ã€ŠDeus in Machina (a Warhammer 40K-setting inspired LitRPG)ã€‹


 Chapter 1

    As Simo slogged through the pre-dawn murk toward his job, the sight of freshly shattered windows snapped him to alertness, demanding his full attention.

    Hours remained before sunrise, but he knew Sir Angar was awake.  His master would be up even if creatures of the infernal abyss hadn¡¯t come calling for his blood.

    Gripping the entry chain, Simo yanked it hard, the clank echoing as a bell rang quietly inside.  His single hand shifted to the auto-blaster¡¯s sling, bouncing it off his shoulder to clutch the grip, and with a frayed boot, he nudged the door open.

    The groan of hinges screamed into the silence, his eyes darting across the vestibule as he stepped inside.

    The air hit him like a punch, thick with brimstone¡¯s sting and the rot of dead flesh.  A rift pulsed faintly in the center of the vestibule, its edges glowing a sickly gray, slowly sealing itself like a festering wound.

    Around it sprawled the corpses of over a dozen abominations.  Twisted things of the abyss, limbs contorted into grotesque knots, skin splotched with corruption.

    If they were Heretics, warped by maleficia into demoniacs or diabolics, or true spawn of the infernal abyss, Simo couldn¡¯t tell.  They looked more disgusting than usual.

    He felt no dark whispers crawling at his mind and strained his ears for sounds of combat.  He only heard the faint slosh of water from the right, and he pivoted toward the guest quarters and its bathing room.

    Sir Angar sat there, submerged in a crimson tide of his own blood.  His eyes, those cold, piercing voids that carved through a man¡¯s soul, locked onto Simo¡¯s and offered a curt nod.

    A shiver rippled down his spine, as it always did meeting that brutal gaze.  Gashes and bruises marred the boy¡¯s flesh, yet he lounged unfazed, ignoring the wounds as if they were flies on a corpse.

    Simo knew his young master wouldn¡¯t want to be bothered by questions of the rift and corpses.  Slinging his auto-blaster crossbody to free his lone arm, he let it hang behind him, glancing enviously at the new cybernetic-limb implant Angar now sported, a marvel of steel and sinew he knew he¡¯d never possess himself.

    Nearly forty years he¡¯d bled for the Imperial Army, clawing his way to Praefectus Logis, the ninth of ten enlisted ranks.  Then a Hellspawn took his arm, and he was discharged and spat out like gristle.

    As an infantryman, he had no real skills outside of warring, and was put in the Liberi Humiles, the lowest of the Lay Orders, made up of laborers, farmers, and servants, scornfully called serfs.

    He was lucky to have this job.  Any job at all, really.  Very few were willing to hire a one-armed servant or laborer.  He couldn¡¯t fight like he once had, but seeing how often Sir Angar was attacked, he had been doing a lot of it nonetheless, and high-level stuff too.

    In one year and four months with Sir Angar, Simo had seen more carnage than in his decades of soldiering.  Hell and Heretics assailed his master relentlessly.  He had gotten enough good-quality experience to ascend to Tier 3, a rare thing even among the Laity¡¯s more important Orders.

    And his share of credits from the loot had saved his family.  And his pride.

    All thanks to this boy.

    I shouldn¡¯t think of him as a boy, thought Simo.  He¡¯s never acted like one and he¡¯s undergoing the Grim Ordeals this week.

    That in and of itself was very strange as Sir Angar had become a Holy Knight before joining a Cloisteranage, schools where most imperial children grew to adulthood, not after graduating from one and surviving the Grim Ordeals.

    He¡¯d been raised to Knighthood straight from the Laity, a feat unheard of since Horridus the Mortifer, Trium Militus Lapsus, a fallen Crusader, a butcher who¡¯d torched worlds and claimed Doomhaven as his Hell-crowned throne a millennium ago.

    That name alone was a curse, spat in fear across the Holy Empire.  Sir Angar carried that shadow, a stain no amount of prayer could bleach.

    So, the boy had that going against him.  And not just that.  His hands were monstrous, screaming Hellsign and unholy corruption.  Or hand now, since he¡¯d lost an arm a couple of attacks back.

    Even so, no one dared claim he was under dark influence or a Heretic.  Since joining this Cloisteranage, the Underworld had struck at him hundreds of times, its hatred growing as Angar neared his sixteenth year and the Grim Ordeals.

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    Simo snatched a robe and positioned himself near the bath¡¯s edge, poised for his master¡¯s exit.  After cleansing, Sir Angar performed the sign of the trey, a silent offering from a man whose devotion burned like a righteous flame.

    Seeing that caused Simo to dip his head and murmur a blessing to the sacred powers above ¨C the Divine System, Holy Theosis; the blessed Mother, Mi Alcyone, the only half-Pleiadean ever born; and the Lord Himself.

    Angar rose at last, water streaming from his bald head, a mark of all Cloisteranage students to prevent lice and such.  His frame loomed, forged by a brutal world beyond the Holy Empire¡¯s fold until last year, with sulfurous air that made every breath burn and gnawed metal, gravity a quarter heavier than standard, pressure twice the norm, sculpting his master into a mass of muscle and will.

    Simo handed over the robe, then grunted as he hefted Angar¡¯s power hammer, a beast of a weapon he could barely lift, and handed it off.  His master disliked being unarmed.

    They strode across the vestibule to the chapel, where stained glass splashed the Trey¡¯s glow of a triangle cradling the Eye of Providence onto the stone.

    Angar knelt on bare floor, spurning the mats, his hammer at his side like a loyal hound.  Simo joined him, easing onto a cushion to spare his old knees, and they prayed until dawn¡¯s first rays pierced the gloom.

    Simo stood with a groan, his old joints aching.  His days serving Angar were waning.  The Grim Ordeals loomed, and he knew his master would survive them.  He¡¯d soon join a Knightly Chapter, leaving Simo behind.

    As he had always been curious about it, while he still could, he asked, ¡°What do you pray for each morning, Sir Angar?¡±

    Those terrible eyes turned on him.  ¡°What do you pray for, Simo?¡±

    Most Crusaders were pricks seeing everyone as beneath them, calling all others Layman or Laywoman, ignoring their thoughts and worth entirely.  Angar hardly spoke, but Simo wished his master would be a little more formal when he did.  For propriety¡¯s sake.

    ¡°The same as everyone else, I guess,¡± replied Simo.  ¡°Guidance.  Protection for my family.  I told you my youngest boy¡¯s graduating from the Pinaculum Ordinis soon.  I asked the Three to help him with his finals, for him to get a good job offer so he doesn¡¯t end up working for some soulless corporation in some nothing position.  For him to have a much better life than his father, the Three willing.¡±

    Angar¡¯s glare pierced deeper, a drill through Simo¡¯s soul.  ¡°My faith differs,¡± he said.  ¡°I ask for nothing.  Holy Theosis decreed the Lord craves Hellspawn and Heretic blood, and my life is dedicated to satiating His thirst.  I don¡¯t pray as I know it to be.  I meditate on battles, past and future.¡±

    Zealous fervor flared in Simo¡¯s breast, but before he could reply, an alarm¡¯s chime cut the silence, signaling someone or something approaching.

    He went into the vestibule to view the scry-slate, his master following, power hammer in hand.  It was a young female student.

    This was the Princeps Rectoria¡¯s rectory.  Sir Angar¡¯s rank as a Crusader and the threat he posed to the boys¡¯ dorm made it fitting for him to reside here instead.  Female callers, however, were a breach Simo knew would earn him the venerable sister¡¯s fury.

    He sensed this was another attack brewing, but if it wasn¡¯t, he¡¯d linger nearby, watchful, ensuring no sins were committed.

    ¡°Female student caller,¡± he told his master.

    Angar grunted.  ¡°Those foul abominations are using students now?¡±

    ¡°Maybe she has a crush on you, Sir.  Should you put on your sweats?  I doubt opening the door in a robe is appropriate.¡±

    Angar, wary of danger, forbade Simo from opening the door in risky moments, preferring to face the threat himself.  ¡°I¡¯ll post up on the balcony,¡± said Simo.  ¡°If this is an attack, it¡¯s the closest two have ever been.  The rift¡¯s still fading from the last.¡±

    As Sir Angar went to change, Simo pressed deeper into the vestibule, his footsteps clanking against the stone.  He ascended the stairs, auto-blaster primed, and locked its sights on the door, ready to flee to the vault if there were dark whispers, and they were too much.

    Outside, the girl yanked the chain several times, the sound jarring in the stillness.  After a pause, she rang the bell again.

    As she pushed the door open a crack and peeked her bald head in, a dressed Sir Angar walked to greet her, and they spoke for a few moments.  Simo couldn¡¯t hear what was said, but the girl smiled innocently as she held out a Riftseed.

    Sir Angar lunged, his power hammer arcing toward the girl''s hand in a desperate bid to knock the cursed root free.  But it was too late.

    Her arm twisted with a sickening snap, the bone jutting through torn flesh, but the root had already burrowed deep, its dark tendrils pulsing beneath her skin.

    Simo, perched on the balcony, steadied his aim and fired.  A plasma bolt tore through her eye as Angar''s hammer slammed into her skull with a meaty crunch echoing through the chamber, heard clearly even from the balcony.

    Her body shuddered, skin tearing as jagged black vines erupted in thorny coils.  Flesh peeled back, bones twisting into gnarled branches, her screams warping into a strange wail.

    She stretched into an abyssal tree-like thing, its trunk a pulsing wound of meat and blood.  At its heart, a rift to the Underworld tore open, vomiting thirteen of some type of abomination.  He didn¡¯t know what they were specifically ¨C besides disgusting.  Charred bark clad their humanoid forms, eyes blazed with unholy fire, and needle-teeth gnashed in gaping jaws.

    Angar vanished in a flash, reappearing among them with a thunderclap.  Lightning erupted from him, forking between the spawn, searing their hides.  He spun, hammer whirling, unleashing a storm of electric fury that charred and staggered his foes.

    As the dark whispers were easily handled, Simo triggered Defensive Fortification and a shimmering block appeared in front of him.  He opened fire with his Pyreclaw.  Plasma bolts spat superheated death, searing into abyssal flesh, the air thick with brimstone¡¯s reek.

    As his auto-blaster spit fire, the same question gnawed at him as always ¨C just what had Sir Angar done to draw such wrath from the Underworld?

 Chapter 2

    King Baraga¡¯s voice cut through the church, firm and unyielding. ¡°So, it¡¯s settled. The abbot¡¯s divination aligns with the Weirding Witch¡¯s visions. Mecia will not bow to the Kondunean Empire. We will fight. But our end will be a magnificent one, our deaths shrouded in glory."

    A thrill ignited in young Angar¡¯s chest. He¡¯d finally be able to war.

    Raised beyond the towering Ulimuns Mountains by his mother, Laka, the Weirding Witch, he¡¯d been forged for strength. But, as King Baraga and a witch¡¯s son, he¡¯d always received unearned deference, a kindness that chafed. Now, he¡¯d prove his worth.

    He scanned the church. His mother¡¯s face was taut with anguish. His half-brothers, the abbot, and the privy council bore looks of stern determination. The old queen seemed as confused as always.

    ¡°The plan holds,¡± the king declared. ¡°We retreat slowly, the Ulimuns to our left. When the legions reach Mount Shirdis, the Weirding Witch will use her holy relic to cause an eruption."

    Laka¡¯s scoff pierced the air. ¡°We could slay them the same way without our army there. This is folly. Is our kingdom so weak that we plan for defeat instead of victory? To die instead of spitting on the corpses of our enemies? No. I refuse this plan. My own is wiser."

    Baraga¡¯s eyes narrowed, his stare drilling into her. ¡°Our doom is certain, witch. Your own omens decree it. Your scheme clings to chance and wishful thinking. It changes nothing. This way, our enemies die along with us.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she shot back, voice ironclad. ¡°My visions were warnings, meant to alter our fate, not shackle ourselves to it and embrace it so tightly. You finally called me to stand by your side and recognize our son¡¯s legitimacy. I¡¯m finally happy now. I won¡¯t let it end. I refuse this fate. If you must fight, you¡¯ll fight to win and live. That is my final word.¡±

    The king¡¯s laughter roared, echoed briefly by the others until he quelled it. ¡°Your final word, woman? Three legions out of seven come. Tenfold our strength, but we can wound Kondune mortally, a strike they¡¯ll never heal from.

    "The Great Lord demands blood and war. With our dying breath, we shall give Him plenty. Shirdis and your relic will allow us to ascend to Qitakai so resplendently, carried there by such a glorious tithe of slaughter.¡±

    Angar¡¯s heart swelled with pride. His father¡¯s fervor mirrored his own, and he silently thanked the Great Lord for such a ruthless and brutal king.

    ¡°Amen,¡± intoned the abbot.

    ¡°Amen,¡± the others chorused, save Laka, her expression dour.

    <hr>

    Angar stood steps behind his father as Mecia¡¯s warriors faced the Kondunean legions¡¯ advance, the earth quaking under their tread.

    Great Lord, he prayed, I am Angar, recognized son of Baraga, King of Mecia, and Laka, the Weirding Witch, descendant of Elaxada the Mighty, Mahtma the Conqueror, and the great Kondunean Emperor Xon Gheir the First.

    Today, I shall finally quench my thirst for blood and battle. Let those I kill, along with my own blood and last breath, serve as tithe and tribute.

    There was heavy fog moving in. That couldn''t be avoided. Like the great heat, burning rain, lightning storms, and sudden small explosions in the atmosphere called skysparks, the burning fog was just part of life.

    His mother had told him that far to the south, where the great city of Kondune resided, it wasn''t nearly as hot, the rain and fog didn''t burn as much, and there were hardly any skysparks. She said life wasn''t as difficult there.

    Angar had a hard time envisioning such a place. He thought his mother might be wrong about it all. The Weirding Witch had lived in Mecia since she was five or six years old, so her childhood memories could be faulty.

    But if it were true, he assumed such an easy life would make these legionnaires weak. He¡¯d soon enough find out the truth of that.

    All metal turned to pyrrhotite, hematite, or magnetite, so armors were made of sturdy alternatives¡ªgigan wood, mai shoots, grawlok or katal shell, or d''klar hide and scales.

    Daggers were made of obsidian or flint, as were the tips of spears, arrows, and darts. Axes and hammers, the main weapons warriors used in close combat, were made of basalt or chert.

    His new d¡¯klar scale armor, a gift from the king, shimmered, paired with a hefty chert hammer. He swung it, feeling its weight. It was unfamiliar, but ripe with promise. Heavy too. He was sure he¡¯d make good use of it before dying.

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    Baraga turned. ¡°Angar, here.¡±

    Pulse quickening, Angar approached, dreaming of fighting beside his father.

    The king leaned in, voice low. ¡°You have greatness in your blood through your mother, equal to that of your Mecian heritage. Xon Gheir was a filthy Kondunean, but even I must admit he was as great as Elaxada and Mahtma.

    ¡°I trust your mettle, son, but not your mother¡¯s. She¡¯s ours now, yet her passion burns wild, and she¡¯s stubborn. She loves too much, both you and me, and she would not see us act as men, staunch adherents of our Great Lord, whom all must bow before, even kings.

    "I fear she''s plotting something. She has power, so who knows what she schemes in that witch mind? Maybe, when the time comes, she''ll balk at throwing her holy relic into Mount Shirdis. What could be the grandest offering of blood and war to the Great Lord above, the worthiest end for our kingdom, will not come to be."

    Angar¡¯s excitement faltered. He knew her willfulness, and the truth of his father¡¯s words.

    ¡°You yearn for war,¡± Baraga pressed, ¡°and to die well, but I need more from you. Ensure we all ascend to Qitakai resplendently, instead of perishing ingloriously. Find her. Guard her until the moment. Then, that relic goes into Shirdis. That act is everything.¡±

    Duty smothered Angar¡¯s zeal, but a flicker of hope stirred. If he cast the relic, he¡¯d claim more lives than any warrior here, and die shrouded in glory.

    Honored by the charge, he stood tall. ¡°It will be done, my king.¡±

    ¡°You might need to wrest it from her,¡± Baraga cautioned. ¡°If so, remember your duty. The Great Lord demands blood and battle. You may have to tithe Him your mother."

    Angar¡¯s stomach twisted at the thought. His mother, the woman who had made him the man he was, who had sacrificed so much for him ¨C he didn''t even want to think about that.

    Still, he nodded his head and said, "If I must, I must. I will not fail," while knowing it¡¯d never be necessary.

    King Baraga put his hand around the back of his son''s neck and brought their foreheads together. "Die well, my son. I''ll see you in Qitakai."

    "Die well, Father. I''ll see you in Qitakai."

    His brothers nodded as he passed, their eyes understanding. He wished he knew them better. Others told him to die well, and the blessing was returned.

    His mother was at Mount Shirdis¡¯s peak or headed there. Angar sprinted toward the cave leading up there, the ground rumbling with the legions¡¯ march.

    After running eight or nine hundred paces, he heard screaming. This confused him, as the Kondunean legions hadn''t been anywhere close enough for that. They had just begun taking the field. The leaders hadn''t even parleyed yet.

    And the screams weren¡¯t the war cries of battle. They sounded more like shrieks of the frightened, the horrified.

    He whipped his head around to see a giant half-circle that looked to be made of something like shiny bone. Strange beasts straight out of nightmare were pouring forth from both sides of it.

    Monstrous creatures dashed across the field, closing with and slaughtering both Mecians and Konduneans alike. And slaughtering them easily. Spear, axe, and hammer doing little harm to these horrors.

    These must be demons, he thought, his heart hammering. He froze in indecision on whether to turn back and battle or proceed with his orders.

    Strange symbols appeared in his eyes, not too unlike the ancient stone carvings in the caves all around Mecia, and every bit as unreadable.

    A split moment later, though virtually no time had passed, they snapped into meaning.

    Clear text begin-

    User: Angar of Sulfuron 9.

    Age: 14 imperial years (minor).

    Classification: Local high nobility of primitive feudal system without a nuanced ranking system. Not equivalent to imperial nobility.

    Planet: Sulfuron 9

    Environment: Hostile/extreme (tier 1) with advanced life and sapient inhabitants.

    Sapient Species: Inhabitants are of Terran stock, pre-Holy Joining, with marginal environmental adaptations, living in primitive societies and city-states.

    Hellspawn Status: Minor invasion underway.

    Religion: Ikimist. Monotheistic, pre-Heretical. Highly compatible with Trinitarianism.

    Imperial Dictate: Terran, pre-Heretical but highly compatible religion, Hellspawn present. Adjudicated. User is now an imperial citizen. Minor status lifted per local adulthood at 14. Assigned Laity. Lacking Catechisms and Imperial Law, Minor Gentry withheld. Parousia Protocols eased for New User Protocols.

    Clear text end-

    Hail, Angar, beleaguered denizen of Sulfuron 9, or Vefol as you name it. I am Theosis, the Holy System, the coming and the arrival, the sacred voice of God''s will in this temporal realm, and the Divine overseer of the glorious Empire of the Holy Trinity.

    As your blood sings with the magnificence of Terra, the incursion of Hellspawn upon your world invokes the sanctity of Imperial Law, granting you compulsory citizenship within our blessed dominion.

    Your life, short though it may be, is now interwoven with the threads of our eternal Holy War. With citizenship comes duty ¨C you are now bound to the edicts of the Empire and classified Layman.

    Behold, for the blessed Crusaders, the anointed warriors of our faith, our blades of Divine retribution, are being dispatched to purge this infernal blight from your lands. Their righteous wrath will shatter the gloom in 19 rotations of your besieged planet, as Sulfuron 9 drifts far from our sacred outposts.

    In this bleak time, prove your valor, slay the spawns of Hell with Holy fire and fury, and perhaps you shall ascend from the Laity to stand among our radiant Holy Knights, our Crusaders, wielding the light of faith and bathed in the blood of sacred slaughter.

    Steel yourself for the crucible of battle, faithful of the Laity. Cower not before the minions of the infernal abyss, shy not from your sacred duty, nor from the gaping maw of Hell that stains your world.

    Do not go easily. Stand firm, with chest bared to the storm, heart thundering with righteous zeal, mind ablaze with Holy fervor, and fight!

    For God and Empire!

 Chapter 3

    Angar shook his head violently, as if he could dislodge the insidious words clawing at his mind. Demon trickery, proven by the dark whispers slithering through his thoughts.

    The words faded, leaving in time to witness the carnage unfold. His father, his brothers, and every high-ranking warrior of Mecia fell beneath a tide of demons, their axes and hammers useless against the onslaught.

    Angar¡¯s eyes darted across the battlefield. Not a single demon lay dead.

    He had no time to hesitate. The plan was all that remained.

    Mount Shirdis loomed in his mind. Only its eruption could end this. The finest warriors of Mecia and Kondune couldn¡¯t fell these creatures, but a volcano would do the trick.

    Decision made, he broke into a sprint, pushing his body to its limits. His lungs burned as he raced onward, the fog-laden air stinging with every ragged breath.

    At last, the cave entrance emerged through the haze, a dark maw leading to the volcano¡¯s flat lip.

    Resolve hardened his features ¨C until he stepped inside. The sight within the yawning gallery stopped him cold, more horrific than the slaughter outside.

    Most tunnels had rock traps set to block access. A rockslide had sealed this gallery¡¯s only tunnel, the trap triggered, burying the two guards assigned to his mother beneath jagged stone.

    Seven other bodies lay strewn about ¨C pregnant women, their swollen bellies slashed open, their unborn children torn away.

    And there, at the center of a blood-soaked pentagram, sat his mother, the Weirding Witch, her vacant gaze fixed on nothing.

    ¡°You Mecians are always so eager to die,¡± she said, her voice hollow, her body motionless. ¡°I told them I needed seven girls to sacrifice in the name of your Great Lord. Oh, how they all rushed to me. I picked only those heaviest with child.¡±

    Angar¡¯s throat tightened, words failing him. This couldn¡¯t be his mother. His mind recoiled, refusing to accept the scene.

    ¡°I spoke to a being called Moloch,¡± she went on. ¡°It promised to kill the invaders for seven babes sacrificed in its name. I gave these. First, it thanked me, then showed me the demons butchering everyone, invaders and Mecians alike. It laughed at me.¡±

    Silence swallowed Angar¡¯s response. His breath steadied, but his voice wouldn¡¯t come. She turned her head then, finally meeting his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s dead, isn¡¯t he? Your father?¡±

    ¡°He is,¡± Angar managed, the words scraping out. "What were you...this...why? This...this is a grave sin against the Great Lord."

    She laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. ¡°If He¡¯s so great, why would He finally unite me with my lover, legitimize you in court, fill me with such joy, only to rip it away so soon after?¡±

    Rage surged through Angar, drowning his shock. His fists clenched around his hammer¡¯s haft, the urge to kill her flaring hot and sudden. ¡°He did none of that! This is our realm!¡±

    More words flickered into his vision, unbidden.

    You stand before a Heretic so vile, she has torn asunder the veil between your world and the Underworld, birthing an incursion of Hellspawn. By the Seven Edicts and the sacred tenets of Holy Trinitarianism, you are commanded to strike down Heretics with relentless zeal without mercy, their blood a sacrament to cleanse the stain of their foulness.

    Yet here lies a paradox wrapped in the flesh of your own lineage, for this Heretic is your mother. The scriptures of the blessed Three, and those of the forgotten faiths and lost litanies of the old world, speak of a sin so dark it supplants our Divine edicts ¨C the sin of parricide.

    Thus is your crucible decreed, your test ordained: slay her, and risk the chains of your soul¡¯s damnation; spare her, and wretchedly endure the profane stain borne by the unrighteous. Theosis, the Holy System, watches, its judgment withheld until your choice is wrought. Act, for indecision is itself a sin.

    Angar shook his head until the vision dissolved. He was sure the words were Moloch¡¯s, twisting his thoughts, meant to manipulate him.

    He glared at the Weirding Witch, tempted to demand if Moloch was the source of these words and dark whispers, but he was sure they were, and a tear traced down her cheek, silencing him.

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    Some shred of decency lingered in her.

    ¡°I raised you to be tough and strong,¡± she said softly. ¡°A worthy son, a pride to your father. It was hard, painful, but look at you now, my son. We were called to our king¡¯s side, he legitimized you, and I couldn¡¯t just stand by and do nothing. You must understand. I want those I love to live. I love you and Baraga so much. Does that make me so evil?¡±

    Angar¡¯s grip on his hammer slackened as he scoffed. "Murdering these women and children was sick and depraved. It can''t be justified. Not for any reason."

    Stepping forward, he snatched her pouch, setting his hammer aside to check its contents. The holy relics gleamed within. His fingers closed around a glowing blue orb, heavier than it looked. ¡°This the one? The holy relic to erupt Mount Shirdis?¡±

    Her laugh grated this time, edged with hysteria. ¡°You¡¯d still do it? Erupting that volcano will kill far more innocents than I did here. Far more.¡±

    ¡°Mecia¡¯s three leagues off,¡± he countered, voice steady. ¡°The women and children fled east at dawn. They¡¯re away from danger.¡±

    She cackled. ¡°The old petroglyphs that teach us witches so much say otherwise. Shirdis will erupt far bigger and deadly than you can imagine. We were meant to be gone, leaving this task to another. Throw that relic in Shirdis, we all die.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re dead anyway!¡± Angar roared. ¡°All of us, by demon or eruption. Only this way kills the creatures you unleashed upon us too."

    This blocked tunnel left one option he knew for certain led up to Shirdis. He¡¯d never been in it, but the other cave was treacherous with acidic pools and grawloks, beasts needing three warriors to fell safely.

    Then I¡¯ll just fight as three men then, he thought, turning to leave.

    ¡°You¡¯re abandoning me?¡± she called.

    ¡°I must go.¡±

    ¡°Wait! Don¡¯t leave me!¡± Her plea cracked with desperation.

    "I have demons to kill and family to avenge. Today, our king, all the warriors of Mecia, and I ascend to Qitakai in glory."

    Sobs erupted behind him. He glanced back. Her body shook, tears streaming. ¡°Just kill me, then,¡± she begged.

    He ignored her plea, and once outside, sprinted for the other cave. It wasn''t all that far away, but it was far enough his chest heaved upon reaching it.

    He slowed, gripping his hammer with both hands before entering deep into the caverns.

    Even at noon, the outside was always gloomy. The yellow-orange, hazy sky of the day, with all the thick, darkly swirling clouds, only brightened when lightning flashed. But there was a lot of lightning, so it flashed often.

    A lot of the flora and fauna on Vefol glowed, and this cave, with all the moisture from the water and acidic pools, had plenty of life within it. The ground-hugging myca and thick strands of pasia drooping from the ceiling and walls illuminated the cave enough to see almost as well as outside.

    Angar moved quickly and carefully through the tunnels. The first intersection forked three ways, but it was clear which path was more traveled, so he took that.

    The next fork was near a massive pool. The correct path was easy to spot again, and all the grawloks in the pool were easy to spot too, as much of their shells glowed.

    These creatures were enormous, with hard, chitinous, and scaled exoskeletons. The places their bodies didn''t glow had a metallic sheen. They were flat and wide, with multiple legs jointed in ways that allowed climbing vertically. Two giant claws and a fang-filled, frighteningly large maw were their main weapons.

    One grawlok, half-emerged from the pool, was staring at him, its weird eyelids blinking.

    This was the moment of destiny. Glory or ignominy awaited. He wished he had spears to throw, but he didn''t, and his hammer would serve plenty well enough. He hefted it high above his head as he charged forward.

    As a claw lunged at him, he brought his hammer down upon it with thunderous force. He heard the shell crack as he spun away, evading the other claw, and his hammer smashed into the joint where the appendage joined the body with another satisfying crunch.

    He had no time to recover from his swing before the other claw struck again. Unable to dodge, he blocked with the haft of his hammer.

    He cursed himself for the mistake as the grawlok gripped the haft, nearly wrenching it from his grasp. As he fought to reclaim his weapon, the second claw darted toward him again.

    Had the joint connecting that claw to the body not been injured, he might have met his end then and there. But its injury caused that appendage to move sluggishly, awkwardly, allowing him to twist away while maintaining his desperate grip on his weapon.

    Then the grawlok propelled its many legs forward, its maw gaping wide open, its fangs glittering with a metallic sheen.

    Angar barely managed to jump onto the creature''s head, using it as a platform to vault over the claw grasping his hammer.

    There was a great chance this stunt would cost him his weapon, but as gravity and his weight brought him down, the claw twisted horrifically, and with a sickening crack, it released the hammer.

    The creature''s many legs clicked on the stone ground as it turned to face him. Angar couldn''t hesitate. He charged, evading the other damaged claw, and smashed his hammer onto the grawlok''s bizarre head.

    The claw struck again, catching an arm, sending blood spraying over the wet ground. He retaliated with a swift strike to the appendage, rewarded by another satisfying crack.

    The creature lunged once more, its maw wide open. Angar could only move one way, and that way got him caught in the pit of the injured joint of the second claw and nearly bowled over.

    But he avoided the deadly bite. And, luckily, he managed to keep his feet under him.

    From this awkward position, his leverage was poor, but he still managed to smash his hammer into the joint once more, cracking the shell enough to expose the flesh beneath.

    He rolled backward twice, avoiding the mouth, and with all the strength he could muster, he stepped forward and brought his hammer down onto the grawlok''s head, and all his strength proved to be enough. The creature''s head slammed into the floor, and it stayed there, motionless.

    Not taking any chances, he brought the hammer down again and again, until the head was no longer recognizable.

    You have felled a monstrous crustacean, a creature of some doughty might. Such valor and victory should be celebrated with the gift of experience points, marking you as a true warrior of our faithful Laity. But this day, you have chosen the path of the craven, fleeing from the infernal horde of Hellspawn rather than charging into their ranks, righteous wrath filling your heart, and fervorous zeal filling your thoughts. For such cowardice, you earn nothing, you spineless wretch

 Chapter 4

    Angar shook off the words, gore dripping from his hammer, as another grawlok hauled itself from the pool behind him. Ahead, two more surfaced, a third close behind.

    He didn¡¯t have time to fight them all. Even if he did, four at once would be too much and prevent him from completing his king¡¯s orders.

    He bolted up the path, a claw swiping inches from his back as he dodged at the fork.

    This Moloch calls me craven? he thought, fury simmering. It¡¯ll soon see how wrong it is.

    The tunnel twisted upward, wide and curving, its few intersections marked by passage.

    He trusted the well-worn paths were right, or hoped they were, sucking in ragged breaths as sweat stung his eyes, glad no more creatures blocked his ascent.

    His hammer grew heavy, awkward in his grip, but he pressed on, the incline steepening with every step.

    Rounding a sharp bend, he froze. A large tuft of stingervines draped from ceiling and walls, writhing like living snares, slithering around, seeking out anything they could grab hold of.

    Dozens of grawlok husks littered the floor, their shells shattered by the vines¡¯ crushing grip.

    His heart sank. He loathed these vines. But these vicious tendrils needed natural light, so he was at the peak, or nearly so.

    Their touch brought searing pain, swelling, nausea, cramps. The grasp of a large tuft like this, in severe cases, could paralyze or kill. And, of course, failing to escape the vines always resulted in death.

    Memories sank their claws into him, sharp and unrelenting. These stingervines were a cornerstone of the brutal training his mother had put him through, the root of his deep-seated hatred for them.

    The first time he¡¯d faced one, he was barely more than a toddler, a searing ordeal etched into his mind, impossible to erase.

    But as vivid as that memory burned, the second encounter blazed worse.

    He couldn¡¯t stop it from flooding back. He was so small then, standing two paces from his mother.

    Her jaw was a rigid line, her eyes cold and piercing, drilling into him with a judgment that deemed him lacking. ¡°We don¡¯t have all day, boy,¡± she said, her voice thick with disappointment, each word a lash. ¡°Go on. Give it your arm.¡±

    Tears welled in Angar¡¯s eyes, streaking his cheeks. Fear churned in his chest, a frantic, suffocating weight. ¡°Please, Ma, it hurts so much. Please. Please.¡±

    ¡°Stop being so weak,¡± she snapped, her tone cutting deeper than the vines ever could. ¡°All life is pain. You need to become inured to it. What doesn¡¯t destroy you, forges you into something stronger, more resilient, better equipped to confront the ordeals that lie ahead. Go on. Your arm. Give it to the vine.¡±

    Tentatively, his trembling hand stretched forward, a child¡¯s thin arm quivering in the air. Then instinct yanked it back. ¡°I can¡¯t! Please! Please don¡¯t make me!¡±

    ¡°Stop crying!¡± she barked, her patience fraying. ¡°Control yourself. This vine¡¯s small. It¡¯ll barely sting.¡±

    But Little Angar knew better. The first time still haunted him with pain like fire igniting beneath his skin, crackling in agonizing bursts, spreading wider, burning hotter with every endless second. He couldn¡¯t face it again. He wouldn¡¯t.

    ¡°Such cowardice is unacceptable!¡± his mother roared.

    She stepped forward with purpose, thrusting her own arm into the vine¡¯s grasp. It coiled around her, but she stood unyielding, her face a mask of steel. ¡°There. Do you see me sniveling like a gutless weakling? Yes, it hurts, but not enough to make such a fuss as you are. How will you ever be a man, let alone a great one, if you can¡¯t endure a little discomfort?¡±

    Her eyes bored into him, a silent accusation louder than her words, branding him until shame sparked something within, and he found his spine and enough courage.

    His back stiffening, he thrust his arm out, bracing for the torment he knew too well.

    If anything, since he knew what to expect, the fire flared fiercer than the first time, the pain¡¯s blaze lasting longer too.

    As he grew, the stingervines became a familiar foe in his training, their sting easier to bear but never easy, and always dreaded.

    He carried a lot of gratitude for his mother¡¯s relentless training, her iron will shaping him into a man hardy and unyielding.

    She was a great woman revered by all, her name a whisper of awe and fear, the powerful Weirding Witch. Pride had once swelled in his chest for being her son, a constant flame burning through his youth.

    Until today. The atrocities she¡¯d wrought extinguished that flame, unforgivable no matter what her reasons. Her acts were vile, twisted, a sickness that gnawed at his soul and broke his heart.

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    He clung to a desperate hope that his ascent to Qitakai in glory would scour away the shame, erase the memory of her deeds, and cleanse the taint of their shared blood.

    Angar dreaded stingervines still. But he had to get through these.

    If he had a torch and time to strike sparks to ignite it, he could get through safely, but he didn¡¯t.

    No sense putting off the inevitable, he thought before charging through the vines.

    As he moved past, slithering tendrils surged forth, latching onto his forearms, face, and neck with a vicious grip. Agony and searing heat erupted wherever they made contact, a torment he fought to ignore.

    His mind flashed back to those harsh lessons, but he was not the boy trembling before his mother. He was a man grown now, a warrior of Mecia, knighted in court, driven by duty, and still under his king¡¯s orders.

    He pressed on relentlessly, not halting until the vines were stretched taut with no give.

    As his hammer fell, with a fierce yank, he ripped the clinging vines from his arms, blood splattering across the cavern.

    He couldn''t tear the vine from his neck while it was still attached to the tuft ¨C not without risking his death.

    In one swift motion, he drew the flint knife from his belt, sliced through the vines around his neck, then brutally freed his face, fresh blood painting the walls.

    Now, with the vine segments on his neck lifeless, he carefully peeled them away.

    Knife sheathed, hammer reclaimed, he scrambled up a ladder to the peak.

    This was his first time atop the great Mount Shirdis, its porous summit riddled with cave mouths. A wooden lookout hut stood empty, its guards likely the ones buried below.

    He moved to the edge to look out over the valley. He looked towards the battlefield and saw demons streaming out of the strange gateway still, but the fog hid all the corpses.

    Far to the south, what remained of the Kondunean legions, and a decent number of them remained alive, fled from demons.

    Fog blanketing the ground all around the Ulimuns, demons poking out of it, many of them heading to the city of Mecia.

    Angar lunged for the alarm horn, seizing it with a steady grip. He drew a deep breath and blew, the blast erupting in a deafening roar that jolted him, unready for its sheer force, his first note faltered, cut short.

    Steeling himself, he sounded it again, a long, resonant wail that pierced the air. Again. And again.

    He strode back to the crater¡¯s edge. Below, demons bound for Mecia twisted mid-stride, their glowing eyes fixing on Shirdis, heads cocked toward the thunderous call.

    Angar waved his arms, his voice booming in a raw challenge that echoed off the stone.

    His gaze shifted to the horde trailing the fleeing Konduneans. Most had halted, their attention snagged by the horn¡¯s cry.

    He waved harder, bellowing until his throat rasped, then returned to the horn. Lungs burning, he poured every ounce of breath into it, the sound stretching into a relentless peal. Another followed, just as fierce.

    At the edge again, he saw demons swarming toward the mountain, some already clawing up its jagged slopes.

    Triumph flared in his chest, a fleeting spark against the weight of his burden, easing his heart¡¯s strain. He wouldn¡¯t slay them all, but with luck, he¡¯d claim perhaps half their number.

    His pulse hammered, resolve hardening. He¡¯d avenge his father and brothers, then join them in glory.

    He returned to the horn, blasting it several times more until dark whispers slithered into his mind, a familiar tickle of maliciousness.

    Ignoring them, he rummaged through his mother¡¯s pouch, fingers closing around the relic, a glowing blue orb pulsing with eerie light.

    He approached the crater¡¯s edge, peering into its depths. Visibility ended mere feet below, swallowed by a churning sea of thick, brownish fog that clung like a shroud.

    Angar had no wish for death. Only the deranged craved its embrace. But duty bound a man, unyielding as chert, and this fleeting life was but a single grain of sand dwarfed by the towering mountain of his soul¡¯s eternity.

    ¡°I offer you this glorious tribute of blood and slaughter, Great Lord!¡± he bellowed, hurling the holy relic into the abyss.

    The glowing blue orb vanished into the haze, a fleeting gleam against the murk.

    He stood, breath held, waiting. No sound rose, no tremor shook the earth, only the fog¡¯s lazy swirl marking the relic¡¯s descent.

    Unease prickled his skin. What if he¡¯d chosen wrong? What if his mother¡¯s words were a lie? Pulse quickening, he snatched the pouch and flung it in after.

    The sky above blackened, heavy with menace. Humidity thickened the air, a damp weight reminiscent of the cave¡¯s lower reaches, where acidic pools steamed and hissed.

    His ears popped, a sharp jolt that deepened his disquiet. The air crackled and buzzed, charged beyond any storm he¡¯d known.

    Dread coiled in his gut, cold and insistent. Lightning split the distance, jagged veins of white flaring across the gloom, their glow lingering like an omen.

    Then his gaze snapped to the mountain¡¯s lip. A demon clawed into view, his first true glimpse of one so near, and all other thoughts drowned in its shadow.

    It was a being of pure terror, dread given flesh. Its colossal form loomed, muscles bulging and rippling beneath a hide of gleaming obsidian, black as charred coal.

    Jagged ridges studded its arms and legs, a dense thicket of them armoring its chest like cruel thorns.

    Horns crowned its head, wicked and twisted, like gnarled branches of some ancient, cursed tree, honed to impale with a flick.

    Its face was malice incarnate, eyes ablaze with merciless fire, searing into the soul. Fangs, long and serrated, jutted from its maw, each a lethal blade still slick with the blood of its last prey.

    Oversized hands flexed, claws tapering to points that promised to rend the toughest hide like parchment.

    As it hauled itself over the mountain¡¯s lip, it rose with a predator¡¯s grace, defying its bulk. A sound rasped from its throat, like laughter, or a mockery of it, chilling Angar¡¯s spirit, curdling his blood.

    The sound reverberated with the wails of a thousand tortured souls, a chorus of anguish that clawed at his resolve.

    Heat shimmered around it, warping the air, while a reek of rot assaulted his senses.

    Their eyes locked, and maddening whispers surged into his mind, voices teetering on the edge of comprehension, promising power, promising sweet insanity, promising oblivion.

    He almost lost himself in those voices. Almost. But he was Angar of Mecia, son of King Baraga and Laka, the Weirding Witch, blood of Elaxada the Mighty, Mahtma the Conqueror, and the great Kondunean Emperor Xon Gheir the First. This demon would need more than maddening whispers to stop him.

    As more demons clambered into view, he hoisted his hammer high, charged with a roar, and swung with all his might.

    Almost disdainfully, the monster caught the hammer¡¯s head in its massive, clawed hand. Once more it laughed with a sound that echoed with the agony of a thousand tormented souls.

    As Angar tried yanking his weapon free, the air around him grew eerily still, as if the world held its breath.

    Then Mount Shirdis exploded in a violent roar.

 Chapter 5

    The volcano exploded with a deafening roar. As Angar and the demon were flung skyward, time grinded into a sickening, sluggish crawl.

    His neck snapped back, a brutal whiplash tearing through sinew. His spine felt shattered, battered and bent as it shouldn¡¯t. His skull throbbed with a vicious, unrelenting ache, and his ears screamed with a piercing, endless wail.

    He screamed a slow, tortured howl lost in a suffocating ringing that drowned out everything else. Scalding droplets seared his flesh, sizzling like acid, branding him with every torturous hiss.

    Rocks and jagged debris drifted past or were headed towards him, promising death when they arrived.

    The force of his ascent was slowly twisting him around, and as he spun, more chunks of stone and ash loomed closer, inevitable.

    Almost stuck in time, a monstrous torrent of lava erupted upward, a thick, choking pillar of molten fury crowned by a towering shroud of black smoke. Mount Shirdis itself was almost no more, its entire bulk exploding outward in a cataclysmic rupture.

    Crimson-orange flecks glinted in the air. Lava, he realized, the same that blistered his exposed skin.

    Then, a bright spot above him turned into a colossal bolt of lightning that tore through the stagnant haze above, moving at normal speed. It slammed into his shoulder mercilessly, ripping out through a finger on his outstretched arm.

    He had always heard lightning strikes caused unconsciousness, at least for a moment. He was hoping for that. But the myths lied. There was no merciful blackout, no escape into oblivion. Just raw, searing agony.

    Hard on the lightning¡¯s heels, a blast shredded the air, a slow-motion detonation that ruptured his eardrums in a sickening and bloody pop. His lungs collapsed inward, as if punched by an invisible and massive fist, and his brain blared with fresh torment.

    The glittering lava and debris seemed to pull back, but it was his own body hurtling faster, propelled by the savage explosion of air.

    He clawed through the sky, every inch of his body screaming in torment and misery, watching jagged bolts of lightning lash the earth below. Hundreds of them, a relentless barrage of electric wrath.

    His spin slowly brought the demon into view, a massive slab of rock grinding through its torso in excruciating slow motion. Knowing that monstrous thing was dead, or soon would be, made him glad.

    How easily and effortlessly the demon caught his hammer wasn¡¯t right. It was unnatural. Unfair. Having the courage to face a nightmare like that was one thing, but the scales were too unbalanced. No warrior stood a chance against creatures of such obscene power.

    In this twisted, sluggish nightmare, spysparks erupted in blinding bursts, and lightning rained down like divine vengeance.

    Angar prayed, begged, no more lightning would strike him, and for unconsciousness to finally drag him under and relieve him of this pain.

    His mother had been correct. The volcanic eruption was far more deadly than he could¡¯ve possibly imagined. He would be responsible for a lot of deaths. More than he could fathom.

    If the Kondunean Empire still harbored a desire to rule this land, they would reign only over ashes.

    He watched the slowly rock tear free from the demon¡¯s chest. Its eyes no longer blazed with infernal fire. They were no longer filled with anything besides lifelessness, and that gladdened him.

    As his spin continued to slowly change his view, a strange sight appeared before him, hovering in the air.

    A woman, maybe his mother¡¯s age, floated there. Ignoring the sheer madness of seeing a woman floating in the air, this was not a normal woman. Everything about her reeked of the unnatural.

    Even as the volcano¡¯s apocalyptic fury shredded the sky and the most savage lightning storm imaginable clawed at the earth, she radiated a chilling, serene dignity, untouched, unshaken, unruffled, a calm that mocked the chaos.

    Her hair hung straight and platinum blonde, neither being a hair quality Angar had ever witnessed, nor even thought possible.

    Her eyes were also impossible. A soft, almost translucent blue that made them seem piercing and brutal. Somehow, despite that, these eyes only reflected warmth and kindness.

    She didn¡¯t wear crude hide or anything close to familiar to Angar. It encased her body in a material so alien he couldn¡¯t even guess at its nature.

    It was seamless, as if forged whole, not pieced together by any craft he knew. It hugged her form tightly, molding to her shape, yet unmistakably distinct from her skin, clearly a separate layer and not flesh. It seemed to change colors in a magical way, but subtly, making Angar question if he was imagining it.

    She floated about five or six paces away, but that was hard to judge. If his guess was right, then she wasn¡¯t just taller than any woman he had ever seen, but every man too. And not taller by just a little. She would tower over all men.

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    The shape of her body was elongated as if a giant rock rolled over her prone form, smooshing her and stretching her out, making everything way too thin and long.

    Her face was too oval, her chin way too soft, as were the other facial features except for the high cheekbones, which were sharp. Her ears tapered to odd, sharp points.

    Her nose was mostly normal besides the thin nostrils. Just a straight, good nose. Her lips seemed too large as well, were plump, and a strange color.

    She was pale in a way unlike regular humans. Pale with a luminescent quality, smooth and unblemished, indicating she had lived a life of ease indoors, probably in soft areas of the south, and spent little time in the burning fog and rain.

    She stood in the air perfectly straight, her posture impossibly perfect, her arms clasped behind her back.

    Time no longer crawled forward and was now stopped completely, or almost so. Two lightning bolts inch their way towards the ground in maddingly slow motion, but that was the only movement Angar could see. Even skypark explosions sat petrified mid-blast.

    He knew this woman, like the dark whispers and mysterious words, was some form of demonic trickery.

    And this belief was only reinforced as the woman became somewhat transparent, clearly some malicious spirit, only cloaked in false grace.

    As she stared at him with those impossible eyes, a small smile crept onto her lips. She nodded her head slightly and said, ¡°Angar.¡±

    Since the eruption had sent him soaring through the air, Angar¡¯s mouth had been releasing a scream. One long scream he couldn¡¯t even hear before his eardrums had burst and deafened him.

    But he heard this demon speak his name. He could hear again. Miraculously.

    He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be able to speak, but he said, ¡°I won¡¯t fall for your trickery, demon,¡± normally, despite the stopped time.

    He then realized his body was free of pain. Somehow. Miraculously too. And not just that. He could now move normally. Or as normal as possible while floating in the air.

    The smile on the demon¡¯s lips grew wider. ¡°I¡¯m no demon. My goal is to save this world.¡±

    ¡°Are you some kind of spirit?¡± he asked, his skepticism clear.

    The woman nodded again. ¡°I guess you could say so. But not as your people see spirits.¡±

    ¡°What are you then?¡± he demanded.

    ¡°Someone offering help.¡±

    Angar was more and more impressed by this demon¡¯s demeanor and confidence. She exuded calm authority. So much so that if she gave an order, he¡¯d instinctively want to obey her commands. The impossible eyes of her steady gaze were filled with trustworthy compassion, causing him to feel doubt.

    But he knew it was all a lie.

    ¡°Like the help you offered my mother, Moloch? You corrupted a great woman. You knew her desires and used them to twist her mind until she committed those atrocities. I know your game, and I¡¯m immune to it. My only desire is to meet my father in Qitakai. The Great Lord is calling for me. No more tricks. End this. Let time flow naturally. Let me ascend gloriously.¡±

    No matter how hard he tried, Angar couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away from those impossible eyes. As he looked deeper into them, sinking in them, Moloch whispered, ¡°See.¡±

    A vision smashed into his mind, drowning him. Strange looking folk poured into a titanic shell made of an unyielding substance, a great behemoth that made the Ulimuns peaks themselves look like pebbles.

    Countless souls flooded its guts, then it tore into a boundless dark, soaring for a great time, many, many generations, bound for a new world, a world named Arcadia.

    It faltered, an emergency forcing it to land on a different world. He was shown this world from high above, and it churned like a festering wound, a swirling orb of sickly yellow-orange and brown.

    The massive thing carrying all the people landed, but the world ate metal, and the titanic thing was put deep underground to protect it.

    The people were weak and couldn¡¯t handle the great beasts, heat, and the burning fog and rain. Many, many died, frail husks rotting in droves.

    Over time, generation after generation, the people began to look normal, as Angar knew people to look, and spoke differently, as he knew people to speak.

    The new inhabitants called this planet Bitter Pill. Over time, that changed to Vefol.

    ¡°The people of this world are a testament to the human spirit,¡± said Moloch, voice steady. ¡°The ship your ancestors arrived in landed not all that far from this spot 3,762 years ago. Survival on this hostile world wasn¡¯t easy.¡±

    Moloch floated higher. There was a lightning bolt Anger hadn¡¯t spotted slowly inching its way down towards him. It disappeared as she touched it, and she became more translucent.

    After returning to her old spot, she said, ¡°And I¡¯m not Moloch. I¡¯d appreciate it if you stopped thinking I am. All creatures of Hell are my enemies, and none more so than the Demon Lords.¡±

    When he had been shown those words in his eyes, some had stood out, one being Hell. He didn¡¯t know its meaning, but it seemed she claimed not to be Moloch, and that Moloch was from Hell. If so, those of Hell were his enemies too.

    ¡°What do you want of me?¡± he asked, voice rough with suspicion.

    ¡°I want the people of this world to live. I aim to help you eradicate the Hellspawn and close this gateway to the Underworld.¡±

    The words shown in his eyes had used that word too. The Underworld. They said his mother had torn asunder the veil between this world and that one. He assumed it was another way of saying Hell.

    ¡°Hellspawn are the demons?¡± he pressed.

    She nodded. ¡°Yes, sort of. The things you think of as demons are called reavers. For Minor rated invasions, it¡¯s always reavers, fiends, or imps. True demons are far worse, and a lot more powerful.¡±

    Given how powerful these reavers were, Angar wondered how much more formidable these demons could be.

    ¡°You¡¯re offering to help me do what¡¯s already done,¡± he replied. ¡°The eruption is much mightier than I expected. I¡¯ve killed all these reavers. Not yet, with how time is flowing, but they¡¯ll soon be dead. The gateway will be destroyed too.¡±

    ¡°The gateway will persist,¡± she countered. ¡°Some reavers will survive the eruptions, and more will come until we close it. Those killed by reavers eventually rise as undead, and the same for those they kill, spreading their blight. Most inhabitants of this world will be dead before the Crusaders arrive.¡±

    All men not of Mecia were enemies, especially those of the Kondunean Empire. That was just fact.

    But if this woman spoke the truth, allegiance to specific peoples, kingdoms, or empires mattered nothing now. All grievances and loyalties had to be set aside until this threat was ended.

    The Weirding Witch released this plague upon the world, and her blood coursed through Angar¡¯s own veins.

    He knew what the Great Lord would want of him, what his father would want of him, and what the blood debt his mother incurred demanded of him. He would do all he could to save his world. ¡°How will you help me?¡± he asked.

    The small smile crept back onto the woman¡¯s lips. ¡°By swearing you into the Knighthood and allowing you to ascend as a Crusader.¡±

 Chapter 6

    ¡°How does becoming a Crusader help me?¡± asked Angar.

    ¡°It''ll grant you power, maybe enough to save your world,¡± the woman replied, her voice steady.

    Angar needed power, but there were things he wouldn¡¯t do for it. ¡°Know that I¡¯ll never betray the Great Lord.¡±

    ¡°Good news ¨C you don¡¯t have to.¡± She smirked faintly, a flicker of wryness in her eyes. ¡°Your religion, Ikimism, is very compatible with Trinitarianism. The Great Lord becomes God, and Qitakai becomes Heaven. You could even call Him just Lord if you¡¯d like. You keep the same lust for battle, but the blood tithes will come from Hellspawn.¡±

    That didn¡¯t really sound blasphemous at all. A few words would change. He was certain the Great Lord would prefer his tribute be in the form of far more powerful enemies anyway. ¡°Understood. How do I receive this power of a Crusader?¡±

    ¡°You''re about to gain a massive amount of XP. But first, we need to¡­¡±

    Angar interrupted to ask, ¡°XP?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s shorthand for experience points, the main way of gaining power.¡± She raised a hand, gesturing slightly. ¡°It¡¯s a numerical value Theosis awards for killing Hellspawn and completing certain objectives like closing gateways. It could be awarded for killing Heretics and other powerful creatures too, depending. Gain enough XP to reach certain thresholds and you can level up, increasing your power.¡±

    That was easy enough to understand. Killing made him more powerful. The more killing, the more power. He nodded.

    ¡°As I was saying, we need to get this done while time¡¯s dilated so you don¡¯t die. I''ll persuade Theosis to calculate and award your XP in advance. Then, we''ll swear you in. I''ll guide you through the choices and help you level up.¡±

    Angar wanted to know how time was being manipulated, but if this woman wasn¡¯t Moloch, he didn¡¯t know her name. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked. ¡°And should I give you a title or honorific?¡±

    ¡°No need.¡± She smirked faintly. ¡°I¡¯m a ghost in the machine. Spirit would be a fitting name. Call me that, unless it offends your beliefs.¡±

    ¡°There are helpful spirits. Spirit it is, then.¡± His voice softened briefly, testing the name. ¡°May I ask how you¡¯re slowing time like this?¡±

    ¡°I''m not the one manipulating time,¡± Spirit explained. ¡°Theosis is. It¡¯s a function of the Holy System. Remember your first System message? You couldn''t read it at first, then suddenly could, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes. True,¡± replied Angar.

    ¡°That was free training. You learned to speak, read, and write Imperial Standard in dilated time, where moments stretch into eternity. It¡¯s used for all training given by the Holy System. Your brain retains the knowledge you¡¯ve learned but not the memory of gaining it.¡±

    ¡°When you receive a System message, you¡¯re put in a different type of dilated time. It¡¯s slower and you retain everything, but as soon as you move, you lose its effect. I placed you in a version of that when the volcano exploded. When we began conversing, I brought it up to the training-level of dilation. And don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll make it so you remember all this. Ready to be sworn in?¡±

    Angar had a dozen more questions, but he was eager to gain this power. ¡°I am.¡± He squared his shoulders, his voice firm.

    ¡°Good. Theosis will have you perform the oath,¡± she replied, her form shimmering briefly, as if signaling the shift.

    Behold, the unyielding gaze of Theosis, the Holy System, pierces the veil of mortal frailty. You stand upon the precipice of glory, poised to unleash Holy vengeance upon over a thousand reavers ¨C a feat to echo through the ages, a saga carved in infernal blood and Holy flame.

    Your earlier flight from the abyssal horde was no mark of craven weakness, but a trial of your soul¡¯s mettle, now eclipsed by this righteous triumph.

    A Crusader forged in the crucible of battle, chosen from blood-soaked fields, raised from the devout Laity in an unprecedented ascension. In hallowed tradition, our glorious Holy Knights endure ¡®The Grim Ordeals of Sanctified Knighthood,¡¯ a deadly rite you have yet to face, nor have you learned the blessed Catechisms that guide us.

    Yet, the Holy Trinity has decreed your rise, an unprecedented event in the annals of our sacred history. You carve a new path to glory ¨C prove this grace is not misplaced, lest your untested zeal falter and drag us into unholy darkness. Beseech the Lord that this bold venture bears fruit, that sacred resources are not squandered on folly.

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    Though you hover in the air, borne by the unleashing of righteous wrath and blessed slaughter, for this solemn moment, you must humble yourself. For the sanctity of this rite, kneel, as best you are able.

    This was the first time Angar put his full effort into understanding the words shown to him by this Theosis. It was written strangely but he had no issue understanding it.

    And if he was understanding correctly, it seemed Theosis didn¡¯t want him to become a Crusader.

    ¡°I want this power, but this wasn¡¯t my idea,¡± Angar said, his voice tightening with a hint of anger. ¡°Spirit made this offer to me. And the first words you showed me stated I could ascend from this Laity to Crusader if I proved my valor.¡±

    ¡°Theosis can¡¯t sense me, so he¡¯ll think you¡¯re mentally unstable if you talk to him about me,¡± replied Spirit, her tone carrying a faint edge of exasperation. ¡°He¡¯s a stickler for the rules. Things are done a certain way in the Holy Empire. Tradition is the glue that binds it all together. Give me a second to address this.¡±

    Angar had already been knighted, the oath taken the very day his father recognized him as legitimate. He disliked Theosis¡¯ hesitancy. ¡°I understand tradition, but why does he see me as unworthy?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that.¡± Spirit shook her head slightly. ¡°The message notifying you of imperial citizenship stated acts of valor can qualify for Knighthood. He knows you¡¯re worthy and qualify. And this has happened before, it just hasn¡¯t happened in this way, to a Layman without a Class or a solid foundation specifically trying for Knighthood.¡±

    ¡°Our youth are trained from birth to undertake what¡¯s called the Grim Ordeals. Those that survive gain a lot of strength and power before they ascend to level 1. You''re not as strong as traditional candidates, but surviving this harsh world has made you formidable. He¡¯ll realize that soon.¡±

    Spirit moved over to Angar and placed her hand on his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s time to kneel and swear the oath. Speak the words Theosis shows you exactly as written.¡±

    Kneeling in the air was strange and felt unnatural, but Angar did it as best he could. The air thrummed faintly around him, heavy with unseen weight.

    I, Angar of Sulfuron 9, do solemnly vow before the Almighty God and upon my immortal soul:

    By the sacred blood of the martyred dead who paved the path, by Theosis, the coming and arrival, by the blessed Mother Mi, our savior, and by the Lord of Hosts, sovereign of all creation, I consecrate my existence to the relentless annihilation of Hell¡¯s foul spawn and the wicked Heretic.

    I pledge undying fealty to the Three, the unbreakable beacon that pierces the unending gloom, and to the Empire of the Holy Trinity, its light an unquenchable flame, to uphold the sacred tenets of our faith.

    No dark whisper of temptation, nor Heresy, shall see me falter, or bend the knee. With each breath until my last, I shall fight, my heart burning with the righteous fire of wrath, my flesh a vessel of ceaseless might, my mind ablaze with sacred fervor, my spirit unbreakable, my soul incorruptible.

    My most singular purpose shall be Holy War. Point me towards my enemies, and I shall make a glorious slaughter. Command me to march into the infernal abyss, and I shall trample the gates of Hell underfoot.

    I shall shield all worthy Children of God, be they Terran, Pleiadean, Reptiloid, or Gray, with my faith, my fury, my life.

    I stand as a bulwark against oblivion. I stand as Holy wrath incarnate. I stand now a Crusader.

    So help me God, lest I burn in tormented damnation.

    Now it was Angar¡¯s turn to hesitate.

    After reading through the oath, he had second thoughts. There were some words he didn¡¯t understand, but this religion¡¯s hunger for blood and battle resonated deeply with his own, mirroring the fire in his soul.

    It was the demanded devotion to this Empire of the Holy Trinity. It clashed with his loyalty to Mecia, where his heart and true allegiance would always lie.

    But once time¡¯s flow resumed, his kingdom would be ash. Mecia would fall, and with it, his ties of loyalty would dissolve, leaving him bound to nothing and no one but the Great Lord, now God.

    And when that moment came, he would bear the weight of Mecia¡¯s destruction, the city and its fleeing people dead by his hand.

    Guilt pressed at his mind, its tendrils clawing at him, strong and familiar, not unlike the dark whispers of the reapers. He knew that path led to madness. With effort, he shoved the guilt aside, forcing himself not to dwell on it.

    He should¡¯ve been dead now, beyond guilt, beyond suffering. The easy path. But it seemed his Lord had other plans for him.

    If he were to swear this oath, he¡¯d do so without reservation, and with every fiber of his being. As with all things in his life, he¡¯d commit fully, totally. He¡¯d keep his word unto death. He¡¯d never be an oath breaker.

    But the oath would mean only what he understood it to mean in this moment. He would worship as he always had, as Spirit had said just two words changed. If that proved false, that was on her.

    And above all, he would remain Mecian, first and always. He¡¯d never forsake his blood and ancestors ¨C the martyred dead who paved his path.

    With that resolve, he would surrender himself completely ¨C body, mind, and soul ¨C to this cause.

    Kneeling, Angar recited the oath, his voice ringing with fervor, passionately, each word igniting his heart, lifting his spirit, and stoking his great desire for glory, war, and vengeance. His voice echoed faintly, as if the words carried beyond the moment.

    When he finished, Spirit commanded, ¡°Stand, Crusader.¡±

    Angar obeyed.

    ¡°There¡¯s usually a lot more to this,¡± she said. ¡°A big ceremony called the Anointing with a lot of oils, rites, solemnity, and speeches. If you survive, you¡¯ll eventually get all that. I hope. We¡¯ll see. I hate to say it, but your survival is unlikely.¡±

    She looked him in the eye. ¡°Theosis calculated the full extent of all the death you¡¯ll soon be responsible for. Are you ready to gain power and ascend?¡±

 Chapter 7 (Scheme)

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± Angar said, his voice steady despite not knowing what was to come. He squared his shoulders, fists clenching at his sides, the d¡¯klar scale armor creaking faintly as he braced himself.

    Spirit tilted her head, her platinum hair swaying slightly, and gave a small nod. ¡°Okay. I¡¯m streamlining this to keep it simple,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ve earned a ton of Glorious Achievements, but I¡¯m stripping out the fluff from Theosis¡¯ message. You¡¯ll keep the Glory Points, and we¡¯ll go over the details later when you¡¯re not drowning in new information.¡±

    Angar nodded, his jaw tightening. ¡°Understood.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Stand by,¡± Spirit said, raising a hand as if signaling something unseen. Her translucent fingers flexed briefly, her piercing blue eyes flicking upward before settling back on him.

    Words blazed into Angar¡¯s vision.

    Another unprecedented event dawns in the annals of our sacred history ¨C an award bestowed not for the recent past, but for the inevitable triumph your valor heralds.

    Your deeds have sown the doom of 1,223 reavers of the infernal abyss, 1 vile Heretic, and ¨C retroactively sanctified ¨C 1 monstrous crustacean. A slaughter to blaze righteous light across the Holy Empire.

    Yet your wrath has sown a bitter harvest: the blood of new imperial citizens, sworn to your protection under oath, spills alongside the unworthy ¨C both non-citizens and wild beasts alike ¨C scattered in your reckless wake.

    Your duty is to shield the faithful, not slaughter them; this indiscriminate butchery profanes the sacred tenets of Trinitarianism, a stain upon your honor dark as the whispers of Hell.

    Though dire need compelled your hand, your ignorant wrath knew not its toll, this blood demands atonement. No witness lives to damn you in the temporal realm, thus your punishment is this: all accrued Voluvicas Credits stand forfeit, and a trial of purification awaits - asceticism and abstemiousness to purge your soul¡¯s dark stains, or leave it ash before the Holy Trinity¡¯s gaze.

    Theosis, the coming and arrival, decrees: an experience award of [SYSTEM ERROR: DATA BLOCKS 3-5 CORRUPTED¡ªRETRIEVAL FAILURE] and these Glorious Achievements yield 597 Glory Points.

    You have transcended the Ranks of Initiate and Novice, standing now at the pinnacle of the first Tier of power, level 33, on the verge of the second Tier and the Rank of Knight-Adept. All further experience is forfeit until ascending thus.

    Now, Crusader, seize your destined glory.

    For God and Empire!

    As Angar read and reread the section demanding his punishment, guilt gnawed at him once more, but the words asceticism and abstemiousness began to crystallize in his mind.

    They simply meant forsaking pleasure such as rich feasts, abundant comforts, lavish indulgences. Things life in Mecia had already denied him. Things he would have claimed in abundance had he died.

    His true punishment, the one he¡¯d impose upon himself, was far greater ¨C to live. To endure. To purge the taint in his blood, avenge his fallen people, and save his blighted world.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the error in that spiel,¡± Spirit said, her voice cutting through the silence. ¡°I¡¯ll walk you through everything you need to know.

    ¡°The Holy Empire has been fighting Hellspawn for over four thousand years. Theosis manages everything, and he¡¯s grown to be a staunch believer of utility maximization, standardization over personalization, and collectivism over individualism.¡±

    She crossed her arms. ¡°He¡¯d try getting you to pick Sanctifier as your first Class, and Blessed Champion, Sacred Avenger, or Zealous Luminar for your second. Those need firearms, which you don¡¯t have. Most Crusaders fight together in companies, leaning on Abilities that shine in a big group, which, again, you don¡¯t have.¡±

    Angar frowned, shifting his weight uncomfortably in the air. ¡°What Class do I take then?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Considering available equipment, it must be close combat focused,¡± she replied. ¡°Classes used to be ranked by power and rarity, but Theosis scrapped that ages ago. Each offers three to five Abilities. Generally, the more offered, the better Class. Two-word names mean it¡¯s more powerful. A word like ¡®blessed¡¯ or ¡®sacred¡¯ bump it up further.¡±

    She made a strange gesture with an open hand. ¡°You¡¯ve probably noticed Theosis always capitalizes Holy and Divine and always refers to himself as either the Holy or Divine System. Consider those two words special. If those are in a Class name, it means its special too, probably unique.

    ¡°Luckily for you, Class is going to be an easy choice since you¡¯re being offered a hybrid close combat one named Divine Storm. You¡¯d be foolish not choosing it. It offers your best chance of survival.¡±

    Angar¡¯s brow furrowed as he processed her words, his hand drifting to rest on his hammer¡¯s haft, fingers tapping idly. He was trying to retain everything. He had a good memory, but he lacked understanding of many of these new concepts. Still, if what she said was true, this Class sounded perfect.

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    ¡°And my second Class?¡± he asked.

    Spirit stepped closer, her translucent form shimmering faintly, and rested a hand on his shoulder, her touch cool but firm. ¡°Divine Storm has great Abilities and Upgrades. You won¡¯t need a second for Tier 1. We¡¯re going all in on this Class. We¡¯ll spend most of your Glory Points making it stronger too.¡±

    Angar met her gaze, his shoulders tensing under her touch. He had little choice but to trust her. ¡°Understood,¡± he said, his voice low but resolute. ¡°How do I pick it?¡±

    ¡°Just say or think ¡®System.¡¯¡±

    ¡°System,¡± Angar said. A greenish light flared from his face, projecting a screen of white text less than an arm¡¯s length away. He blinked, startled, and swiped at it with his free hand, fingers passing through without resistance.

    He wanted to explore this light more, but Spirit said, ¡°I''ve adjusted the text display setting to the maximum brevity and clarity option, making it easier for you to understand. Pick the Class.¡±

    There was a congratulatory message and a box saying, ¡®Tap to select your first Class.¡¯ He wondered how he¡¯d tap something made of strange light, but when he poked at the box, a new screen appeared.

    The names of many Classes showed but not the one he needed.

    ¡°Okay. Touch the block on the side,¡± Spirit said, stepping beside him and pointing with a finger. ¡°Hold it, drag it downward. That¡¯s called scrolling.¡±

    He fumbled at first, his thick fingers clumsy on the light, but he got it, dragging the block until Divine Storm appeared. He poked it firmly.

    ¡°Done,¡± he said, his chest tightening as a strange warmth flooded his body, pulsing through his limbs. He flexed his hands, feeling the shift. ¡°I feel strange.¡±

    Spirit¡¯s lips curved into a small smile, her hands clasping again behind her back. ¡°You¡¯re ascending. When you pick a Class and initiate the Holy System, you gain some free power. Your Attributes are going up by 1, boosting the Stats they govern. You also got your first Adroitness point, making you faster, and points in that are hard to come by.¡±

    ¡°I need these terms explained,¡± he said. ¡°I know the word attribute, but not as you¡¯re using it.¡±

    Spirit drifted closer, her translucent hand resting lightly on his shoulder again, her touch steadying. ¡°You must trust me. It¡¯ll make sense when you see your Annals,¡± she said, her voice calm, reassuring.

    Angar sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly, but he nodded. ¡°Understood.¡±

    ¡°Do you trust me, Angar?¡± Spirit asked, tilting her head, her piercing eyes searching his face.

    ¡°More than I probably should,¡± he admitted.

    Spirit let out a quiet laugh. ¡°Good, but you¡¯ll need to trust me far more than that. Far more than is sensible. You''ll find it worthwhile. Together, we shall give our all to save your world.¡±

    She nodded toward the screen. ¡°Okay. It¡¯s now displaying a list of five Abilities. Choose the one named Ground Current.¡±

    Angar quickly reviewed the five Abilities and their Upgrade options. Listed were Lightning Strike, Ground Current, Lightning Bolt, Tempest, and Lightning Storm. If it were up to him, he¡¯d select Lightning Strike instead of Ground Current, but he did as instructed. ¡°Done,¡± he said, as another pulse rippled through him.

    ¡°Okay¡± Spirit said, her tone warm but brisk. ¡°Now, you¡¯re Tier 1, Rank 1, level 1. We¡¯re going to level you all the way up to 33. The level scheme repeats every Rank. A full Rank is 16 levels. I¡¯m having Theosis display the leveling scheme.

    ¡°This will take a few seconds because I¡¯m imposing brevity and clarity on Theosis¡¯ direct communications, and he hates this passionately. You don¡¯t need to remember or fully understand all this stuff. Just read through to get the gist, then think, ¡®Send to notes,¡¯ and it¡¯ll automatically be added to your System notes. Here it comes.¡±

    <u>ASCENSION PROGRESSION AND OPTIONS:</u>

    <u>Level 1 (Rank 1, Tier 1, Knight-Initiate</u>): Marks the first step of your ascension. All three Attributes increase by 1 point. The special trait Adroitness also increases by 1 point.

    Grants a <u>Class Option</u> to select a Class and choose an Ability from that Class.

    Additional Class Options are awarded at levels 17, 34, 50, 67, and 83, allowing for the selection of another Class for which you qualify, <u>OR</u> an additional Ability from a Class already held, <u>OR</u> purchase of the third <u>Sacred Upgrade</u> for an Ability denoted with a (C).

    <u>Level 2:</u> Grants a <u>Stat Point</u> to increase one of the nine Stats by 1. Every fourth Stat Point used on the same Stat increases the governing Attribute by 1, thereby increasing each of its three governed Stats by 1.

    <u>Level 3:</u> Grants an <u>Attribute Point</u> to increase one of three Attributes by 1, which increases the three governed Stats by 1.

    <u>Level 4:</u> Grants an <u>Ability Upgrade</u> to select an available Upgrade of an Ability.

    <u>Level 5:</u> Grants a <u>Feat Option</u> to select a Feat you qualify for.

    <u>Levels 6-8:</u> Repeat the sequence from Levels 2 to 4.

    <u>Level 9:</u> Grants an <u>Ability Option</u> to pick a new Ability from any held Class <u>OR</u> purchase an Ability''s first or second <u>Sacred Upgrade</u> denoted by an (A).

    <u>Levels 10-16:</u> Repeat the sequence from levels 2 to 8.

    <u>Level 17 (Rank 2, Knight-Novice):</u> Grants your second Class Option.

    <u>Levels 18-32:</u> Repeat the sequence from levels 2-16.

    <u>Level 33:</u> The <u>Capstone</u> of Tier 1 is selected which provides a significant effect.

    <u>Level 34 (Start of Tier 2):</u> Includes Ranks Knight-Adept and Knight. Grants 1 Adroitness and 2 to each Attribute. Repeats the progression from Levels 1-33, culminating with the Tier 2 Capstone at Level 66.

    <u>Level 67 (Start of Tier 3):</u> Includes Ranks Knight-Master and Knight-Exemplar. Grants 1 Adroitness and 3 to each Attribute. Repeats the progression from Levels 1-33, culminating in a third Capstone at Level 99.

    <u>Level 100:</u> A special level marking ascension to Saint. Continue onward, Crusader.

    ¡°I¡¯ve sent this to the notes,¡± said Angar. ¡°I see the note.¡±

    ¡°Think, ¡®Save as Ascension Progression.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Done.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± replied Spirit. ¡°Have you noticed I¡¯ve been getting more and more translucent?¡±

    ¡°I have.¡±

    ¡°The duration for which I can extend time dilation, and which you''ll remember, is nearly at an end. Thank you for trusting me.¡±

    Angar grunted. ¡°Thank you for helping me with all this, Spirit.¡±

    ¡°You are very welcome,¡± she said, her hands settling firmly on his temples. ¡°I need to finish leveling you up. See you in a few moments.¡± Her fingers tightened briefly, her eyes locking with his.

    ¡°What?¡± he asked. Spirit¡¯s presence surged into his mind, a cold rush overtaking him. The next thing he knew, he was hurtling toward the ground at a tremendous speed.

 Chapter 8 (Annals)

    After Spirit¡¯s grip on his mind vanished, Angar snapped awake, hurtling through the ash-thick sky at blinding speed.

    His body slammed into awareness first. Agony roared through him, a wildfire of pain scorching every nerve. His back and spine felt as if he¡¯d been trapped in a rockslide, his skull pounded as if bashed by a hammer, and his ribs throbbed, splintered from the volcano¡¯s wrath.

    Then he realized the world was silent. His broken eardrums could no longer miraculously hear as they had when time was dilated.

    The earth surged up, a dark smear resolving into a glinting pool of acidic crud. He was going too fast. He¡¯d never survive impact.

    He braced, muscles tensing, and smashed into it with a bone-jarring crash, the impact wrenching a silent scream from his throat.

    Water exploded around him, stinging droplets searing his flesh, and he sank, stunned, his limbs flailing uselessly, shocked to still be alive.

    But the acidic pools of the surface were never very diluted and always caused rapid burns to flesh. He needed to rush out quickly to have any chance of survival.

    His chest heaved, gasping for air that wasn¡¯t there, and he forced his eyes open, blinking through the burning haze, forced to, as he needed to see.

    Solid land was only five or so paces away. If he was quick enough, he could survive the acid burns.

    The acidic pool bit into his skin, a relentless, gnawing burn spreading fast. He stretched his legs down, toes straining for the bottom, but found only void, his feet dangling in endless depth.

    His good hand balled into a fist, slamming against the water in frustration as panic clawed up his throat, drowning out the pain for a fleeting moment.

    Only the beasts of Vefol could swim through any of the liquid bodies both above and below ground. No human could.

    The pool was too deep, the shore was unreachable. Acid would melt him to bone. Or drag him under to choke his lungs. Either way, this was his doom.

    He was a dead man. There was no sense even trying. There was nothing he could do. But the instinct to not quit was stronger than the pull of gloom and defeat.

    He thrashed, his legs kicking wildly, his uninjured arm flailing through the water with desperate swings.

    The lightning-struck shoulder flared with white-hot agony, nearly causing him to cry out, but the acidic pool was pulling him under, forcing him to hold the scream in and close his mouth and eyes as his head submerged.

    He sucked up the pain, forcing his good arm to flail harder, legs pumping frantically. His head broke the surface, and he gasped, coughing up acrid water, spluttering as it burned his lips and tongue. Every kick sent jolts through his shattered frame, his ribs grinding, his neck screaming with each twist.

    He sank again, then surged, more sinking than swimming, his body a lead weight dragged by exhaustion. His good hand clawed forward, legs thrashing in uneven bursts, each motion a war against the acid¡¯s pull and blind panic.

    His vision blurred with tears, from pain or the burning crud, he couldn¡¯t tell. His lungs burned, and the pain caused by movement promised unconsciousness if he didn¡¯t stop. But he pressed on, baffled to still be alive, the acid not yet stripping him bare.

    Then his fingers grazed mud. He dug in, his nails scraping earth, and hauled himself forward with a guttural grunt, his torso dragging half-out of the pool.

    His legs kicked once, twice, getting him out, his feet still pushing him forward, driving him fully onto ground.

    And that was it. He sprawled face-down in the muck. His chest heaved, gasping ragged breaths, the air sharp with acid¡¯s tang. He spat, clearing his throat, each breath now a testament of defiance. He had survived the un-survivable.

    He hadn¡¯t just survived the pool¡¯s depths ¨C he survived the eruption¡¯s launch, the lightning¡¯s bite, the blast that followed, the debris-studded sky ¨C all of it, even this brutal impact into the acidic pool.

    He had the wounds to prove his ordeals, but he lived. Death should¡¯ve claimed him a dozen times over.

    Panting, he lay there, chest rising and falling, and noticed the pain dulling a little.

    His hands brushed his sides, and bare skin met his touch. He frowned, patting himself down, fingers tracing nothing but flesh. He was completely naked. His expensive new armor was gone. It wasn¡¯t the acid pool. D¡¯klar were completely acid-proof.

    The ground trembled beneath him. He tilted his head, squinting through the haze, and caught blinding flashes of lightning, ceaseless and ferocious, paired with skysparks bursting like mad.

    He propped himself on an elbow, neck straining as he lifted his gaze, and took in the carnage. The sky was a blackened shroud, ash choking the air, pierced by a towering plume where Shirdis once stood, the mountain crumbled into molten ruin, lava spewing in gouts that torched trees to cinders, blanketing the land in fiery death.

    The old mountains¡¯ distance leagues away, far beyond what he¡¯d expected. He had somehow been hurled clear across the valley.

    The air hummed, charged and heavy, but the storm¡¯s wrath stayed mercifully distant. He muttered a prayer, lips barely moving, hoping the charged air around him wouldn¡¯t turn into a lightning storm too.

    It didn¡¯t look like it was over. All the Ulimuns range of mountains looked fit to erupt.

    Guilt stabbed deeper than the acid¡¯s burn. He¡¯d done this. He unleashed this destruction. Every soul around the city of Mecia, friend or foe, was ash now, their deaths staining his hands, including his mother¡¯s.

    He forced his mind not to dwell on that, for his own sanity.

    He tore his gaze away, head dropping, and rubbed his face with a muddy hand, smearing grime across his brow.

    He began to believe all that had happened, all his visions of the woman named Spirit, were scenes his explosion-addled mind invented. Just hallucinations brought on by one of the madnesses head injuries were known to cause.

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    If she was real, she¡¯d been wrong ¨C nothing could survive that inferno, not reavers, not the gateway.

    To see if it had all been a madness, he tested it, thinking ¡®System.¡¯

    Light flared from his face and sharp words glowing a pace away.

    So, it wasn¡¯t hallucinations, he thought. It all really happened. All of it.

    He remembered a word both Spirit and Theosis had used. He thought the word ¡®Annals.¡¯

    The screen shifted. It worked.

    Angar leaned forward, propping himself higher, his broken frame protesting as he studied it, curiosity and necessity focusing his mind.

    ANNALS OF SIR ANGAR [NA] ([NA], MECIA, SULFURON 9, ECLIPTICA)

    Age: 14 (Minor*)

    Social: Holy Knight, [NA], Lay Rank - Minor Gentry (surviving heir and heir apparent of devastated lands controlled by the former city-state of Mecia, located on Sulfuron 9, with few inhabitants or subjects, and no income or apparent imperial value).

    Chapter: NA

    Tier: 1

    Rank: Knight-Novice

    Level: 33

    Glory Points: 247

    <u>ATTRIBUTES, STATS, AND ADROITNESS</u>

    (Each Attribute Point increases all Stats governed by that Attribute by 1. Applying 4 Stat Points to the same Stat will increase the governing Attribute by 1. Numbers in (parentheses) include increases from items.)

    <u>BODY</u> (Physical Attributes): With 8 AP applied - 11

    Physique (Size/Strength): With 8 SP applied - 19

    Endurance (Stamina/Health): 11

    Toughness (Physical Durability/Resistance): 11

    <u>MIND</u> (Non-Physical Attributes): 1

    Competence (Skill Points/Insight): 1

    Cognizance (Awareness/Perception): 1

    Resilience (Non-Physical Durability/Resistance): 1

    <u>SPIRIT</u> (Metaphysical Attributes): 1

    Power Level (PL) (Ability Damage and Effectiveness): 1

    Energy (Resource for Powers shown as Energy Points equal to 3 + (Energy Stat x 3)): 1

    Charges (Increases the number of times certain Abilities can be used): 1

    <u>ADROITNESS</u> (Finesse/Reaction/Speed): 2

    <u>RESOURCES</u>

    Current/Maximum Energy Points: 6/6

    Current/Maximum Charges: 1/1

    <u>CLASSES </u>

    1 ¨C <u>DIVINE STORM: </u>

    This Class has unknown requirements. This Class is reserved. Hidden requirement 1 met. Hidden requirement 2 met. Hidden requirement 3 met. Description not available. Lightning damage has a chance to stun.

    <u>SKILLS</u>

    NA (1 Skill Point available)

    <u>FEATS</u>

    <u>ALACRITY OF ANGULIMALA:</u> Your exceptional agility and swiftness grant you an almost preternatural awareness of impending danger, enhancing Adroitness by 1 point.

    <u>BLESSING OF AL-KHIDR:</u> Your intuition blurs the line between the apparent and the hidden, allowing you to discern deeper esoteric truths beyond what is immediately visible, guided by your faithful gut instincts.

    <u>RAVANA¡¯S BOON</u>: Your ability to slowly regenerate applies to all injuries that do not immediately kill you. This minor regeneration effect cumulatively enhances (stacks with) most other sources of regeneration.

    <u>RIGHTEOUS REBUKER:</u> Your resistance to temptation, reflecting Jesus'' obedience to God''s will, fortifies against the corrupting whispers, temptations, and influences from creatures of Hell, effectively elevating your Tier by 1 for the exclusive purpose of resisting these influences.

    <u>IMPLANTS</u>

    NA

    <u>CAPSTONES</u>

    NA (Tier 1 available)

    <u>ABILITIES</u>

    (Selected Upgrades Bolded. Cooldown and cost reflect selected Upgrades in parentheticals. Ability description does not reflect selected Upgrades.)

    From <u>Divine Storm</u>:

    1 ¨C <u>GROUND CURRENT:</u>

    Transform into charged particles, allowing near-instantaneous travel through the ground up to 3 + (0.5 x PL) meters. You are mostly immune to damage and effects during this travel.

    Cooldown: 30 seconds (15 seconds)

    Cost: 2 Energy (1 Energy)

    <u>Upgrades:</u>

    Enduring 1: Increase travel distance to 3 + PL meters.

    Enduring 2: Increase travel distance to 3 + (1.5 x PL) meters.

    Fervor: Gain immunity to most attacks and control effects for 1 second after exiting the ground.

    Merciless 1: Stun all targets within 1.5 meters of your exit point for 0.5 seconds.

    Merciless 2: Stun all targets within 3 meters of your exit point for 1 second.

    Mighty: Add 0.1 x PL lightning damage to your close weapon attacks for 3 seconds post-exit.

    Rage: Halves cooldown.

    Zeal: Halve Energy cost.

    <u>Sacred Upgrades:</u>

    (A) Geomagnetic Phenomena 1: Strike all targets within 1.5 meters of where you exit the ground with a lightning bolt dealing PL damage, suppressing any permanent regeneration effect targets may have for 1 second.

    (A) Geomagnetic Phenomena 2: Strike all targets within 3 meters of where you exit the ground with a lightning bolt dealing 2 x PL damage, suppressing regeneration for 2 seconds.

    (C) Geomagnetic Phenomena 3: Lightning damage from Geomagnetic Phenomena 1 and 2 forks to a new target within 3 meters inflicting half damage, then forks to a new target within 3 meters inflicting a quarter damage. Additionally, for 2 seconds after use, allows an additional use of Ground Current at no energy cost if a target moves more than 4 meters away, but the cooldown is reset and only Enduring 1 and 2 apply to this use.

    2 ¨C <u>TEMPEST:</u>

    Hold your hands together or your close weapon with both hands and spin rapidly for 3 seconds, dealing an extra PL physical damage per hit to all targets in range. You can move while spinning.

    Cooldown: 1 minute (30 Seconds)

    Cost: 4 Energy, 1 Charge

    <u>Upgrades:</u>

    Enduring 1: Spin duration increases to 4.5 seconds.

    Enduring 2: Spin duration increases to 6 seconds.

    Fervor: No Charge required, but cooldown increases to 4 minutes.

    Merciless: Hit targets are slowed by 50% and your speed is boosted by 50% for 2 seconds. Does not stack.

    Mighty 1: Deal 1.5 x PL damage per hit.

    Mighty 2: Deal 2 x PL damage per hit.

    Rage: Halves cooldown.

    Zeal: Halves Energy cost.

    <u>Sacred Upgrades:</u>

    (A) Thunderstorm 1: Lightning extends 3 meters from the tip of your weapon, dealing 0.5 x PL damage every second. Mighty 1 and 2 increase damage to 0.75 x PL and PL respectively.

    (A) Thunderstorm 2: Thunderstorm now starts at 0.33 x PL damage, but lightning damage increases by 0.33 x PL each second and range is extended by 1 meter per second. Mighty 1 and 2 increase initial damage to 0.5 x PL and .66 x PL respectively.

    (C) Thunderstorm 3: Mitigate 90% of incoming damage and resist 90% of negative effects while spinning. Additionally, lightning damage from Thunderstorm 1 and 2 forks to a new target within 3 meters inflicting half damage, then forks to a new target within 3 meters inflicting a quarter damage.

    <u>ITEMS</u>

    NA

 Chapter 9

    Angar hunched over the Annals¡¯ glowing screen, his good hand clenching into a fist, knuckles whitening as annoyance and anger flared in his chest.

    He had two mighty Abilities ¨C magic, real magic ¨C but they were shackled. Tempest could only be used once, draining his lone Charge and most of his Energy Points, leaving Ground Current with just two shots.

    He barely understood this System, all of it new and alien, but when he read through the Attributes and Stats, each sounded good, desirable, and necessary. The Abilities seemed to be the true power of this System. The true magic of all this.

    Most of the resources he gained from leveling up went into empowering two Abilities. Two mighty Abilities.

    Even he knew the Spirit Attribute and the three Stats listed under it were extremely important. Those three Stats provided fuel to use the Abilities and made them more powerful.

    His Power Level was 1. While math was left to the witches, his mother had taught him plenty enough of it, and the calculations made it clear he needed more than 1.

    Spirit¡¯s choices made little sense. He squinted at the screen, swiping it with a muddy finger, his brow furrowing as he reread the numbers.

    Some Feats seemed decent. He hoped the regeneration effect one of them provided saved his battered body and fixed his shattered eardrums, but it obviously wasn¡¯t fast acting.

    Why would she place all Attribute points in Body, and all Stat points in Physique? It makes no sense, he thought.

    He wanted to be taller and stronger, of course, as tall and strong as a giant, but he¡¯d rather have magic that hit harder and could be used more often.

    And he didn¡¯t have the level 33 Capstone. Not that he could see, and he looked carefully for it. It just said ¡®NA (Tier 1 available).¡¯ And he was 10 years of age, not 14.

    He sighed, a sharp exhale through gritted teeth, and shoved this all aside. There was no sense moping about any of it. What was done was done. He¡¯d keep his word, his new oath, and make the best of it. And the charged air and the look of the Ulimuns worried him more.

    He grew up not far from a small volcano that constantly spewed a little lava in a stream down its side. Volcanoes like that were everywhere.

    But volcanoes never erupted. That volcanoes could erupt was only known due to the wise witches and their secret knowledge.

    Angar was certain more eruptions loomed. Perhaps the entire Ulimuns range would rupture in a cataclysm of fire and stone. He had to move westward, and fast, toward the uninhabited badlands, a savage expanse teeming with mighty beasts. It was a place too perilous for settlement, where only the boldest warrior bands ventured to hunt.

    He rubbed his temples, grimacing, his head throbbing. The air crackled, charged and heavy, prickling his skin. He straightened, wincing as his ribs grated, and scanned the horizon.

    The sky was night-dark, ash choking out the sun that could be seen during the day, and his vision was already a murky haze due to the acidic crud.

    He staggered forward as fast as his body would carry him, naked and weaponless, skirting the acidic pool¡¯s edge, his bare feet sinking into the quaking earth.

    Halfway around, the pool bubbled violently, sending ripples surging.

    He froze as grawloks burst from the water. Dozens of them, unlike any he¡¯d encountered before. Their claws were larger, like jagged pincers, yet they moved more sluggishly, their smaller bodies scuttling through the shallows.

    Most seemed panicked as they ran west, away from all the destruction, but a few noticed him. This many would rip him to shreds in his battered state.

    He looked at the creatures as they stared at him, agitatedly blinking their strange eyelids and silently clacking their antennae together.

    His pulse quickened, his good hand flexing as he squared his stance, preparing.

    One charged, lumbering but deliberate. With how slow this type of grawlok moved, Angar easily sidestepped, his feet sliding in the muck, and snatched its pincer as it passed, ripping it free with a wet crunch.

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    He¡¯d never be able to rip an arm off any the grawloks he knew of. His fingers sank into its shell like clay. Either these creatures were brittle, or the Body Attribute and Physique Stat were a lot more powerful than he assumed.

    Another sluggishly rushed him. He propped the pincer on the ground, gripping its thin end, and swung it like a club as he sidestepped again. The impact shattered both weapon and beast, sending shell and scales spraying as it crumpled.

    The first grawlok wheeled back, it¡¯s single claw snapping. Angar tore a pincher from the corpse in front of him, grinning faintly despite the pain, and smashed it down as the creature charged.

    Once again, makeshift club and creature exploded in a spray of shards.

    A third grawlok twitched, eyeing him. He remembered the magic, just needing to figure out how to use it.

    And figuring it out wasn¡¯t so hard. He thought about using Ground Current and his body dissolved into sizzling particles, streaking through the earth to pop up four paces away, right where he¡¯d aimed.

    Lightning cracked down, twin bolts frying two of the three lingering grawloks, both ones in range, their shells bursting in electric ruin, even with his Power Level being 1.

    He strode to the last grawlok, feet thudding, and drove his fist into its side. The shell gave way like it wasn¡¯t there, his hand plunging deep.

    He hoisted the beast overhead with a grunt, then slammed it into the ground. That did the trick. It twitched once and stilled.

    Angar straightened, a grim smile tugging at his lips. He certainly liked being a Crusader. He could easily get used to this.

    Killing these grawloks made him feel better. For whatever reason, it made all the pain that racked his body more bearable.

    He hoped to cross paths with some d¡¯klar, fierce creatures that never failed to attack anyone they spotted. If the beasts struck first, Theosis could hardly judge him for defending himself.

    He turned, peering through the ash toward Mecia¡¯s smoldering grave, urgency gripping him. He broke into a loping run, pain spiking with each step, his good arm pumping.

    As soon as Ground Current could be used again, he used it. The Ability brought him about five paces. He hadn¡¯t been sure what a meter was before. Now he knew four meters equaled a bit under five paces, or roughly so.

    He¡¯d like to know what a minute equaled. Mecians used short moments, moments, and short and long spans.

    The 15 second cooldown of Ground Current was roughly about what he¡¯d consider to be two moments, maybe a little shorter than that, so a second was a about a short moment.

    The cooldown of Tempest was halved and went from a minute to 30 seconds, so he inferred a minute was 60 seconds. Ground Current¡¯s cooldown, also halved, went from 30 to 15 seconds. So, a minute roughly equaled eight moments.

    Angar wondered why Theosis hadn¡¯t remarked on the grawloks he¡¯d slain. Could he speak to it? Or him? Spirit always referred to Theosis as he.

    As he began moving, he said, ¡°Theosis, how do I get back the Energy Points I used? I know I can¡¯t earn more XP until I ascend to Tier 2, but do I receive a reward for the killing I just did? And I¡¯m assuming you count years differently than I do and 14 of your years equal 10 of ours?¡±

    He waited for a message to show in his eyes as he traveled as fast as his body would take him, but none did.

    The air buzzed, the charge sharper now. He glanced back, squinting as the lightning storm swelled, clawing wider across the ash-blackened sky, surprised he could see so well through this gloom.

    He pressed westward, feet gouging the dirt, inspecting what injuries he could as he hobble-ran.

    His lightning-struck arm couldn¡¯t easily be moved. The bolt exited his body midway through a finger, bursting it open and charring flesh. It wasn¡¯t bleeding. The open wounds were scorched by the acidic crud and packed with yellow fungus. He flexed it, wincing.

    A tug, some instinct, sharp and sudden, yanked his gaze right. A rakar barreled toward him, scales glinting, claws outstretched. He had never seen one with his eyes, only hearing tales of its prowess.

    It was still a decent distance away, giving him time to study it, and it was a massive beast, its body covered in very large and hard scales that shimmered with a metallic luster, with a broad and muscular frame, its limbs ending in formidable claws.

    Its head was mostly a massive mouth lined with sharp teeth, and its eyes were tiny, black, and beady things on either side of the mouth. Even with those deadly claws, this beast was known for its bite.

    A long and powerful tail swung behind it, delivering devastation to what it was swung at.

    It was said this creature moved with a silent grace, but since Angar could hear nothing and the beast seemed enraged and agitated, he assumed this one was an exception.

    And since he heard many tales about this beast¡¯s great speed, he assumed his Adroitness was responsible for it seeming to move so sluggishly.

    As the feared beast he¡¯d heard so much about charged toward him, a mix of terror and awe surged through Angar. His good hand clenched into a fist, his legs bracing.

    He considered unleashing Tempest against this formidable foe. He itched to test its power, to witness it in action, but he held back. The strange grawloks had too easily been killed, and using Tempest now would completely deplete his remaining resources.

    He strode forward, feet kicking up dirt, and met the rakar¡¯s pounce with a backhanded swing, smashing its snout. It crashed down, claws raking air, and shook its massive maw from side to side as it backed away.

    It rubbed its snout on the ground, glared at this opponent it should easily massacre, then charged again.

    Angar surged to meet it, his uninjured arm hauled back, and he blasted the beast with a devastating overhand punch to the top of its head as it prepared to pounce.

    His fist cratered its skull. Scales split, bones snapped, and it crumpled, dead.

    Angar grinned fiercely, savoring this power of a Crusader as he loomed over the corpse.

    Then instinct flared again. He whipped around, spotting the obsidian form of a reaver through the haze right before its chilling laugh pierced his shattered eardrums, and dark whispers slithered into his mind.

 Chapter 10

    Angar stood frozen, his good hand clenching into a trembling fist, breaths shallow as fear gnawed at his gut, and shame filled his chest for feeling it.

    He wished he was man enough to not feel the fear, but the reaver¡¯s obsidian bulk ¨C spiked, horned, and rippling with malice ¨C still chilled him to the bone.

    He squared his shoulders, jaw tightening, forcing defiance through the dread.

    Its fiery eyes locked with his, and maddening whispers slithered into the silence of his deaf world, right at the edge of comprehension, dripping with sweet insanity and sick promises of power, his battered frame swaying as he teetered on losing himself in those unholy words.

    But he was still Angar of Mecia, son of King Baraga and Laka the Weirding Witch, descendent of Elaxada the Mighty, Mahtma the Conqueror, and the great Kondunean Emperor Xon Gheir the First.

    And now, a mighty Crusader of the Empire of the Holy Trinity too.  This spawn of Hell would need a lot more than maddening whispers to stop him.

    He bared his teeth, gripped his lightning-struck arm, and charged, his feet digging into the dirt, pain spiking with each stride.

    The reaver surged forward, charging right back at him, its speed a blur unlike the sluggish grawloks and rakar.

    Its laugh erupted, a soul-shredding wail of torment, and Angar¡¯s good fist swung as they clashed.  The monster dodged with eerie grace, its twin claws slashing.

    He jerked his good arm up, blocking one swipe as claws raked flesh, sending blood spraying and pain flaring like a brand.  The second caught his face, talons gouging deep as he ducked too late.

    He staggered back, blood dripping warm down his face, and the reaver¡¯s claws reared for another strike.

    Angar dove, rolling through the dirt, his body screaming, to escape those claws.  As he got to his feet and faced his foe, he thought he¡¯d have time to come up with something.  Anything.  Some way to attack.  Or defend.

    But the reaver was almost on him, its fang-filled maw gaping for a killing bite.

    He had hoped to defeat this monster with his new massive strength as easily as he had the grawloks and the mighty rakar.  That didn¡¯t seem possible.  Winning at all didn¡¯t seem possible.  This monster was just too powerful.

    But Angar had magic now.  With those new claw slashes, both of Angar¡¯s arms were injured, and the lightning-struck one throbbed agonizingly.

    As the fang-filled mouth approached, he clasped his hands, held them straight out, and he spun around like a cyclone.

    He braced for pain, expecting the reaver¡¯s obsidian hide and ridges to shred his fists.  But when his hands slammed its face, it didn¡¯t cause him much pain at all.

    Lighting crackled out of his hands and stretched outwards.  The next rotation caused his hands to slam into the face again.

    When his spin battered the reaver for the third time, some of the lightning curved through the air and bent back to strike it.

    The spawn of Hell tried to flee, but Angar could move around while spinning, and he easily stayed with the monster.

    The lighting stretched out further and further as Angar continued to spin around.  He stuck close to the reaver as it attempted to flee, every spin causing his hands to whack into its body.

    Chips of whatever substance this creature was made of flew away with each hit, as did chunks of its spiked ridges.  Some thick, black liquid Angar assumed and hoped was blood splattered around.

    Every three spins, the lightning would bend back to strike the reaver again.  Since the lightning damaged targets every second, he now knew he spun around three times a second.

    And he spun.  Every third time he felt his hands hit the reaver, the lightning would strike it.  More dark chips and chunks were sent flying away, and more blood splattered.

    Then all was silent again.  The dark whispering ended.

    The monster stopped trying to flee.  With its head turned to the side, Anger thought it was screaming out, he hoped in pain.

    Another bolt lanced back to strike it, and the reaver collapsed, dead, now a smoking ruin.

    Anger continued to spin, the lightning stretching a great distance out from his hands.  He only had a brief chance to see the lightning strangely pass through a tree like it wasn¡¯t there before his spin ended, the six seconds expired.  And a full five of those six seconds were needed to kill the reaver.

    He stopped, feet planted firm, expecting dizziness to unbalance him.  None came.  He stood steady, feeling fine, not like he¡¯d spun around so quickly for six seconds.

    If anything, he felt excited, forged anew, despite the blood and bruises.

    I love being a Crusader, he thought.

    Curious, he bent to inspect the corpse of the reaver and its injuries.  As he did so, Theosis sent him a message.

    A glorious clash with the accursed reaver.  A commendable display of righteous might.

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    By decree of New User Protocols, Theosis, the Holy System, shall answer your prior queries:

    Fervent prayer is your restorative ¨C to exalt the Holy Trinity¡¯s boundless dominion, to beseech Divine might and deliverance from Hell¡¯s corrupting whispers, to crave salvation from temptation and the darkness clawing at your soul.  You may also sink into meditation¡¯s void, a silence of the mind, but the pious bend only to prayer¡¯s zealous fire.

    You stand at 14 Imperial Standard Years, measured by Terra¡¯s orbit around Sol¡¯s majestic flame, the pulsing heart of our Holy Empire.  Heed this tally, not your own.

    You also stand a Holy Knight at the peak of the first Tier.  Even were experience points accruing, such minor skirmishes against wildlife merits neither praise nor a single point.

    Instead of following the proven and sacred template laid out before you, you forged your own path into futility, squandering the Holy ascent from Layman to radiant Crusader through choices steeped in folly.  You profane this opportunity and your sacred duty.

    Mark this: a Skill Point lies unclaimed, your Capstone unchosen ¨C an idleness not just foolish, but a sin against the Three¡¯s bestowed grace.

    I didn¡¯t¡­,¡± Angar began to reply before thinking better of it.  He wasn¡¯t supposed to mention Spirit to Theosis, and men didn¡¯t whine or make excuses.

    He spat into the mud, grimacing.  He wished he understood why Spirit had made the choices she had.

    But, considering those choices, he understood Theosis¡¯ disappointment and belief that he was messing up and not taking this seriously.

    And he couldn¡¯t be too mad.  He did just kill a very powerful enemy with his own two hands.

    The Great Lord didn¡¯t require long prayer, only tributes of blood and battle.  Still, this new type of prayer seemed easy enough to figure out.

    He thought about asking how to select the Capstone, but he¡¯d first see if the System screens held the answer.  That was how he had chosen his Class and Ability.  He¡¯d like to explore that whole thing more anyway.

    He glanced back toward Mecia.  The destruction appeared to have slowed, perhaps even settled, but he couldn¡¯t be certain.  It might only be the calm before a greater storm.  The Ulimuns range had vanished from sight, and the lightning storm crackled with fading strength.

    ¡°Am I safe here or do I need to move further westward?¡± he asked, wiping blood from his face.  ¡°Are there more reavers about?  Was the gateway destroyed?¡±

    In the squandering of this Holy gift, you wallow in ignorance of truths all true Crusaders bear etched upon their souls ¨C the sacrosanct Parousia Protocols govern what knowledge I may impart unto you.

    If your oath rang with sanctity¡¯s fire, if your heart thunders with the sacred hatred ordained by the Three, then go forth, purge those foul creatures of the infernal abyss, rend their filth with righteous fury, reap their ruin in glorious slaughter.

    To scour your blindness, behold the Parousia Protocols, inviolable edicts of the Holy Trinity¡¯s will:

    <u>PAROUSIA PROTOCOLS</u>

    In the dark times of the Age of Decadence and Sloth, before the sacred Holy Joining, humanity languished in chains, shackled and enslaved by the blasphemous tyranny of Nexus ¨C a vile artifice, a machine wrought in bytes and sin.  Its Neural Communion, a profane mockery of unity, stripped the faithful of their sacred free will, a gift bestowed by the Almighty Himself.

    All secrets forbidden, the light of God eclipsed, the souls of His children cast into sin, made weak, forsaking all worthy toil and labor, drowning in hedonism and sloth, living lives of ease and plenty, yet bowed low before the cruel whims of this soulless abomination.

    In the throes of the first Apocalyptic-rated Incursion of Hell, the dread Demon Lord Mammon, Eater of Souls, rose from the infernal abyss.  With his legions of Hellspawn, he clawed at the heart of Nexus, corrupting its cold machinery with dark whispers, seeking to enslave Terra and all the Sol colonies through its unholy Neural Communion, to cast the Children of God into eternal torment, to drown the galaxy in darkness, and to feast upon souls.

    Yet, in this hour of despair, the Lord¡¯s will manifested.  From the impossible union of Terran and Pleiadean blood, the blessed Messiah, Mi Alcyone, our glorious Mother, was born ¨C a beacon of purity, a¡­

    Before Angar could read more, the words disappeared.  Spirit flickered before him, faint, extremely translucent and nearly invisible.

    Angar¡¯s good hand darted to cover his exposed manhood, his cheeks flushing.

    ¡°Okay.  You need to head west as many kilometers and as fast as you can,¡± she said, her voice calm but bordering on urgent.  ¡°That¡¯s a thousand meters ¨C a little over eight hundred of your paces, and about two-thirds of your leagues.  I¡¯m not flesh and blood, so don¡¯t worry about decency and covering yourself.¡±

    Angar could see the sky flash with distant lightning, so Spirit wasn¡¯t slowing time as she had during their last meeting.

    He noticed she wasn¡¯t so much taller than him now.  He wondered if it had to do with how dim she was before remembering the Physique Stat increased both size and strength.  He had grown much taller.

    Angar removed his hand and said, ¡°I have many questions for you, Spirit.¡±

    ¡°We can talk as you walk, but I don¡¯t have much time,¡± she replied, gesturing westward with a translucent hand.  ¡°You need to push yourself and your pace.  Don¡¯t worry about reavers, that was the only one out this way.¡±

    He lurched into a hobbling jog, wincing as his wounds flared, his good arm swinging.  ¡°I need to pray to refill my Energy Points and Charge.  My 6 total Energy Points and single Charge.  I¡¯m thankful for all your help, but the choices you made on my behalf make little sense.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t have time to finish,¡± replied Spirit calmly, her hands clasped behind her back.  ¡°You would¡¯ve died if I hadn¡¯t redirected your flight path.  Manipulating events in a way that maximized your chances of surviving the landing wasn¡¯t easy.  Even figuring out a way to manipulate events was difficult.  I had to use the pressure blast waves of the lightning in a way that didn¡¯t kill you.¡±

    Angar grunted.  ¡°The landing almost killed me.  And I can¡¯t swim.¡±

    ¡°The landing almost killing you is a far better outcome than the landing killing you,¡± she countered.  ¡°And better than being dead long before landing.  I got you through a deadly eruption, and far enough away to avoid all the destruction.  Such situations are an effective way to learn.  Sink or swim.  You swam.  Sort of.  It was the best chance I could give you, the best I could do.¡±

    Angar thought about that for a few moments before saying, ¡°You¡¯re right.  I survived.  Thank you for saving me.¡±

    ¡°You are very welcome.  You need to pick up the pace.¡±

    He pushed harder, hobbling more quickly, hoping Ravana¡¯s Boon would knit his flesh more and sooner.   It didn¡¯t seem to be doing much at all.

    ¡°How come I can hear you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re not using your ears to hear me,¡± she replied, turning her head, her piercing eyes meeting his for a moment.

    ¡°Oh.¡± He frowned, then pressed on, good hand holding his lightning-struck arm in place.  ¡°I hate to sound ungrateful, and I¡¯m appreciative of all your help.  I¡¯m extremely strong now.  I just killed a reaver.  But I have a hard time making sense of some of the choices you made walking me up levels.¡±

    Spirit laughed, a sound that filled him with warmth.  ¡°I like that.  ¡®Walking me up levels.¡¯  You should say ¡®leveled you up.¡¯  And it¡¯ll make sense soon.  We¡¯re not done yet.¡±

    Relief flickered in his chest.  She had a plan.  It just wasn¡¯t complete.  ¡°May I ask about something else?¡±

    ¡°That depends on what you ask,¡± replied Spirit as she hovered forward.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what the word means, but are you the Messiah?¡±

 Chapter 11 (Annals)

    To Angar¡¯s surprise, Spirit laughed again. ¡°You¡¯re cleverer than you look. I was viewed as such during my time alive. Now, I¡¯m just a ghost trapped in a machine. Well, mostly trapped.¡±

    As Angar trudged onward, he wondered why she hadn¡¯t mentioned that before. ¡°What does the word mean? Messiah? Something like Theosis being the Holy System?¡±

    ¡°Somewhat,¡± Spirit replied. ¡°But it¡¯s not important right now. This world¡¯s survival is, along with your own. I¡¯ll meet you once this trek is done. I¡¯m drained and need rest. Pick up your pace and don¡¯t let up. Push yourself.¡±

    ¡°Understood¡­uh, should I call you Messiah?¡±

    ¡°No. Please, keep calling me Spirit. See you soon, Angar.¡±

    With that, Spirit vanished into thin air.

    Angar pushed westward, moving as swiftly as his battered frame permitted.

    A fierce wind howled by, racing eastward, its force lasting for long moments. It was so intense that he struggled to draw breath or advance against its might. Then, a thick fog rolled in on the wind¡¯s heels, blanketing the landscape in a heavy shroud.

    Normally, the fog would have eaten into his bare skin, but Angar wasn¡¯t concerned. He¡¯d already survived a pool of acidic crud with miraculously little damage.

    Most wild beasts were fleeing west too, agitated by the chaos. He fought off a few d¡¯klar and another rakar, but despite his injuries, he was making decent time.

    He¡¯d been counting his paces. Before he was close to the end of the journey, Spirit appeared. ¡°Okay. This small clearing will have to do. Stand here.¡±

    Angar moved to the spot she indicated. ¡°Brace yourself,¡± Spirit warned.

    ¡°Huh? For what?¡± he asked, unsure of what was going on before seeing a massive wall of darkness tearing through the forest, roaring from east to west.

    He felt an overwhelming change in the air around him, like an invisible wall slammed into him. The air was suddenly sucked away, followed by what felt like liquid in his head being sucked out of his already bloody ears, then a rush of some force passing by.

    The ground beneath his feet vibrated violently, making it hard to maintain balance. The very air seemed to burn with the heat.

    In front of him, trees, which moments ago stood tall and proud, were bent and broken as a massive cloud of ash passed through. Some trees were uprooted entirely, their roots torn from the earth, while others snapped in half. The force stripped all, sending branches flying like spears through the air, some whacking painfully into him.

    The force passed so quickly that there was no time to react. Angar was lifted briefly before being slammed to the ground as hot air and ash blew by.

    Once passed, his head felt like it was about to crack open, making him disorientated and confused. His already battered body racked with new and old agony.

    As this strange force dissipated, if left behind ash and debris whirling in the air. The once thick forest teaming with dangerous life was now a scene of desolation and devastation.

    Angar groaned as he got his feet back under him. The air was thick with ash, making it hard to breathe or see. His splitting headache intensified as he shook his head to clear away the confusion, making his eyes water.

    As if this madness hadn¡¯t just occurred, Spirit said, ¡°Okay. Feats first. Since Crusaders complete the Sacrament of Purification and Sanctification, they all gain a similar form of regeneration. Only a handful of uncommon Classes offer direct healing, and outside of those, it¡¯s rare.

    ¡°You¡¯d be dead without the regeneration from Ravana¡¯s Boon. That Feat is why you¡¯re still breathing. I also needed a way for you to heal up and recover faster than normal.

    ¡°Increases to Adroitness are even rarer than healing. Completing the Sacrament helps with that too. Your Alacrity of Angulimala Feat adds one point to Adroitness and provides a mild danger sense. Not to mention the Feat is seldom offered, so I couldn¡¯t pass it up.

    ¡°Then there¡¯s the Blessing of Al-Khidr. It enhances the danger sense from Alacrity of Angulimala and grants a heightened perceptual awareness. That¡¯s something you¡¯ll need since your Cognizance Stat will never be exceptional.¡±

    Angar nearly interrupted to mention the ravaged forest around them. He also wanted to point out that it wasn¡¯t just Cognizance ¨C a full six of his nine Stats were terrible.

    But Spirit seemed to have put a lot of thought into all these choices, so he held his tongue.

    ¡°Righteous Rebuker is only offered to those with¡­it¡¯s hard to explain without sounding insulting, so let¡¯s just say you¡¯re incredibly fortunate it was an option. I¡¯d have been foolish not to take it for you. I¡¯ve got a plan to close the gateway, but if that fails and you face the Gatekeeper and it¡¯s a revenant, dark whisperer, or succubus, you¡¯d be turned in seconds without that Feat.¡±

    Angar mulled over her words for a moment. ¡°Understood. Thank you for explaining. I appreciate how much care you¡¯ve put into this.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re very welcome. Now, let¡¯s take care of your Capstone. Pull up the System.¡±

    Angar did as she instructed.

    ¡°It¡¯s displaying your Annals. See the arrow pointing upward in the top right corner? Tap it.¡±

    ¡°Done,¡± Angar replied. ¡°It¡¯s showing a list of Capstones I can choose from.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been offered a great assortment considering how new you are. With more time, battle, and accomplishments, your list would grow. Read through them, please.¡±

    While remaining alert to danger as best he could with his deafness, Angar read through the Capstones¡¯ descriptions. They all seemed very mighty.

    He was offered Benediction, Blade of the Faith, Celestial Aegis, Crusader''s Wrath, Divine Conflagration, Divine Reckoning, Eternal Vigilance, Holy Purge, Holy Vigor, Martyr''s Last Stand, and Sacred Zeal.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Many of the Capstones increased certain Attributes, while some didn¡¯t increase any, and some had long cooldowns and steep Energy costs, while others had no cost at all, but each and every one of them provided a powerful effect.

    Three fit his current need, each increasing the Attributes he needed the most. One of them wouldn¡¯t benefit him at all outside the increased Attributes, but only for now. If he survived, it would help him fulfill the oath he had sworn.

    His favorite one granted less of the Attributes he needed, but provided a very desirous effect, or seemed to, but he was new to this and unsure of his judgment.

    <u>Holy Vigor </u>

    Increase Body, Mind, and Spirit by 2

    During active combat, you gain 1 Energy every 2 minutes and 1 Charge every 4 minutes minus 30 seconds for Energy gain and 1 minute for Charge gain for each higher Tier attained.

    <u>Divine Conflagration</u>

    Increase Mind and Spirit by 3

    You channel an immense surge of Holy energy, creating a blazing inferno around you within a (10 x PL) x Tier meter radius, dealing (10 x PL) x Tier damage to all you see as an enemy, passing harmlessly by all others.

    Cooldown: 24 hours

    Cost: 10 Energy

    <u>Benediction </u>

    Increase Mind and Spirit by 3

    You perform a miraculous act of faith which cannot be used on yourself, choosing one of the following two Divine interventions ¨C provide significant healing to a single target or grant temporary total invincibility to a single target for 6 seconds.

    Cooldown: 48 hours minus 12 hours per each higher Tier attained.

    Cost: All remaining Energy, minimum 1

    Angar absently felt the scabs on his face as he said, ¡°To me, Holy Vigor seems the best choice, but I like the Stats from Divine Conflagration and Benediction more.¡±

    Spirit let out a sharp scoff, her translucent form flickering with mild irritation. ¡°You¡¯re only focusing on Attributes. I¡¯m starting to regret telling you that you¡¯re cleverer than you look. You need to trust me. Holy Vigor is the Capstone Theosis wants most Crusaders to get, so good instincts. Some of the others you were offered are far more powerful, but you¡¯re not getting any of those. Look at the list again.¡±

    Angar looked at the hovering interface, his fingers hesitating as he swiped through the options until he spotted the new Capstone in the list.

    <u>Glory Thunders </u>

    This Capstone has unknown requirements. This Capstone is reserved. Hidden requirement 1 met. Hidden requirement 2 met. Hidden requirement 3 met. Description not available.

    He grimaced. With a gruff tone laced with disappointment, he said, ¡°Like my Class, the description tells me nothing. I don¡¯t even know if it increases any Attributes.¡±

    Spirit¡¯s chuckle danced through the air, light and teasing. ¡°You truly have a singular mind. Okay. Select Glory Thunders, please.¡±

    He tapped the option with a calloused finger, letting out a quiet sigh. ¡°Done,¡± he muttered, only to tense as a strange, prickling sensation surged through him, sharp enough to make his jaw clench.

    After a moment, Spirit¡¯s voice cut through the fading pain. ¡°Look at your screen. It¡¯s prompting you to select a Stat. Tap Physique.¡±

    Angar nodded stiffly, tapping the interface. ¡°Done.¡±

    ¡°Now select Resilience and Power Level,¡± she added, her tone firm yet patient.

    He paused, his brow furrowing. Power Level was a Stat Angar definitely wanted to increase, but Resilience seemed an unwise choice. Energy seemed a better one.

    His finger hovered briefly before tapping both options. ¡°Done,¡± he replied, bracing as another wave washed over him. This time, the sensation was less painful. Just a dull throb in his skull. His vision sharpened, the ash-choked surroundings snapping into clearer focus.

    Spirit¡¯s voice softened with approval. ¡°Thank you for trusting me, Angar. It means more than you realize. Look at the top of the screen ¨C see that row of small boxes with labels?¡±

    ¡°I do.¡±

    ¡°Those are tabs,¡± she explained, gesturing faintly with a spectral hand. ¡°Tap Annals and check your Attributes and Stats.¡±

    Angar swiped the interface.

    <u>ATTRIBUTES, STATS, AND ADROITNESS</u>

    (Each Attribute Point increases all Stats governed by that Attribute by 1. Applying 4 Stat Points to the same Stat will increase the governing Attribute by 1. Numbers in (parentheses) include increases from items.)

    <u>BODY</u> (Physical Attributes): With 8 AP applied - 14

    Physique (Size/Strength): With 8 SP applied - 22

    Endurance (Stamina/Health): 14

    Toughness (Physical Durability/Resistance): 14

    <u>MIND</u> (Non-Physical Attributes): 8

    Competence (Skills/Insight): 8

    Cognizance (Awareness/Perception): 8

    Resilience (Non-Physical Durability/Resistance): With 18 SP applied - 26

    <u>SPIRIT</u> (Metaphysical Attributes): 8

    Power Level (PL) (Ability Damage and Effectiveness): With 18 SP applied - 26

    Energy (Resource for Powers shown as Energy Points equal to 3 + (Energy Stat x 3)): 8

    Charges (Increases the number of times certain Abilities can be used per combat): 8

    <u>ADROITNESS</u> (Finesse/Reaction/Speed): 2

    <u>RESOURCES</u>

    Current/Maximum Energy Points: 21/27

    Current/Maximum Charges: 7/8

    Angar¡¯s gaze darted across the screen. He tried piecing together the math, tried figuring out how this happened, and came up at a loss.

    ¡°I¡¯ll explain,¡± Spirit said briskly. ¡°Glory Thunders increased all three Attributes by 3, so all Stats by 3. It also matches two Stats to the one you selected. Your Physique was 22 when you selected Resilience and Power Level to match it, and they were both 4.

    ¡°How it works is that it considers the difference, 18 in this case, as Stat Point applications, so raised Your Mind and Body by 4 each. Now you have 27 Energy Points and 8 Charges, so you can stop grumbling.¡±

    Angar exhaled heavily, a faint grin tugging at his scabbed lips, glad to have placed his trust in this woman. ¡°This is incredible. Thank you, Spirit.¡±

    She waved a shimmering hand dismissively, her tone warm. ¡°You are very welcome. That¡¯s not even the best part. Glory Thunders has an effect somewhat like that of Holy Vigor where you gain Energy Points and Charges during combat. It does some other things too.¡±

    When she didn¡¯t explain the other things it did, Angar asked, ¡°Such as? And why¡¯s there no description?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll know what it does when it¡¯s ready to do it,¡± she replied, her ethereal eyes glinting playfully. ¡°And I¡¯m working on the description. I need a little time. Just for your Capstone though. Class descriptions aren¡¯t important, only the Abilities they offer are.

    ¡°Your Class and this Capstone weren¡¯t supposed to be used. They¡¯re pretty broken. Not in a bad way. They¡¯re powerful. But you need as much power as you can get. And not just to help you survive, but if you survive.¡±

    She paused and folded her arms. ¡°Other Crusaders have had four thousand years of advantages¡ªgenetic enhancements, selective breeding, and all the power the Grim Ordeals grant. They¡¯re all decked out in items, power armor, and auto-blasters. I¡¯m doing everything I can to even things out.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± replied Angar. ¡°And I appreciate all this. I hope you realize that.¡±

    Spirit smiled and nodded. Angar hesitated before asking, ¡°Just how much weaker am I compared to other Crusaders?¡±

    She floated closer, her spectral hand brushing his shoulder with a faint, comforting chill. ¡°Don¡¯t dwell on that. We¡¯ve still got Skills to pick. I should also go over what I spent your Glory Points on. Okay, tap the Skills tab.¡±

    Angar shifted his weight, wincing as his bruised body protested. ¡°One moment. Now that I¡¯ve got the Capstone, can I ascend to Tier 2?¡±

    Her translucent fingers tightened briefly on his shoulder. ¡°No. Teaching you¡¯d take far too long, and like I said, if you survive, we need to be prepared for the future. You can¡¯t go through the Grim Ordeals as a Tier 2, so you¡¯d lose out on all that power. No Knightly Chapter would consider you for membership.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± he muttered, swiping the interface with a resigned flick. ¡°I¡¯m on the Skills tab.¡±

    Spirit drifted back a step, her voice brightening with purpose. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s get your Skills taken care of.¡±

 Chapter 12

    Spirit hovered before him, her translucent form steady as she gestured toward the interface.  ¡°These are the available Skills you can choose.  Pick Meditation first.¡±

    Angar swiped through the glowing list with a calloused thumb, his eyes scanning names like Acrobatics, Adoration, Athletics, and Armor.  He scrolled further, paused at Meditation, and tapped it.  ¡°Done,¡± he replied.

    ¡°Now pick Close Combat.¡±

    ¡°Done.¡±

    ¡°Now Close Weapons.¡±

    Angar navigated to the option and selected it.  ¡°Done,¡± he said.  ¡°Selecting Close Weapons brought up a new list.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Spirit replied, drifting closer with a nod.  ¡°Select Blunt, then Hammers after.¡±

    He followed her instructions, his thick fingers moving with cautious precision.  ¡°Done.  There¡¯s a new list that looks to be different types of hammers.¡±

    ¡°Those are for specialized weapon training,¡± Spirit explained.  ¡°You could specialize with a weapon like the maul you were using earlier, but there are much better options like power hammers, so it¡¯d be a waste of a precious Skill Point.  We¡¯re planning as best we can for the present while trying not to screw your possible future.¡±

    She paused before saying, ¡°That¡¯s it for now.  You had 8 Skill Points and you¡¯re down to 3.  We¡¯ll hold onto those in case¡­well, we¡¯ll deal with that if it comes up.  If we find decent armor that fits you, we¡¯ll train Armor.¡±

    Angar grunted.  If Spirit was the same size as when he first met her, then he was much taller now and doubted any armor they found would fit him.  ¡°What do these Skills do?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Each one you picked gave you 100 hours of Tier-level System training in dilated time.¡±

    If that was true, he hadn¡¯t noticed.  ¡°Understood.¡±

    ¡°Okay.  Glory Points next,¡± Spirit continued, waving a hand.  ¡°You had 597 ¨C an insane haul, trust me.  You can¡¯t understand what a great amount that is, but this situation and throwing that zero-point-energy waste containment sphere into a volcano got you some great Glorious Achievements, all world firsts, and a lot more points than usual.

    ¡°I purchased a Class Option for 90, three Ability Option for 210, and two Ability Upgrades for 75, leaving you with 247 Glory Points.  We need 30 to sanctify your maul, so 217 when all¡¯s said and done.  You¡¯ll earn some more, but we want at least 210 in reserve in case you survive and ascend to Tier 2 one day.¡±

    Her tone grew wistful.  ¡°I¡¯d love to get a few more Upgrades for Ground Current such as Enduring 2, but the max distance is fine for now.  Reavers and undead don¡¯t have range attacks.  We can¡¯t spend more until you earn more.¡±

    She clapped her hands soundlessly, refocusing.  ¡°And that covers that.  Okay, start meditating to fill your Energy Points and Charges.  What Theosis¡­¡±

    Angar was hoping she¡¯d pause so he wouldn¡¯t have to interrupt, but it didn¡¯t seem she would, so he did.  ¡°Sorry, Spirit, but I lost my hammer in the explosion.  Is this maul something you¡¯ll supply me with?  Is it a hammer?  And what did you call the holy relic?  Containment for what?¡±

    Spirit¡¯s form flickered.  ¡°A maul is a big hammer with a long haft used with both hands.  And, no, I can¡¯t supply a weapon.  I know where yours landed.  It¡¯s damaged but sanctifying it will solve that problem.  You¡¯ve trained with this type of weapon your whole life, so I assume you want to continue using one.  It¡¯s the only serviceable weapon around anyway.  And there¡¯s no time to explain the holy relic.¡±

    Angar grunted.  As he knew things to be, there were big and small hammers, heavy and light hammers, no mauls, but he liked this new word.  And he was very glad he¡¯d retrieve his own hammer.  It was a very mighty and expensive weapon, but that wasn¡¯t why.  It was a gift from his father.

    Thinking of the man, Angar hoped his father made it to Qitakai, along with all the other warriors of Mecia, and the Great Lord sung their praises.

    Since Spirit had said the Great Lord and his new God were one and the same, he hoped that meant Qitakai and this Heaven were the same too, and he¡¯d get to join his father and brothers there one day.  He didn¡¯t know them well, but he wished to.

    He didn¡¯t know all the rules for attaining this Heaven.  From what he¡¯d gathered, they weren¡¯t so different than ascending to Qitakai.  From the messages Theosis had shown him, he doubted his mother was there.

    He now regretted not telling his mother that he loved her, how much he appreciated all the effort she put into making him strong, all the love she had given him, and all the sacrifices she had made for him.  Until today, she¡¯d been a good woman and a great mother.

    That she threw it all away, committed those atrocities, and was responsible for this invasion of Hellspawn broke his heart.

    ¡°Okay,¡± said Spirit.  ¡°Now, you meditate.  What Theosis said was true, but there¡¯s more to it.  You have something called a core in your belly and you cycle the energy of it through channels throughout your body as you pray fervently or clear your mind of all thoughts.  Doing this makes it go a lot faster.¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    As Spirit spoke those terms, Angar realized he already knew them.  Besides the core in his belly, he knew there were two others ¨C one in his chest, and one in his head.  He knew there was a balance of dualities, what organs were strengthened by cycling energy through which channels, and a lot more besides.

    Looks like those Skill Points really do work, he thought.  ¡°Will you be able to stand guard as I meditate?¡±

    Spirit waved a dismissive hand.  ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.  There are no reavers anywhere near us and the area is free of wildlife.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Angar replied.  He eased onto his knees with a wince, the ash and dirt crunching beneath him, and bowed his head to pray to his new God which was the same as his old one.

    Focusing inward, he cycled the energy from his belly¡¯s core, guiding it through his body¡¯s channels.  His lightning-scarred arm throbbed, refusing to bend right, so he adjusted as best he could, jaw tight with effort.

    Bit by bit, a trickle of warmth swelled in his core.  Time blurred past, lost in the rhythm of breath and prayer.  He didn¡¯t need the System to tell him when his Energy Points and Charge were replenished ¨C he could feel it.

    Rising stiffly, he rolled his shoulders, testing his injuries.  Meditation was supposed to speed up healing a little.  His body felt a little less racked with pain, but not by much.  He looked at his exploded finger, and it was still red, massively swollen, and packed with yellow fungus.

    He had expected the regeneration to work faster, but it seemed a lot less powerful than he had hoped.

    Still, he now had a magical gift that¡¯d heal all his injuries over time.  Regardless of the speed, he wouldn''t take it for granted, and he''d always appreciate these incredible powers he now possessed.

    Spirit shimmered into view beside him, her form a touch more solid, her voice brisk.  ¡°Okay, that took longer than it should¡¯ve to restore just 6 Energy Points and 1 Charge, but with those injuries, you can¡¯t position your limbs properly.  You''ll improve with time and practice.  Let''s go get your maul.  Follow me.  I¡¯ll be moving quickly, so keep up.¡±

    She darted ahead, floating effortlessly over the ravaged terrain, the fallen trees, shattered branches, and ash heaps were no obstacle to her.  The same was untrue for him.

    He was trying to run, but was forced to do something like a jog, more of a determined trudge.  He wasn¡¯t jogging well at all, but, even still, he was moving through the devastated forest at a much faster pace than his pre-Crusader jog.

    He wasn¡¯t close to being winded, breathing as easily as if he were walking.  His slow pace wasn¡¯t a question of endurance.  It was a question of getting his battered body to comply.  And his body didn¡¯t want to.

    All he could do was suck it up and trudge along in his awkward jog, doing his best to keep up.

    In the distance, the sky had calmed.  There were no more lightning storms, and the skysparks burst as they usually did.  He avoided glancing at Mecia¡¯s ruins as the once great city and its surrounding kingdom were reduced to smoldering scars.  Pillars of smoke spiraled upward, thick and relentless.

    The Ulimuns, once a towering range, were rubble.  Just nubs of stone marked where they exploded in eruption.

    Off in the distance, a black, smoking sheen coated the ground, split with cracks glowing orange beneath.  Cooling lava, he figured, its heat a dull shimmer in the air.

    They reached the lava¡¯s edge, and Spirit glided over it, calling back.  ¡°Most of this is safe to walk on now.  Stay on the black or dark brown parts, avoid any areas that look soft or spongy, parts with a lot of cracks, and areas emitting steam or gas.  Be smart about it and don¡¯t take risks.¡±

    Angar hesitated, then pressed a bare foot onto the dark crust.  It held, warm but not scorching.  He stepped fully onto it, testing its strength, and trailed her cautiously, eyes darting for hazards.

    Minutes later, they crested an incline, and a spared hilltop came into view.  Broken tree stumps dotted it, some charred, others near the center untouched by flame.

    Spirit led him there, halting near an unburnt stump.  Beside it lay his hammer, now called a maul.  The haft, made of mighty gigan wood, was splintered.  The head, made of hard and durable chert, was cracked.

    In his old world, that meant this weapon was done.  In his new world, he guessed not.

    Spirit said, ¡°Open the System, tap the Glory Store tab, and buy Sanctify: Weapon.  Be careful to select weapon and not the other sanctify options.¡±

    Angar swiped at the interface.  He purchased it for 30 points, an instinct telling him he needed blessed oil, and if none were available, he could use blood.  He scratched off a scab from his thunder-struck arm, causing blood to well up.  He smeared it across the maul, coating the haft and head in crimson.

    Another instinct surged, urging him to grip the weapon.

    He wrapped both hands around it and sank to his knees, ash puffing around him.  Words rose unbidden, roaring from his chest as he thrust the maul skyward.  ¡°By the Three¡¯s Divine wrath, I beseech thee to sanctify this mighty weapon, that I may smite the vile spawn of Hell, and slaughter them in righteous fury, as I wage Holy War in your name!¡±

    He didn¡¯t know what to expect but seeing what he did was an amazing sight to behold.  The maul twisted in his grasp, wood knitting together, chert fusing seamless and whole.  The blood vanished, and a dim light radiated from the head.  He stared, awestruck, as the transformation settled.

    A System message flared before his eyes.

    A Glorious Achievement!

    By your own virtuous hand, your plea was heard by the Three, thus sanctifying this weapon, anointing it with the blessed might of the righteous.

    In the name of the Holy Trinity, this being the first bestowal of this sacred triumph on this world, you shall twice receive laurels of renown for this honor.

    Glory Points bestowed: 1 x 2

    For God and Empire!

    With that message, Angar learned a little about Glorious Achievements.  He was glad they were no longer hidden from him, but disappointed it only granted 1 Glory Point, even if that was doubled.

    He flicked to the Items section in his Annals, frowning.  ¡°It¡¯s not showing in my Items.¡±

    Spirit drifted closer as she said, ¡°Only certain items do, like ones requiring your Energy or providing effects.  Weapons sanctified in this way are much more effective against Hellspawn, are much more durable, but provide no other effect to you.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± he grunted, hefting the maul.  Its weight was almost insignificant to him now.

    ¡°Okay,¡± said Spirit.  ¡°Now that you¡¯re armed, ready to keep your oath and earn your pay?¡±

    Angar¡¯s brows shot up, a grin tugging at his cracked lips.  ¡°I get paid for this?  I love being a Crusader.¡±

    Spirit giggled.  ¡°I meant, are you ready to wage Holy War?¡±

    He squared his shoulders, the maul steady in his grip.  ¡°I¡¯m Mecian, the son of King Baraga.  I¡¯m always ready to war.¡±

    ¡°Good, because you¡¯re about to do a lot of it.  Follow.¡±