Doth thou wisheth vengeance upon thine betrayers, Sir Knight?
A single soul stirred in the great darkness that lay beyond creation, a flickering light at the very edge of reality. The soul blazed red, the color of rage and fury. The emotions it’d had in the moments before it died lingered on even as it was denied the afterlife and tossed into the void. It had no eyes to see and no mouth to speak, but it heard the question and gave an answer of its own.
Art though prepared to accept the consequences of thine decision?
It was ready. It didn’t matter if the Twelve Gods themselves cast it out into the depths of Hel. All that mattered was vengeance. Its rage burned so brightly that it cast forth a singular light in the endless dark of the immaterial darkness.
Thine power in life has fled you, Sir Knight; thine gods have already abandoned thee to thine fate here. But the Void shall remake thee, the Beast shall give thee new life, and – in exchange for the power thee shall receive – mine master and I ask for only one thing in return from thee.
The soul agreed without hesitation. What more could it possibly lose at this point? It had a family, once; it had friends and acquaintances. It was worshipped and beloved by the masses, venerated on the same level as kings. It had a name once, too, though it had long since forgotten. The void was unkind to memories. It was only the fervor of its rage that kept fragments of its mortal mind alive. But, they would’ve faded eventually.
BRING DOWN THE HEAVENS AND TOPPLE THE GODS FROM THEIR THRONES! KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!
A bargain was struck. And a crimson soul was plucked from the void and sent hurling back into the world of the living, protected by the powers of the Beast.
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Imrathil’s eyes snapped open. The stars glinted in the night sky, overhead. The sounds of the woodlands rang in his ears. The soil underneath him was damp and soft, and he felt and heard no grasses. Trees groaned and lumbered around him, and cold winds blew hard, and yet he noted the distinct absence of leaves, their swaying and dancing. The trees were dead, he realized; their tall, lanky branches were stripped bare, leaving behind only blackened bark.
He didn’t recognize this place.
Imrathil pushed himself up and glanced around him. Dead trees stood by the hundreds around him, creaking and groaning, their barks blackened and withered by the slow passing of time. The smell of magic lingered faintly in the air, but it was ancient – likely a century old if he had to guess. The stench of old death was also present, but – for all intents and purposes – it seemed as though the entire stretch of woodlands about him was dead.
Where am I?
How did he even get here?
And then, all his memories came flooding back, like a massive tidal wave. It burst into the depths of his mind and the pain that followed forced him to his knees on the ground.
“AAAAAGH!” His hands clutched his head. His whole life flashed before him in an instant. He saw his childhood, in the days of peace, before the Demon King and his hordes swept from the northern wastelands and brought the world to heel. He saw his adolescence, when he joined the Legion of Mor Zorog and waged war against the demons. He witnessed his victories and defeats, his growth and rise to power. His legend began when he claimed the Paladin Class when he turned eighteen; it was practically unheard of at the time. Then, the victories came with more consistency; and defeats came fewer if they came at all. Soon, others flocked under his banner and the Knights of Dol Morag was born.
And then, he saw his death at the hands of his brothers and sisters.
Phantom pains assaulted his left breast, where Fenelor the Radiant, pierced his heart with a spear that felled the King of Dragons. And all across his body, he felt the stabs, slashes, cuts, and bruises when the people he loved and trusted most turned on him with no rhyme or reason. They offered no explanation as they all attacked and overpowered him with their numbers. While Imrathil defended himself, his love for them did not allow him to land a single killing blow.
Why would you do this, my brethren? What have I done to offend you so?
And then, he remembered his rage, his fury, his indignation; he remembered the cold of the void and the wrath that kept his soul afloat and teetering at the edge of all creation.
“At last, Sir Knight, thou hast returned to the land of the living,” A strangely familiar voice broke him out of the torturous stupor that’d threatened to take over his mind. Imrathil’s head snapped to the side, his eyes ablaze with black and purple flames. There was a figure there, a woman in dark blue robes, whose form shimmered softly underneath the light of the stars. She was tall, standing a full head above him. And her voice reverberated as she spoke. “Do you recognize my voice, Sir Knight?”
He flinched. His body trembled. He did know her voice, but it was more akin to the memory of a dark and distant dream. But, more than that, he remembered the abyss. He remembered the endless cold.
Rage simmered from within, and black tendrils sprouted from the ground around him. “You’re the one who brought me back.”
The woman nodded. “The Beast has tasked me with ensuring thine continued success, Sir Knight. As thou might have noticed, thine art no longer the man thy once were; thine body was destroyed, hacked apart, scattered to the winds, devoured by wild beasts, and withered to dust by the slow passing of time. The Beast has granted thee a new form, Sir Knight, and granted new powers and abilities. However, thine levels have been reset to 1, though thine physical stats have been carried over and maintained.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Imrathil huffed and nodded, forcing back his anger; it would do him no good to be consumed by his wrath. Her words made sense and he’d figured as much. Dying had a way of changing one’s self. The System of Power was no different; in death, it disappeared, alongside one’s soul. “I take it I’m no longer a Paladin?”
The woman nodded. “Thine gods have abandoned thee, Sir Knight; thou art incapable of being a Paladin, not without the aid of thine heathen gods.”
“Without the gods, how am I supposed to view my stats or upgrade them?” Through the System of Power and the accumulation of experience, which came from a myriad of sources, mortals were thus able to gain a level of strength they wouldn’t otherwise be capable of. Classes granted different skills and abilities, and these – in turn – granted one the ability to defy the laws of nature in ways undreamt of, ranging from running faster than the wind itself to summoning creatures from other dimensions to fight. The possibilities were endless. However, the System of Power was reliant on the Divine Pools of Destiny, which were scattered around the world; the ancient pools were devices, built by the gods, which allowed mortals to render their progress into something tangible. It was where experience was turned into new skills or spent to upgrade one’s physical capacity.
The very first time he ever looked into one and allowed the gods to peer into his soul and bring out the potential within him, he became the first Paladin, a shining beacon of hope and radiance.
Without the aid of the Gods, the very beings he’d sworn to bring down, he wouldn’t have access to a Divine Pool of Destiny, which meant Imrathil wouldn’t be able to level up. His physical stats were powerful enough that he could get away with using only his mundane sword-skills in most battles, but it wouldn’t be enough to face his old comrades and win, unless he stabbed them while they were asleep.
“Fear not, Sir Knight; the Beast provides for his own,” The woman answered, before gesturing the side with a slight nod of her head. “Will thee walk with me, Sir Knight?”
Imrathil nodded and held out his elbow for her to grab onto. She did. And they began walking down a nameless path in the dead reaches of a forest he did not recognize. “Thou art no longer human, Sir Knight – no longer mortal, for that matter. Thou art neither living nor dead, but something more and something less. The laws of the System of Power no longer apply to thee, and so the Beast created something new – something different, for one such as thee. On the surface, it appears identical to the old system, but experience is no longer the currency of change. Souls, Sir Knight, thou must gather the souls of the fallen, for thine system will only allow thee to level up in exchange for souls.”
He nodded begrudgingly. The idea of stealing souls irked him, but – for his vengeance – he was willing to sink to such depths. What more could he lose, anyway? He’d lost his home, his friends, his love, and even his title. Now, there was nothing left in him but his revenge. “I understand, my lady; but how do I actually view my stats?”
The woman smiled as they reached a clearing. She gestured at something. And, when Imrathil turned, his eyes settled over a thing that jutted out of the blackened landscape, shaped almost like the base of an ornate stone pillar, but decorated with eldritch shapes and etched with maddened, screaming faces. Atop it was a giant basin, covered in blazing purple symbols. It was almost like a Divine Pool of Destiny, if he was being honest, but smaller and lacking the golden aura that surrounded the pools.
It also exuded an ominous sense of cold and darkness. Imrathil recognized it almost immediately and frowned. It was the presence of the void itself, somehow dragged into the mortal world. “What is that, my lady?”
“See for thyself, Sir Knight, and learn,” The woman said, gesturing towards the object at the center of the clearing.
Imrathil nodded and walked towards the black object. It might’ve been a trap, a devious ploy by this witch and her master, but to what end? He’d already died once; death no longer held the same sway as it once had. They’d stuck to the end of their bargain, thus far; he was alive again, wasn’t he? There was nothing to fear.
After all, what more could he lose?
He reached the small structure and looked into the black basin, wherein lay an equally black pool of what appeared to be some kind of oil. Imrathil saw his reflection, staring back at him, and let loose a sigh of relief. At the very least, they’d recreated his old face, though he was far younger now than when he’d died, lacking the beard he’d so carefully and skillfully cultivated. He appeared as he did when he first became a Paladin. His eyes, however, were different. Gone were his glimmering sapphires, replaced by amethysts. His once blonde hair was also gone; in its place were thick, messy locks of the deepest obsidian.
“Dip thine hand into the water, Sir Knight,” the woman suddenly appeared beside him. “And look upon thine stats.”
He nodded and did as told, dipping his right hand into the inky-black surface of the water. It was cold, like the waters of a frozen lake. But it did not freeze his hand.
Name: Imrathil Anuneale
Race: Voidborn
Class: Void Revenant, level 1
Souls: 0
Void Revenant Skill/s:
- Create Lesser Voidling, level 1
Strength: 1035
Constitution: 1545
Agility: 967
Dexterity: 1006
Speed: 994
Willpower: 794
Magic: 1004
Imrathil nodded. His stats really were retained; however, his strongest abilities and spells were now missing and he was stuck with an entirely new class, which wouldn’t have been a big annoyance if it wasn’t something he’d never heard of before. Almost every class in existence was already documented and studied extensively by the time he was betrayed and murdered, and – as the leader of the Knights of Dol Morag – Imrathil made it his duty to memorize every single one. Void Revenant was definitely something new.
He pulled his hand away from the inky black pool of water and turned to the woman. “I’m assuming levels still work the same way as it did?”
The woman in the deep blue robes nodded. “Yes, Sir Knight; levels still function as they did before. However, thou must spend souls to upgrade thine skills, thine stats, or to simply level up; mere experience means nothing now. And thou may only use the souls of sapient creatures you’ve personally slain. The souls of mindless beasts and raging monsters do not count.”
Imrathil nodded. If the woman’s words were true, then it means he’ll be given the choice to pick a new skill every five levels, receive a random feat every ten levels, and a class upgrade every twenty levels. The only difference was that, this time, souls were the currency. “I understand.”
The woman smiled. “Thou shall find many such basins across the world, Sir Knight, in the deep and dark places, where only the mad and the foolish dare tread. And I shall be there, waiting for thee in each and every one of them; for I am the voice of the Beast, thine guide.”
“The world has changed since your passing, Sir Knight; the Empire you knew and served has collapsed and disappeared. Your former brothers and sisters have carved out their own kingdoms from the ashes.” She raised a smooth hand and flicked her wrist. And an entire column of trees moved; their roots slithered and pulled, like tendrils, parting to create a straight path through the dead woodlands. “Follow the path, Sir Knight, and remember your bargain with the Beast.”
Imrathil nodded. He remembered it quite well, in fact. “In exchange for my revenge, I shall butcher all the gods in this world.”
It was a heavy price, heavier than any price he’d ever paid, but he would pay it nonetheless.
The woman grinned, revealing ominous eyes that blazed with purple flames and wickedly sharp teeth. “Good….”