《Celestial Hound》 Chapter 1: The Toll of Life and Death The last thing ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ remembered was the screech of tires, a blinding flash of light, and then¡­ nothing. No pain, no fear, just an endless void. It was eerily peaceful, almost comforting, if it weren''t for the ever-present dread gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. "Is this it? Is this the end?" he thought, unable to speak or scream. Living a life of quiet desperation, he felt like a nobody, a ghost drifting through the mundane. Would anyone even notice he was gone? His life had been a monotonous cycle: wake up, commute to a soul-crushing job, eat bland takeout, watch mindless television, do some light workouts, go to bed, and repeat. He had never climbed a mountain, never gone on a joyride, never attended a big party, and never had the courage to confess his feelings to that barista with the kind eyes. He had spent his life accumulating "stuff" ¨C a slightly nicer car, a slightly larger apartment, a slightly better physique ¨C all in pursuit of a happiness that always seemed just out of reach. "I wasted my life, didn''t I? Is there even an afterlife?" he pondered in the void of time and space. "What''s the point of it all if it just ends like this? A flicker, a spark extinguished before it could truly ignite..." Suddenly, the void was pierced by a blinding light. It wasn''t the soft, comforting glow of a distant star, but a harsh, pulsating red, like a beacon of impending doom. It pulsed and throbbed, growing larger and larger, until it consumed his entire field of vision. Kairos felt a surge of primal fear, a desperate urge to flee from this terrifying, alien light. "Do not despair, mortal," the voice boomed, shaking him from his stupor. "You have been chosen." ¡°Chosen? For what?¡± ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€, a man who blended seamlessly into the background, a shadow in the crowd. He was average in every way imaginable. Not poor, not rich. Not handsome, not ugly. Not particularly intelligent, not particularly stupid. Not in tip top shape but not out of shape either. He had no grand ambitions, no burning passions. He simply existed, a cog in the vast, indifferent machine of humanity. "Chosen for a grander purpose, mortal," the voice continued, ignoring his unspoken questions. "To restore balance to a world that has forgotten its benefactor." ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€, still adrift in the void, felt a flicker of¡­ interest? The word ''benefactor'' intrigued him. It implied a higher power, a divine entity. Was this¡­ God? "You will be my champion, my instrument of retribution," the voice declared, its tone hardening. "The world has turned its back on me, and they will pay the price." Retribution? Champion? Instrument? the epitome of mediocrity, was to be¡­ a warrior? ¡°Heroes were brought in from other worlds when a Demon Lord was causing havoc, bringing their lands to the verge of destruction. In their time of despair, they prayed, brought me offering, sacrifices, for that I rewarded them with the Heavenly Champions, a group of otherworldly warriors, from your world to be exact, they were chosen as heroes to repel the Demon King. Undoubtedly, with my power they won the war. After the war though, they forgot me, my followers dwindled, those ungrateful mortals prayed and worshiped the champions I created over me. You will be my solution to that problem.¡± Something stirred within him. A flicker of excitement, a thrill he hadn''t felt since he was a child, playing make-believe with his imaginary friends. Chosen? By whom? A god? A grin spread across his face. He, the man who had always played the role of the quiet observer, the background extra in the grand theater of life, was about to take center stage. He would be feared, respected, maybe even¡­ admired. ¡°You must gather strength of your own and followers of mine, hunt down those ungrateful heroes when the time comes. Then, you will be rewarded my true champion.¡± A wave of dizziness washed over him, and the void began to shift. Colors, vibrant, began to bleed into the darkness. Shapes emerged ¨C fantastical plants, towering edifices, landscapes of impossible beauty. "This is your new reality, ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€," the voice rumbled, "A world yearning for a strong hand, a world that will once again kneel before its rightful god."Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. His heart raced as he felt a surge of anticipation. This was it. His chance to break free from the monotony of his existence, to finally be¡­ someone. He found himself standing in a lush, green meadow, sunlight filtering through the canopy of unfamiliar trees. He wore a simple yet sturdy suit of chainmail, cool against his skin. But it was the helmet that truly startled him. Instead of a visor or eye slits, it was adorned with a series of ominous, gaping holes, resembling the sockets of a monstrous skull. It wasn''t just the appearance that unnerved him; it was the weight, or rather, the lack thereof. It felt impossibly light, as if it were made of something other than metal, perhaps an ethereal substance. In his right hand, he clutched a sickle, its curved blade gleaming menacingly in the sunlight. With its simple appearance, you could hardly tell it apart from a farming sickle, but looks can be deceiving. It felt strangely light in his grip, almost weightless, yet radiated an aura of power that sent shivers down his spine. It wasn''t just the weapon itself, but the sensation that pulsed through his arm, a tingling energy that seemed to hum with an ancient, otherworldly force. He felt a strange kinship with the weapon, as if it were an extension of his own will, a dormant power awakening within him. A voice, deep and resonant, echoed through his mind. "These are your gifts, champion. The helm of insight, and the sickle of subjugation. They will grow in power as you do, reflecting your devotion to your divine purpose." Impeled to the change in his changing condition, cautiously extended his hand to a helmet. It was ice-cold, yet strangely comforting. He almost sensed it, the sheer power radiating from it, a raw, unruly energy, which matched the newfound purpose that awakened within him. He held high the sickle, the blade gleaming in the sun. It felt¡­ right. As an extension of his own volition/appendage, i.e., instrument of annihilation and being made. He could already envision himself wielding it, carving a path through this strange new world, shaping it according to the god''s divine plan. A sense of exhilaration washed over him. No ordinary game this was; it was a god''s order, a test of his power, a way of becoming a god''s instrument of fury. The ordinary man was no longer satisfied to be in the shadows. He was about to be immortalized as a legend in the annals of history, for the first time he was feeling such a great ambition. Suddenly, a translucent screen shimmered into existence before him, displaying a series of lines of text. [Character] Blinked, bewildered. It was like something out of a fantasy video game he''d played years ago. "What¡­ what is this?" he muttered, his voice echoing slightly in the helmet. The voice in his mind chuckled. "Another small gift to aid you on your journey, champion. This will allow you to track your progress and understand the potential within you." Intrigued, he began to explore. He could see that his attributes were quite low, reflecting his ordinary life before his summons and perhaps the dwindling power of the god he now serves. He also noticed a blank space under ¡°Name¡± and ''Skills,'' indicating that he had yet to learn any abilities in this new world and have yet to gain an identity in this new reality. "Kairos..." He entered a username he used when he was still a teenager playing video games, when he was inspired by a Greek mythology, and it mentioned a god named Kairos, the god of opportunity, of seizing the moment. As soon as he finished typing his name, a faint tingling sensation spread through his arm, and two new lines of text appeared in front of him: Skills: To be continued.... Chapter 2: The Scourged of Raiders Kairos ventured in or out of the wood-not that he would have known, but he definitely needed to keep going-as the sun rained down with absolute fierceness on him. The heavy smell of pine needles mingled with that of damp earth while noises came in from no end, blending with little noises from the different others. He would attribute this ease of movement to something magical or strange; it could be that, given the new suit of armor and how light it had become, the sickle did not seem as foreign with every passing step. Not far away though, a scream pierced the tranquility. Panicking voices shouted in fear with dull thuds echoing through the forest. Curiosity somehow revived a flicker of purpose, and off he went. The pace was light, heart full of frayed nerves and anticipation-so now, it was a thing he followed. He panned into a small clearing, breath hitching in his throat. The hulking men were daring the villagers; their fanged faces bore rabid, savage glee. Women huddled close to their children, while men fought back with desperate, albeit futile, courage. The criminals were all armoured with crude clubs and rusty swords. They had been the least remote bluffers of real valor. Their laughter played as an accompaniment. Pain and grief drowned in it. One of the pistols stood larger. He was particularly vile. He swung a great scimitar that cleaved the rare air with deadly force. In a low, stony voice, down came the blade upon someone and sliced him in two. The villagers recoiled in horror; resistance cracked up. Kairos watched the scene unfold, a cold smile spreading across his lips under the helmet. This was an opportunity. An opportunity to demonstrate his power, to instill fear in the hearts of mortals, to prove he is the hand of god, and perhaps garner some followers if the chance arises. ¡°Shadow''s embrace, I claim this guise, blind from sight, before their eyes.¡± Kairos, with a newfound sense of cunning, activated his invisibility spell. The world around him shimmered, colors blurring and fading as he became almost entirely invisible. He felt a strange lightness, as if he were no longer tethered to the physical world. ¡°Minor Invisibility.¡± He glided through the clearing with a quiet elegance, like a shadow among the living. The bandits, unaware of his existence, carried on with their vicious attack, their laughter ringing out in the open space. Kairos, a hunter tracking its quarry just like a hound, watched their actions closely, studying their movements and pinpointing their vulnerabilities. He waited for the opportune moment, his patience unwavering. Noticing a bandit standing a good distance from the rest, emboldened by his success. This was it. He reappeared directly behind the brute, his sickle flashing in the brief moment of visibility to them. The bandit, caught completely off guard, let out a strangled cry as the sickle sank deep into his back. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless. ¡°Seems like once I made my attack the spell effect wear off¡±, standing on top of the corpse, his presence is now announced. Skills Acquired: The other bandits, thrown into chaos by this unseen attacker, spun around frantically, their weapons aimed at Kairos. As he picked up the fallen bandit¡¯s scimitar, he surveyed the rest of the gang, gauging their reaction. "I am here to offer you a choice. Serve me and my true god, or face oblivion." He gestured toward the fallen bandit. "This was a warning. Your continued defiance will only lead to more suffering." He paused, letting his words resonate. ¡°Your insignificant lives can serve a greater purpose. Instead of thieving and raiding for scraps, you should be fighting to spread the word of glory, the word of our god!¡± The bandits, shaken and cautious, stared at him, their weapons held defensively. A massive figure stepped out of the shadows, towering over the others. This was no ordinary bandit; he was a warrior, his muscles straining against his crude leather armor, his eyes shining with a fierce intensity beneath his gladiator helmet. He wielded a colossal warhammer, its head glinting ominously in the sunlight. "Impressive," the warrior growled, his voice deep and powerful. "But killing one of my men doesn¡¯t make you a god." He advanced, his shadow stretching over Kairos. "If you want us to serve, you¡¯ll need to prove your worth." The warrior raised his warhammer, a challenge etched on his face. "Face me, godling. Show us the true extent of your power." ¡°I¡¯m but a mere servant of our god, but your challenge is accepted¡± Kairos, intrigued by this unexpected challenge, felt a surge of excitement. This was an opportunity to not only assert his dominance but also to further hone his combat skills. "Let us begin." The two warriors circled each other, a silent tension filling the clearing. The bandits watched with bated breath, their fate hanging in the balance. The warrior charged, his warhammer a whirlwind of deadly force. Kairos, agile and swift, dodged the blow, his sickle a blur of motion. The fight was a brutal dance of death, a clash of wills and strength. Kairos, relying on his speed and agility, weaved around the warrior''s attacks, seeking an opening. Each hammer''s strikes crack the ground, disturb the air greetings, light breezes.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "Blood of the faithful, fuel my blade, Divine wrath, a holy shade." coating his new scimitar in a layer of boiling blood as he slit his palm. ¡°Crimson Blade!¡± With a swift, fluid motion, he slides beneath the bandit warlord landing behind the hulking warrior, using his size against him. He lashed out with his sickle, aiming for the warrior''s exposed neck. The warrior, expecting an attack from the front, was caught completely off guard. He roared in pain as the sickle grazed his neck, drawing blood. He stumbled back, gripping his warhammer. ¡°The blade didn¡¯t go through, you¡¯re tough.¡± Kairos pressed his advantage. He unleashed a flurry of attacks, his sickle a whirlwind of deadly blows. But the warrior was no mere brute. He recovered quickly, his eyes filled with a newfound rage. He swung his warhammer in a wide arc while grunting, forcing Kairos to leap back to avoid the crushing blow. The warhammer smashed into the ground, sending a tremor through the earth. The fight intensified. Kairos, relying on his speed and agility, weaved around the warrior''s attacks, seeking an opening. He unleashed a flurry of attacks, his sickle a whirlwind of deadly blows. But the warrior, despite his size, was surprisingly agile. He blocked, parried, and countered with a ferocity that matched Kairos'' own. The battle raged on, a brutal dance of death. Kairos, feeling the first pangs of exhaustion, knew he had to end this quickly. He closed his eyes, concentrating his will. ¡°Lifeblood mend, the drain shall cease, But now this gift comes with a price." Casting a buff spell with his remaining MP, with renewed vigor and stamina in a short period, Kairos launched himself at the warrior. He struck with a force he had never known before, the sickle biting deep into the warrior''s flesh. The warrior let out a roar of pain, his grip on the warhammer weakening. Kairos, sensing his opponent''s weakness, delivered a final, devastating blow yet non-lethal. The sickle sank deep into the warrior''s chest, but not deep enough to pierce his heart. The warrior let out a final, gurgling cry and collapsed to the ground, his blood staining the earth. Kairos turned to the bandits, his gaze sweeping across their faces, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and surprised. He raised his hand, the sickle gleaming ominously in the sunlight. "From this day forward," he declared, his voice echoing through the clearing, "you will serve the true god. You will pray to him, you will offer him sacrifices, and you will spread his word to all corners of this land. No longer will you be some mundane raiders, you are now paladins of the new order, no, a revival to the old order of this world!" Was it that his own skills or the blessings and spells he was graced from his god? No matter, this is his own victory, an enemy defeated by his own hand, his ambition grow. [Character] Name: Kairos Level: 2 HP: 120/120 MP: 40/40 Strength: 6 Agility: 8 Intelligence: 4 Wisdom: 3 Charisma: 2 New Skills Unlocked: [Twin-Blade Dash - Two Weapon Fighting] [Shadow Step] [Parry] [Divine Spellcasting Improved] New Spells Unlocked: [Shield of Fate] [Minor Raise Dead] [Crimson Flare] [Minor Wound Recover] [Crimson Barrier] The air crackled with unseen energy as Kairos felt a surge of power course through him. His level had risen! A surge of information, like a torrent of data, appeared once against. Kairos looks at the downed bandit warlord blow and begins testing out his new spell. "By the god''s decree, the wound shall mend, A fleeting gift, before the end. Your life renewed, a sacrifice made, To serve the dark path, a soul betrayed." he cast the spell on his defeated foe, ¡°Minor Wound Recover.¡± ¡°You are a great asset, I think you will be useful for what is to come.¡± He turns over to the rest of the bandits, or should we call them his paladins of faith. ¡°For the village, you can finish what you started, plunders and take whatever you can.¡± A chilling chuckle escaped his lips, echoing inside his helmet, while the screaming and death in his background resumed. This was just the beginning. With each level, he grew stronger, his power expanding, his influence increasing. He would become a force to be reckoned with, a true instrument of his god''s will. But where would he go now with a band of a dozen followers? Would he be able to gather enough strength to face multiple heroes that defeated the Demon Lord? To be continued¡­. Chapter 3: Orcish raid The sun began to sink below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest floor. Kairos, exhausted from the day''s march, signaled his followers to stop. They had traveled for hours, pushing themselves to their limits while carrying the spoils from the village they had raided. "Make camp," he commanded, his voice resonating through the trees. "Gather firewood and set up the tents. We will rest here tonight." As darkness enveloped the area, Kairos sat by the crackling fire, observing his followers as they indulged in the ale and alcohol they had plundered. A wave of satisfaction washed over him. These men, once a band of ruthless marauders, were now his instruments, his tools. He had reshaped them, consumed their will, and instilled in them a new sense of purpose. The old leader, now known as "Krell," approached him, his face a mix of respect and apprehension. "Kairos," he began, "there''s news that in about a week, a caravan of royal knights will pass through these woods." Kairos raised an eyebrow. ¡°Royal Knights? How well equipped are they, and how strong are they exactly?¡± Krell recalled, "They serve one of the so-called Champions. Heroes. An order of knights who are heavily armed, and most of them possess basic divine spellcasting abilities.¡± Kairos felt a surge of annoyance. These Champions, these self-proclaimed heroes, had taken the worship that rightfully belonged to his god. They had led the people away from the true path, steering them astray. "These Champions," Kairos said, his voice laced with venom, "are nothing but pretenders. They are false idols, misleading the people. They have forgotten the true god, the one who granted them life." He paused, letting his words resonate. "But we will not forget. We will remind them of their forsaken god. We will show them the true path, the path of obedience and submission. In due time, his followers will be rewarded for their loyalty." ¡°But not yet, haste makes waste.¡± Kairos ponders about his next move. ¡°Tell, is there are nearby villages, tribes, dungeons where we can bolster our equipment.¡± The sun peaking over the mountains, the march through the dense forest was arduous. The humid air clung to their skin, the oppressive heat sapping their energy. But Kairos pressed on, his eyes fixed on the prize: the Ironfang Tribe, a notorious band of orcs known for their ferocity and their stockpile of weapons and armor. His newly acquired followers, though still rough around the edges, were proving surprisingly effective. The former bandits, now imbued with a newfound sense of purpose, moved with a newfound discipline, their fear replaced by a chilling sense of anticipation. "Blood of the faithful, fuel my blade!" he chanted, the blade glowing with an eerie crimson light. This time, however, the glow was more intense, more focused. He felt a surge of power, a connection to something ancient and primal. With a satisfied smirk, he sheathed his weapon. This enhanced buff would give him the edge he needed in the upcoming battle. As they neared the enemy encampment, the air grew thick with the stench of blood and sweat. The sounds of grunting, laughter, and the clanging of metal echoed through the trees. "In god''s name, I weave this shield, Their fate entwined, their will concealed. My protection, a chilling grace, For those who serve, in this dark place." He chants. ¡°Shield of Fate.¡± The followers felt a sharp pain as their own blood seeps through their skin and create a layer of crimson translucent armor. ¡°Your fate is in your hand, the strongest your faith in our god, the stronger your protection will be¡± ¡°Krell, you take the charge, we are outnumbered, but these monsters are but primal barbarians, distract them long enough for me to claim their leader head, once their morale broke it will be as if stomping ants¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Krell, his face, under the gladiator helmet is grim determination, nodded. "As you command, Kairos." He turned to the assembled bandits, his voice booming through the clearing. "For the true god! Charge!" ¡°I haven¡¯t given out the signa-¡±, Kairos was not fast enough to stop them. With a bloodcurdling roar, the bandits surged forward, a tide of fury and steel crashing into the unsuspecting orc encampment. ¡°Fuck it, we roll then¡±, Kairos began chanting before vanishing, ¡°The veil of night, I now embrace, A ghost I become, in this shadowed space. Vanish and strike, a phantom''s grace.¡± The air crackled with the energy of impending battle. Krell, his face a mask of grim determination, stood at the forefront of his men. The once-bandits, now transformed into something more ¨C something darker ¨C exuded a newfound confidence. Beside him, Kairos, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light, watched the orc encampment with a chilling sense of anticipation. "For our LORD!" Krell roared, his voice echoing through the trees. "For the true god! ATTACK!" With a terrifying shout, the bandits rushed forward, a wave of rage and steel crashing into the unsuspecting orc camp. The orcs, taken by surprise, were thrown into chaos. The first wave of bandits, wielding rusty axes and swords, engaged the orcs in a brutal clash of flesh and metal. Krell, a flurry of movement, smashed through the orc lines. His warhammer, a relic of his past as a bandit leader, struck with deadly precision. He roared with savage delight, each kill feeding his bloodlust. But the orcs were no easy adversaries. They were larger, stronger than the average human, and their raw ferocity belied their rough appearance. The initial advantage quickly faded as the orcs regrouped, their war cries resonating through the chaos. Sensing the tide shifting, Krell took a deep breath. Suddenly, the crimson glow surrounding him, fueled by his faith in Kairos, drew him closer to the one true god, empowering him through his belief. His movements became more fluid, his strikes more forceful. He felt a surge of strength, a connection to something far greater than himself. He charged into the heart of the battle, his hammer a storm of destruction. He smashed through orcs with alarming ease, their crude weapons splintering against his divinely enhanced armor. He became a whirlwind of havoc, a beacon of hope for his struggling comrades. ¡°Shadow Step.¡± Kairos meanwhile, moved through the chaos with a silent grace, a ghost among the living. He avoided the main clash, slipping through the gaps between the fighting orcs, his senses alert for any sign of their leader. He finally spotted him. The orc leader, a hulking beast of a beast, was a whirlwind of violence, his axe cleaving through the bandit ranks. He was a formidable opponent, his every move a testament to his years of combat experience. Kairos, observing the leader, saw his opportunity. The orc, focused on the onslaught, was momentarily distracted, his guard down. This was it. With a silent whisper, he reappeared directly behind the orc leader, his sickle raised high. The orc, caught completely off guard, let out a roar of surprise. But the orc was quick. He spun around, his axe flashing out in a desperate counterattack. Kairos, anticipating the move, sidestepped, the axe whistling harmlessly past him. The two warriors locked in a deadly duel. The orc, enraged, unleashed a flurry of blows, his axe a whirlwind of deadly force. Kairos, agile and swift, dodged and weaved, his sickle a blur of motion. ¡°Blood ignites, a crimson fire, Blind and burn, with infernal ire. CRIMSON FLARE!¡± , the scimitar slicing in the palm of Kairos'' palm before flinging the blood outward as they boil and explode mid air creating a flare to momentarily stun the orc boss. Kairos then dashed forward and violent attacks with a barrage of slashes using his sickle and scimitar. Just then he baited out a swing from the orc. ¡°PARRY!¡± the orc''s axe went flying out of the its arm. ¡°TWIN-BLADE DASH!¡±, ducking down with a fluid motion Kairos reappeared behind the orc with its large head ejected into the air before the headless body even touched the ground. He sheathed his two blades. With the leader dead, the orc resistance crumbled. Their morale shattered, they fled in disarray. ¡°Good thing, my build is centralized on one on one combat.¡± Kairos, panting slightly, surveyed the carnage. He had achieved his objective. The orc leader, the heart of their resistance, was eliminated. He turned to Krell, who was still battling a group of orcs. "The fight is over, Krell," he announced, while still panting, recovering from the fight. "Secure the encampment and their armory." Krell, sensing Kairos''s presence, turned to see his leader standing amidst the carnage, his sickle dripping with orc blood. Kairos, with a satisfied smirk, turned away. The path of strength continues, one brutal victory at a time. To be continued¡­