host before it infects others.
And as long as the Truth is real, then infection is holy and pure.
Do you know the difference between the Zombie virus and the Truth virus?
Neither does Sir Jerah. More’s the pity for him.