《Grand Paladin》


 Chapter 1 - Demon Dawn

    ¡°Commander...what are those things?¡±


    Even as his lieutenant¡¯s voice faded, it was quickly replaced by the clattering of steel and the shouts of men¡¯s voices ringing out across a battlefield blanketed by a moonless night.


    From time immemorial, the twin heavenly orbs above were touted as God¡¯s eyes. They watched over the world, barely moving from their positions for centuries, but now they were missing, like the Creator had turned his gaze away from the disaster which was befalling the human race. Even the clouds and storms could not normally cover their brilliance, so the infernal darkness covering them now was all the more ominous.


    Elijah looked away from the fire-lit clouds above and back to his army of 10,000 that stood upon a charred wasteland that rolled along for miles.


    Ten battalions were arranged out into footmen, knights, archers, clerics, and siege divisions. The footmen alone numbered close to 6000, arrayed out to the edges of his vision in 400 columns of brawn and steel, stacked 15 men deep. These phalanxes had just met in combat with a host of demonified creatures.


    His men¡¯s armor was of the highest quality, imbued with the holy magic of his magisters, but his sharp eyes still made out the grotesque aberrations on the front line cleaving into the plate with claws and talons that glowed insidiously red - soldiers were constantly wounded and ferried to the backline if critical enough where they received more concentrated healing. It was hard to tell against the backdrop of raging fires all around the battlefield, but that strange light...


    No, something else was off about that glow. Something familiar yet alien at the same time. A piece of ash floated down and rested on top of his gauntleted fist which laid upon the pommel on his warhammer. Examining it a bit closer, his eyes made out the slightest tinge of red infused into the particle, wisping off of it like smoke from a smoldering coal, before he was suddenly struck with a realization.


    Alarm spread through him in an instant before it finally gave way to an ironclad determination. A burst of light erupted from his armor and vaporized the corrupted elements in a twenty meter radius. The man standing at his side was startled and took a few steps away in confusion.


    ¡°Speculation can wait, Lieutenant.¡± Elijah growled out grimly. ¡°Let us set our minds to the task at hand. When all of this filth is dead, we¡¯ll have our clerics classify the demons.¡±


    He motioned to the twin archer divisions on his 10 and 2 o¡¯clock and designated areas of fire, then reverently took up the huge tome that hung on a chain at his side and flipped to a page, activating the two auras Will of Accuracy and Zealotry at the same time. With a majestic pulse of power, the aura cascaded out from him in twin overlapping shock waves that enveloped all of the ranged marksmen in an ethereal green glow.


    That was specifically the Will of Accuracy¡¯s visual effect. Zealotry was a bit harder to spot from his vantage point atop his warhorse, but he knew it was bolstering their damage and attack speed nonetheless. Whoever was standing down range of them would see the the golden red light emanating from their eyes like the overflowing waters of a spring.


    Elijah himself was an irrepresable font of power, radiating out languid waves that rippled through the air in a huge radius around him. It was so huge, in fact, that it stretched to the footmen on the front lines in the furthest corners of their formation.


    What came next was a whirlwind of singing steel. The four hundred gladiuses of the melee troops in front rose and fell with increased vigor, their bite finding much more purchase on the tough hides and carapace they were striking. Nightmarish screams resounded out shortly afterwards which made the Paladin sitting astride his warhorse pause for a split second.


    Could they feel pain? Or was it frustration? Shaking his head, he looked out over his force of 10,000 that calmly faced a horde of one hundred thousand or more. From his vantage point, he could see streams of creatures trickling in to bolster the enemy forces from behind. At this rate, they could be facing a million by the end of the night.


    Such a realization made his warrior¡¯s spirit burn with anticipation.


    ¡°Soldiers of the Golden Host!¡± He bellowed, a hand drawing out a rune to activate a third simultaneous aura on a page of his holy book - Prayer of Healing. As soon as he felt the mana for activation drain from him, Elijah flipped to another page designated for troop commandments and sent out tactical movement directions to the various battalions. His actions were the broad strokes that set the stage for the finer details the captains would add in the heat of battle. Each man was personally trained, so he trusted them to fulfill his directives with foresight. Feeding a bit of his mana into the page sent the instructions on their way.


    Only a full second had passed and a glow immediately began drifting skyward as motes of light floated up in between the battalions, washing the soldiers with regenerative power. Wounds stitched themselves together without the aid of clerics and soon the army was once more in pristine condition.


    ¡°A-oo!¡± They called back as one thundering voice, pealing like a crack of thunder across the dying grassland.


    ¡°Glory to the All-Father! Show me your strength this day!¡± His deep voice resonated over the din of battle. Sweeping his eyes up and across the demonic ranks, Elijah threw out a hand forward as he commanded, ¡°Advance!¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    And so the true cogs of war finally started to turn, coming to life with the roaring ferocity of an earthquake.


    Five thousand footmen beat their swords against shield in measured rhythm, wading forward over slain monstrosities and mounds of eviscerated carnage as their demonic foes started to break beneath the unexpected strength the soldiers marshalled together. Glowing arrows flitted by overhead, sinking into unprotected flesh and vital points with deadly accuracy, always seeming to find purchase in the creatures a rank or two behind the front row that the footmen pushed against.


    The creaking and clattering of wooden mechanism came from Elijah¡¯s right and left and he turned to see the massive siege catapults start to launch gigantic boulders packed to the brim with arcane and fire magic, funnelled by mages that were currently meditating to regain their energy. Great tidal waves of flame and ice were released each time the projectiles landed amongst the demonic horde. Hundreds died by the second and the teeming horde started to almost immediately buckle.


    This was the pride of a nation. This was His glory. No other power in the world - not the Elves, the Orcs, the Beastkin, the other Kingdoms of Men, no, not even the Dwarven Empire - could stand before the might of this small army. These professional soldiers were the finest that history had ever produced. All made possible by their unwavering faith towards the All-Father.


    Elijah gently squeezed with his plate covered legs and his war stallion responded by steadily trotting down the hillside, his lieutenant following a short distance away on his own steed. Power continued to radiate out from him in waves, an ever constant tug on his formidable mana reserves. Spinning rings of power floating around him constantly, reminding him of the favor he was given by the Divine.


    The pair finally stopped in front of a small squad of fifty soldiers that were currently taking a knee while they watching the fighting. Each man was easily twice the size of a footman and weighed three times as much due to the sheer muscle mass packed onto their frames. Thick, overlapping plates of steel painted black hung on their shoulders - pauldrons they were called - with etchings of war emblazoned upon them, shining in gold due to the original color of the blessed plate underneath. Their wedge-shaped chestplate armor was fastened in place by large links of steel chain that wrapped alongside their chainmail covered ribs to where the rest of the torso armor protected their back.


    The rest of their armor was barren of decoration. Legplates, greaves, handguards, chainmail strapped underneath to ward off a beguiling blade - all had a metallic black sheen to them. The sole exceptions to this appearance were the large shoulder armor and the helmets.


    While each had once had their own weapon specializations, Elijah had drilled into them the skills needed to wield a spear, sword, and shield to the same level he was capable. Each weapon was made from the finest Dwarven Alurite and enchanted with a spell that healed them based on the damage they dealt.


    ¡°Honorguard,¡± he said warmly.


    Or as their enemies had taken to calling them due to their overwhelming courage¡­


    Dreadnoughts.


    Winged helmets of black and gold swung to meet his gaze. The wings themselves were not overly large, but their golden sheen caught the firelight of the surroundings and gave them a ferociously brilliant glow. Every race of man was represented beneath those awe-inspiring helms, a feat he accomplished after travelling the world to recruit the best combat paladins that humanity had to offer. One by one, he had defeated and convinced them to swear their fealty. Though their eyes were unreadable due to the shadows cast by the dark skies and the nature of their full faceguard, he knew what they wanted. He knew what they craved. It coursed through his blood as well.


    Screams echoed in the background and the fighting suddenly broke in the middle as a resounding roar reverberated across the battlefield sending shockwaves of sand blasting against Elijah¡¯s bearded face. A second roar came just as the first abated, a few footmen sent flying by the sheer force of the wind buffeting their ranks. The following rank and file close behind those unfortunate souls showed their veterancy and ability to adapt by kneeling low and tilting their shields up to redirect the force of the blast as it whipped into their line.


    Billowing smoke covered a twenty meter swathe directly in front of the 1st Battalion and Elijah¡¯s wizened eyes squinted to try and see through it. Flashes of flame. Ash and cinder whirled within, stirring the air that looked like it was turning sick by proximity.


    Finally, a man walked out from within.


    Or, at least, what had once been a man. Pale white and silver armor adorned an even paler man, his hard grey eyes scanning the line of infantry arrayed before him while silver hair so translucent it turned crimson in the fires burning around them. He tilted his head slightly and the smoke moved once again.


    Two massive hounds, caked in brimstone and death, stepped forward to flank him on either side. Collars of spiked iron ringed their necks and the horns, wickedly curved and barbed, pointed forwards in a pair. Their enormity was impossible. Each one was the size of five horses put together. Elijah grimaced before the figure suddenly vanished, his body becoming incorporeal and intangible as the smoke that followed. The hellhounds bounded after him and their target was obvious.


    The shieldwall.


    What followed had never been witnessed in the twenty five years of his command - his line broke. Blood flew in crimson arcs, drawn by a blade that looked like a sliver of corrupted moonlight. Massive jaws bit down on footmen¡¯s heads and twisted upwards, cracking the spine and rendering the soldiers headless just as quickly as their massive flaming paws swiped left and then right, ripping through blessed steel like cloth.


    ¡°Attend me!¡± Elijah roared, wrathful fury erupting like a volcano. The sight of his men being torn asunder was too much for the general to bear.


    As one, the fifty Honorguard swiftly rose and broke in two groups. Their gold, black trimmed cloaks flapped in the caustic wind as each group moved to flank the grand paladin as he dismounted from his stallion, warhammer and shield in hand, and crunched down the hill in sabatons of steel. In his anger, he did not forget himself however. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he shouted to his lieutenant, ¡°Command the backline, Roland!¡± and then picked up speed into a trot. The Honorguard stuck to him like a gold-flecked shadow.


    ¡°All-Father...¡± he murmured, breath unburdened by the pace as they worked their way through the remaining thirty meters to the front line. Screams continued to sound out from his brothers and streams of blood drew crimson arcs in the air. His triple auras thrummed with power at the invocation and began to congregate into one single formation.


    ¡°Hear my prayer.¡±


    ¡°Hear our prayer,¡± the Dreadnoughts echoed gruffly low, their feet and steel thundering behind him. Power started to radiated from the cracks in their plate and flowed towards Elijah, congregating on his weapon and shield.


    ¡°Render against the demonic foes that have invaded our lands¡­¡±


    A gauntlet gripped the large hammer and pointed it Heavenward, holy power swirling upwards in a coned vortex.


    ¡°Judgment.¡±

 Chapter 2 - Return of Elijah

    Howls accompanied the scurrying feet of a squalid old priest as he hurried nervously into the foyer of a large church¡¯s ruins. Sending a frightened look over his shoulder, the light caught his white brows and stubble that had accumulated over the last 24 hours along with the sagging skin of a man in his twilight years. Pale green eyes flitted to and fro over the wooded surroundings, searching for something but alighted on nothing out of the ordinary, for there was naught there besides the evergreens and occasional call of mundane beasts echoing in the distance.


    Realizing this, he heaved a deep, shaky breath and then looked hesitantly at the large ornate wooden door a few feet away. Gingerly, he picked up his gnarled hands and laid them against the mildewed and rotting frame, trying to give it a push with all the strength his arms could muster.


    Failure.


    Grimacing, he threw another furtive look towards the surroundings and then suddenly threw his shoulder into the door in a surprisingly ferocious manner, bending lower to gain better leverage, his wobbly thin legs showing from under the warm woolen robes he wore. After what seemed like an lifetime of exertion, the decrepit old soul was finally rewarded with the sound of a slight scraping as warped wood fibers released their purchase in the creases of the doorframe. Leaning back, he wearily threw his body at the frame once more and quickly found himself stumbling into the cathedral¡¯s large central nave.


    The first aspects of the cavernous room that assaulted the senses were the smell of decay and the scene of destroyed pews. Rows that had once held hundreds of believers were tossed around in disarray and showed signs of rot damage. To the dimly side, massive columns reached up imposingly to support sweeping arches that seemingly flew overhead, always ending in a spear-like point. His eyes went wide.


    Tattered, moth-eaten tabards of a golden circle on a field of black in gold trim hung askance on walls and columns or not at all, heaped at the place where they¡¯d likely fallen hundreds of years ago. Normal cloth would have decomposed the year the cathedral was abandoned, but this was blessed for use in service to the Order of the Golden Host. It had lingered on, ever inextricably linked with the faith that was supplied into them, yet... The old man immediately drew a circle on his chest with a thumb and then offered up a prayer in warding.


    The sight of a decaying blessed item was never a good omen, not to mention the entire church before him now. So few could even perform a blessing anymore - he certainly couldn¡¯t. The wastefulness of it all thrust upon the priest a sense of helpless bitterness and sorrow.


    Picking his way carefully through the refuse and decay, over muddy and scraped marble floor, the robed man eventually found a path to the relatively empty crossing in the very middle and kept walking. Shuffling past the place for the choir that had once sung praises to the All-father, he finally made it to the very center of the Apse where he had a full commanding view of all seven radiating chapels, their half-circle bays arrayed towards the focal point he stood upon before the gigantic stone altar that reached his chest.


    Like thieving raiders slipping into the house of an unsuspecting homeowner, rays of moonlight quietly streamed down and lit up scenes of the controversial Demon Dawn in once beautifully colored glass windows for the chapels¡¯ bays. Now they were dirty, cracked and missing pieces of glass in several places, but the depictions were still distinguishable all the same. Twisted apparitions and monstrosities of ash and flame fought against plate wearing warriors, locked in a poise of eternal struggle. Calvary charged in the distance and bowmen released rays of light at winged horrors in the sky. Shields defended from ferocious attacks of hellish claw while hammers smote downwards in an act of pure, unbridled strength.


    The art seemed to have this magical exuberance that exalted their valor and even the priest found his cowardly spirit rejuvenated after a few moments of contemplation in their moonlit ambience.


    ¡°Paladins,¡± his voice cracked out in a whisper, eyes settling on the plate-clad soldiers.


    Tired and worn, the sound reverberated into the ambulatory and then bounced back in accusatory condemnation. The shadows pointed fingers at him while God¡¯s Eyes watched on in silence from above.


    Looking towards the central chapel that showed a gigantic sun in glass of yellow and orange, ringed in a circle of steel, he bowed his head and then reverently placed his knobby fingers on the edge of the altar. With great trepidation, he began to pray, mustering the small pool of mana he possessed and feeding it like a miser into the stone that slowly warmed to the touch.


    He was afraid.


    He was afraid of the night and the horrors that it had unleashed upon his small town nestled in the wilderness. He was afraid for the future of his family. He was afraid of death.


    But worst of all... he was outright terrified of facing the All-father. How could he withstand His scrutiny? Everyone knew this cathedral was here. Everyone knew, but no one cared enough to visit and look after this place including him. It was his place to lead others back to the faith, the true Faith, but instead he had squandered his days in token public rituals and private sacrilege, wasting a God-given opportunity to create a bastion for the Faith and start anew. The things he had done to those girls in the village...


    ¡°All-father!¡± He suddenly, brokenly exclaimed, tears beginning to stream down his face. He was filled with regret!


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    Not once in the past fifty years had he truly followed the Codex. Not once in fifty had he thought about this cathedral or his faith as more than anything more than a way to position himself close to others or maybe as a way to put bread on the table. It was a pretense, a sham; what is the worth of a skeptic¡¯s faith if not its usefulness as a tool? He never truly believed. The only thing he was good at was indulgence.


    Faced now with the nightmares that confirmed a thousand years of bedtime stories he thought were designed to frighten children, he was finally forced to confront the truth of history... and the reality terrified him.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± he choked out and then collapsed onto the stone beneath his feet, propping himself up and then slamming his head pitifully into the altar¡¯s side until his scalp turned bloody. ¡°Please save us! Please, Father! Please forgive us!...¡± Dreadful screams of sorrow pierced the tomblike calm of the Golden Host¡¯s cathedral in near manic fervor.


    But after a time, all that were left was his whimpers.


    His pleading faltered and then the strength in his limbs followed as well, his body slouching to the side. A shooting star streaked by overhead, disappearing behind one of God¡¯s eyes. It¡¯s fleeting appearance and departure punctuated the utter lack of a response he¡¯d gotten. A hollow chuckle escaped his lips. Of course he wouldn¡¯t. He was a degenerate that deserved no response.


    Not long after, his waning confidence deserted entirely as well. The darkness closed in and the shadows cast by the mangled pews sent shivers down his spine; goosebumps skittered across his skin. Movement flashed by outside one of the chapel windows and the priest felt his soul almost leave him.


    They¡¯re here! His addled mind thought despairingly.


    Stumbling to his feet in unconcealed exhaustion, he tripped away from the altar and towards the door at the far end of the chamber. There was only one place of refuge for a man like him now, and that was the town half a mile away. There was no protection to be found in a dilapidated, godless relic such as this. In his hurry, he spared no look for the softly glowing edifice he¡¯d just been leaning against.


    Just as he got to the crossing again - that sacrosanct place where the circle of the All-father was emblazoned on the floor in a show of uniting the four wings of the cathedral as a symbolic representation of the world - a guttural growl emanated out from the entrance. Hisses accompanied scratching as bony arms and claws half again as long as a human¡¯s reached out of the darkness and took hold of the door frames.


    The priest came up short, his breath caught in his throat.


    Glassy looking orbs of white, socketed in a patchy-skinned skull peered back at him with an undying hunger and hatred. Thick, short hair jutted outwards like black barbs and drops of saliva fell from a gaping maw where the gums had receded to reveal inhumanly large knife-like teeth. Some clothes still clung it its ghastly figure, but the majority had rotted away to reveal a tough, leathery exterior. Scars, most likely gained by the previous body¡¯s owner in death, streaked the skin and wriggled subtly like there were worms crawling within.


    The creature¡¯s claws tightened for a brief moment on the doorframe before launching itself into the cathedral like a bow. The old man forgot to even scream as he watched terrified and frozen while the monster bounded over pews and destroyed furniture with animalistic agility.


    In but a moment, it had reached where he was and pounced on him, eyes locked firmly on his as they tumbled to the ground. Instead of savaging him like the man feared though, it regarded him with curiosity, saliva continually dripping over his face and neck. Hollowed out nostrils took in a deep inhale...and then its ferocious maw widened into a grin.


    The priest tried to squeeze out a scream instinctively but the creature had already lowered its head and bit in his shoulder, rending and tearing the muscle as it consumed the non-vital bits and muscle. Painful sobs and gargled shrieks choked the air as meat and blood were splattered within the circle of the All-father.


    The old man¡¯s head lolled to the side and his dimming vision caught sight of the altar right as it erupted.


    All the air in the room seemed to be sucked towards it at that instant, the force ripping the undead monster off the dying man, where it congregated into a point and then exploded in a whirlwind of fire that began to cyclone around the altar.


    Bum-bum.


    Gloria!


    A lone ancient voice called out in song from within the fires accompanied by war drums that rattled the stained glass windows. Wind whipped up and down the aisles, catching hold of the remaining tabards and sending them flapping along with the current. Holy power seeped into the cloth from the mana-laden air and motes of light began to wink in and out of existence as the air trembled in excitement.


    Bum-bum...


    A moment later, a hundred voices answered in powerful song, the tones rising like a tide as the flames became hotter and the cyclone became large, towering to half the height of the interior of the cathedral. The bells in the tower, rotten pull ropes long untouched by human hands, added their tolling to let the mountains and valleys know of the Divine being present.


    Gloria! Gloria! Salus Regi nostro!  [Glory! Glory! Greetings to our King!]


    Gloria Patri omnia in excelsis! [Glory to the All-father in the highest!]


    The war drums picked up slightly to reach a marching rhythm as horns and trumpets joined another chorus, but this time a thousand voices strong rang out. Thick and mighty, the quality of their spirit displayed in song gave testament to a lifetime of valor and service. The voices from beyond the veil stacked layers upon one another, forming complex chords and building in momentum.


    Gaudete! Gaudete! Tempus ad est bellum! [Rejoice! Rejoice! It is now the time of war!]


    Gloriam ad generalis qui venit!  [Honor to the general who comes!]


    On top of the altar wreathed in what was now a raging inferno, a figure of a man laying down began to form slowly upwards from the stone platform. Skin and viscera, bone and sinew - all was formed by the congregation of heat and flame aided by the divine. Mana converged out of the air and visibly formed into strings and stitched together the pieces of flesh, melding together with them as each part was completed. The appearance of the individual was gradually revealed.


    Short blonde hair the color of sunlight crowned the head of what appeared to be a boy no older than sixteen winters. Thick, corded muscle wrapped the tall frame in promises of brutalistic strength, giving out slight tremors as internal processes were started and blood began to flow through his veins. As the last eyelash was formed on that youthful fair face, a tremor went through the pillar of heavenly flame and the room shuddered with the incredible depth of now ten thousand voices.


    Gloria! Gloria! Omnis generis daemon trepido ante rutilent! [Let all demon kind tremble before his might!]


    Pugna iunguntur! Gloria!  [Let battle be joined! Glory!]


    With the advent of a tremendous pressure from above, all of the fire and wind converged and rushed like flowing waters to slam into the body laid upon the altar until all energy was consumed and the outside air that rushed into to fill the vacuum had become utterly still. Singers, drums, bells, and trumpets laid silent after the last gloria and the priest unintentionally held a breath he couldn¡¯t afford to spare.


    All of creation waited with bated breath and the demon, who had been been flooded with a torrent of holy power and fire, lay smoking in a true death.


    Heartbeats passed and then a huge inhale came from the body. A pair of blue eyes, pupils now ringed in a pure golden halo, fluttered open to view the world once again.

 Chapter 3 - Finding Ones Bearings

    God¡¯s Eyes¡­ Oh, how I missed this view of you on the far side of Heaven.


    Elijah took in a deep, greedy breath and held it for a few seconds before blowing it all out slowly through his nose. One thousand years. The stars beyond the twin moons winked at him in their splendor, a few at the edges of his vision ducking in and out of focus as the movement of his head made the view of the night sky shift ever so slightly through the cracks in the cathedral¡¯s dome ceiling.


    Another hungry breath filled his lungs. Exhale.


    His back was burning, so he rolled to the side and instinctively grabbed the edge of the altar and pushed upright, swinging his legs down before he outright fell. Instead, he landed in an unsteady standing position, one hand on the scorching stone that contrasted the somewhat frigid night air. A warm smile floated across his lips as he ran fingers across its surface feeling the sensation. It was the simple things of mortality that Elijah had missed.


    A naked knee sank to the ground. Soft words floated out in prayer and a light golden glow illuminated his thumb as he drew a circle over his chest in rapture. Runes appeared after the circle¡¯s completion and began rotating clockwise around the perimeter of the lingering band of light. Pinching together in the center with two fingers, he pulled the figure off of his chest and reverenantly offered it on upturned palms to the sky. Twin heavenly beams streaked in from the two moons and congregated on the symbol, filling it with an ethereal warmth.


    ¡°My cup overflows yet again, All-father,¡± he whispered. A single sigh of contentment leaked out as instructions flooded into his soul.


    A groan came drifting over the marble floors and Elijah¡¯s gaze swiveled to land on a wretched old man twisted up on the ground in agony, breath coming in short, fevered gasps. Eyeing the wound inflicted on his shoulder, he quickly located the ghoul laying fifteen meters away and his jaw clenched in reaction. Standing up with a newborn¡¯s grace, short, awkward steps filled his gait until the mind reminded the body of the normal process for walking and he found himself standing over the smoking corpse, far steadier than he was before.


    A leg flashed out and gruffly kicked the fiend¡¯s body over onto its back and he looked carefully at the scars that no longer wriggled like they contained a colony of worms. A few cautionary prods in key places later, he stepped back fully ensured it was truly dead and turned his attention to the priest. Clenching and unclenching a fist, he crossed the short distance until he was hovering above the man and switched to touching thumb to the index, middle, ring, and pinky fingers in sequence.


    Seeing the golden-haired youth come into vision, the old soul¡¯s dim eyes lit up with hope as he wheezed out among ragged breaths, ¡°You...came¡­! Praise the...¡±


    ¡°Shh.¡±


    Elijah regarded the priest with hard eyes, fingers stopping their dance abruptly. Dropping down on a knee, he stared unblinkingly into the confused man¡¯s eyes as he said deep and firm, ¡°It was not for you that I was sent, priest.¡± He bit at the title in disgust and then motioned towards the undead corpse with his head. ¡°This nasty piece of hellspawn is a hunter ghoul and their specialties number two: act as scouts for the main force and¡­¡±


    A lip curled upwards in revulsion as he inspected the now wriggling shoulder wound on the prone figure. ¡°Find excellent candidates for conversion.¡±


    Invisible mana congregated onto his hand before suddenly turning into a blazing disk of light. Ignoring the fear-filled cries, the youth thrust that palm down to land on the old man¡¯s chest, the light firmly planted on its surface. The woolen robe started to burn away in that circle as the priest¡¯s eyes went wide and his aged body stiffened taut like a bow string, toes curling in horror. Elijah relaxed backwards into a sitting position on the rapidly cooling stone and wrapped his hands around a knee, bringing it towards him as he watched the embers burn.


    ¡°What¡­¡± the priest rasped while watching the scene on his body play out.


    ¡°Putting your soul on display,¡± Elijah interrupted gruffly, eyes never leaving the disk. A few more moments passed before a dark orb floated upwards from the magical cavity, tendrils of acrid smoke wisping off of wicked looking roots that clung onto the sphere. They were so numerous that it blanketed the entire surface in their vile black appearance, warping what was perfectly smooth. A gentle beating of a heart could be heard as a few of the thicker roots pulsed with the rhythm of unseen blood flow. A new blackened stem shot up from within those folds and blossomed into a flower that glowed insidiously red.


    ¡°That... is your soul. To think that such a thing can occur to what was once perfectly unblemished makes my stomach roil.¡± A gaze shifted and their eyes connected. ¡°They can use practically anybody¡¯s corpse not of the All-father to raise a standard ghoul, but hunter ghouls especially like to seek out the corrupt. You¡¯re the best incubators for new ghouls, like fertile ground to a budding seed. A soul like this would give birth to a ghoul lord or higher if the conversion were allowed to run its course.¡±


    The priest tensed at the words and whispered between spasms, ¡°Can you...do...something?¡±


    Elijah paused, coolly regarding the old man before slowly nodding his head, a few short strands of golden hair falling to rest over an eye. ¡°Indeed, that I can,¡± he confirmed with finality.


    Standing up with the vigor of a teenager in his prime, he walked over to a nearby pew and pulled at a splintered chunk, ripping it off into a jagged spike and then gripping it firmly in a large hand. With large, resounding footfalls that belied his weight, Elijah turned and strode back to the priest¡¯s side.


    The old man¡¯s eyes went wide.


    Mustering an impossible amount of control, he mentally ignored the body that refused to obey him and forced it to roll over to his uninjured shoulder, a hand darting out to prop himself as he tried to scramble to his feet. The new movement unsettled whatever was festering in his shoulder wound however, and another spasm assaulted his body sending him tumbling back down onto his back. A sharp hiss accompanied by spittle leaked out between his cracking teeth.


    Eyes half-crazy with despair, he looked upwards at the towering giant above him and wheezed, ¡°Please! There must¡­ be another way¡­! Ahh! ¡± He cried out as an audible crack came from his shoulder. It began to bulge and contort as something writhed beneath the skin. Hopelessness turned to pain, and anger began to flow out in his delirious tone as he raged, ¡°I thought¡­ you paladins¡­ were powerful! HEAL ME DAMN YOU!¡± Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Elijah looked on with the dispassionate gaze of a judge, twirling the long piece of wood in his hand and feeding mana into it after he had converted it to the holy element. Having packed enough within, he kneeled down once again in front of the priest and leaned over, whispering near his ear, ¡°Why should I heal that which is already dead?¡±


    A powerful thrust struck upwards and the glowing spike penetrated through the soft bottom part of the corrupted man¡¯s jaw and into the skull. Feeling the body go limp, he gently pulled the blood-covered implement from its meaty sheath and then quickly pierced it into the largest bulge on the priest¡¯s shoulder. Only now did the holy power contained within the spike unleash in a small ripple underneath the surface of the skin. The trembling flesh became motionless and Elijah let loose a breath he didn¡¯t know he was holding. A small wisp of energy leaked from the body and flew into his hand without him noticing.


    His mana was practically gone, but a ghoul lord¡¯s birth was prevented.


    Weighing the priest¡¯s soul and the strike amplification had cost more than he could ever have imagined. Leaving the spike in the wound, he stood up too quickly and the mana-starved state he was in brought on a terrible headache. Stumbling over to a pew, he took a seat, wincing as the somewhat jagged paneling dug into his bare thighs.


    His rebirth was proving to be somewhat troublesome in its own right. He felt like a newborn with the strength and mana pool to match.


    Remembering the instructions he¡¯d received during his prayer, Elijah meditated for a few minutes to regain some mana and then cast a summoning.


    Yellow ribbons of light unfurled, and a tome, so nostalgically familiar to him like a piece of his own soul, appeared hovering in the air, its comfortingly warm spine refreshing to the touch as it fell into his waiting hands. A small smile creased his lips as he ran a finger over the ornate circle inlaid on the front of the metallic cover. The light receded and all that remained was a large tome the size of a town¡¯s annals and a silver chain with which to carry it over the shoulder.


    Opening to the first page, a wholly new sight appeared before his eyes. Three branching runic pathways surpassing even that of master dwarven runesmiths connected little crystalline circle nodes that contained characters of a language beyond that of the common tongue. Something within Elijah called him to the first circle at the top of the page and a hesitant finger came up to float above it. A few centimeters of distance brought a strange feeling of gravity to his hand and the closer it came, the greater the pull.


    When contact ocurred, a fantastic rush of energy flooding out from the shadow of his mana pool and through his finger. A small whirlpool of light formed within the well-like circle and the runes lit up with brilliance. Marvelling still at the strange energy essence he hadn¡¯t noticed before, Elijah¡¯s eyes suddenly constricted on the runic characters as a wave of understanding rippled through his mind. He knew this word. It was a type of recognition an amateur might feel standing in front of an artisan¡¯s magnum opus. He¡¯d experienced it, used it, healed others with it, but his approximation of the concept was far too shallow.


    Feeling a greedy tug from the runic circle, the paladin let the energy flow out faster and it finally sated whatever reservoir was required for activation because the circle ceased its pull altogether abruptly. Like a door unlocking in his soul, Elijah experienced an epiphany and sent a small, exact burst of mana into the divine rune on the page and a small shockwave spread out from around his feet.


    An aura - soft, golden, and inscribed with seraphic symbols - bloomed on the marble floor and began moving clockwise around him. Little firefly-like motes of light appeared and started Bathing the surroundings in a gentle glow. This was Prayer of Healing!


    He studied the aura as it rotated around him and calculated that it was close to a third of what it had been before his death. He reluctantly deactivated it to save mana. By normal paladin standards, his current body shouldn¡¯t be able to handle the activation of an aura at all much less one that equaled a third of his previous body¡¯s peak strength. The body, spirit, and mind very closely linked - if one failed to meet the requirements, a spell would always fail. Blue eyes shifted back to rest on the tome and a new small segment of the Prayer of Healing¡¯s circle¡¯ had begun to softly glow, giving the impression that it would persist indefinitely. He estimated the distance it covered was about a 10th of the circumference.


    Frowning at the confusing implication, Elijah turned his attention to one of the other circles farther down the page and attempted to hover a finger over one but was met with repulsion. No amount of effort overrode the sensation and he eventually gave up on that pathway and moved to the other two branches. Much like the first time, each beginning circle in the runic pathways accepted that strange energy, draining him dry of the available essence, and lit up, knowledge of how to activate the skills at his current level coming to him in a tide. He counted himself fortunate. He was given access to the auras of Ignis Divine and Fervor. Words from an ancient compendium for the Order floated into his mind.


    ¡°In the first days of creation, we warred against the creatures of night without end and so our hope wavered, but the All-father had mercy on us. He plucked starfire from the heavens and gifted it to us for use in defense of His will. Beware, hordes of Hell, as this divine flame brings righteous purification.¡±


    ¡°Brethren, it is a hard thing to persist under the weight of adversity. When your shields are lowered due to fatigue and your strikes ring hollow against foes, remember your faith. When ranging far and wide in search of enemies of the All-father, your vigor may fail you and the body prompt for rest. Remember your faith. Let it fill you with Fervor, as it did the first day the All-father acknowledged your service.¡±


    Elijah took a deep breath and wiped away the thought. There was a new change. Only half of the strange energy essence had been consumed by the unlocking of those three auras. The rest of it rotated within his body, seeping into the bones and muscle and then galvanized, strengthening wherever it settled. Everything about him improved in those few minutes, especially his mana pool.


    Useful...but I will have to explore this later. I can no longer put off my departure.


    He was out of time, because as he had mentioned to the priest, a hunter ghoul¡¯s presence also had other ramifications. If the dead creature only stalked the corrupt priest for an hour, he may have two to get to the town nearby and finalize any defenses they could muster. It was far too little, but he had faith that his presence here was by design.


    Tiny pinpricks of blood tickled on the backside of his thighs as he stood up from his jagged pew, reminding him of his nakedness, so he strode over to the old man¡¯s body and unceremoniously stripped the blood-splattered robe that was missing a large portion of its shoulder, ignoring the tattered shoes that were too tiny anyway. Elijah tore the other sleeve off to match the other side and then gathered a tabard that was lying on the ground a few meters away. After mumbling a prayer, he then tore a hole in the tabard and fashioned it so that he could slip the black and gold cloth over his head. Using the cord that came with the robe, he then secured the tabard to his body as quickly as he could.


    That done, he had two things left to do.


    Grabbing a nearby two meter tall steel candlestick that was covered in rust, he roughly snapped off the crowning thinner branches and also the lower legs. He gave it an experimental swing and the heft of its solid weight confirmed that it would make a passable stave with which he could fight. Eyeing the corpse of the ghoul once more, he strode over and thrust the pole down through its neck, the hide parting reluctantly like boiled leather and revealing the rotten flesh beneath. The feeling of hitting bone reverberated up the shaft and so he placed a foot on the body and pried off the head in gory display. A smell of death and sulfur had already been present before this, but when the skull was twisted off the stench thickened considerably.


    Elijah grabbed another nearby tabard and wrapped the head in the makeshift bag, being careful to avoid the barbed hair with his hands. That final task done, his bare feet carried him out the cathedral¡¯s doors and into the moonlit night of an overgrown forest caught in a late autumn¡¯s chill. All the leaves had turned and fallen weeks ago by the look of it, leaving all but the evergreens bare and a carpet of decaying foliage underfoot. His breath fogged in front of him, feet chilled and numbed by the stone he stood upon. Desiring a path forward, he looked up towards the treetops. Towards the West, smoke could be seen wafting upwards, accompanied by the dim glow on the clouds overhead created by dozens of cook fires that promised food, safety, and shelter.


    Just before he set off though, a sound pierced the nighttime air, silencing the howls that echoed out from the surrounding thickets. It was shrill and guttural at the same time, rattling and throaty. Soon, more and more joined into the call until there were an uncountable number echoing the same nightmarish roar stacked upon one another like a chord from Hell. Birds and squirrels fled from their nests high in the trees in stark terror, causing the the flutter of wings and mad chirping to clash against the undead¡¯s call. Mice, foxes, boars, and deer all suddenly began stampeding all around him in the opposite direction of that cacophonous tide of sound that radiated from the copse beyond the cathedral to the East.


    The hair stood up on Elijah¡¯s neck as his body tensed. ¡°Not this time,¡± he whispered to himself, recounting his first experience with a pack of ghouls. Uncoiling like a spring, he shot out towards the trail the priest likely used in his journey here and bolted down its earthen path with stave and bloodied trophy in hand.