From the point where Lucifer's finger touched Merka’s forehead, an unseen ripple spread forward. The tiny bit of resistance was almost instantly overcome as the narrow blast of kinetic energy overwhelmed her skull. The rest of the kinetic energy was dispersed in a wider blast, turning her brain into mush and causing the back of her skull to burst outward. Shards of skull and globs of viscera spilled outwards, painting the ground behind Merkas still upright body in a deep red, almost black color.
Lucifer turned to Aindaeth who stood next to her.
“Are you going to eat that?”
Aindaeth looked at Lucifer for a moment, then back at the still upright corpse. Taking a deep breath through her nose and flicking her forked tongue for a moment, she shook her head.
“She doesnt smell particularly appetizing.”
Lucifer looked back towards the frozen Morok, who watched as crimson droplets of blood seeped out of the destroyed skull of its former owner, dying the already red ground an even deeper shade.
Walking past the corpse, Lucifer once again tapped the bodys head, causinng Morok to flinch. Instead of another attack, all that happened was that the corpse finally toppled over, coming to a rest on the already soaked ground.
“Do your people have funeral rites to be observed?”
Moroks head whipped up, straining his neck to look at Lucifer's face. “Huh?”
“I asked if your people have any rites for the dead? Should we bring the body with us? Do you want me to burn it?”
Moroks gaze lowered again, looking at the lifeless body that was even now spilling blood onto the floor.
“No. Her soul will be joining the ancestors. We leave the bodies for the Steppes or the wastes, whichever claims it first.” His voice was barely audible.
“All right then, let's head on!”
Lucifer turned around and walked back towards Aindaeth and the still kneeling Asha, while cradling a shiny white orb in her hand. The orb smelled of Luxury and entitlement. A part of Lucifer's bare skin opened up, revealing that it was just two overlapping wings beneath her skin. The hand carrying the orb, deposited it between the two wings, which closed afterwards, as if a mouth.
Arriving next to Aindaeth, she saw the fascination in the dragon's eyes and the burning questions that were no doubt burning on her tongue.
“What is it?”
“How did you do it? I mean, the laws of hospitality are older than I am, by a lot. I could feel them binding me, and even now I can feel them on you as well. If I so much as flicked her forehead I would have been wracked with unimaginable pain.”
“I only used what she gave me.” Lucifer answered.
“What do you even MEAN?” Aindaeth whined.
“Come on, I need to know!!!”
Lucifer ignored the whining dragon, and for a moment, focussed on the way her path had notified her of a change.
Name: Samael
Tier: 1
Race: True blood celestial
Racial skills:
Mortal guise
Endless growth
True Sight
Soul manipulation
Promethean
Class 1: Acolyte of the first flame
Class skills:
Pureflame manipulation (7)
Heat absorption (5)
Star core (1)
Dawnbringer (1)
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Class 2: Autokinetic
Class skills:
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General skills:
Swordsmanship (81)
Dragon Bond (12)
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Everything looked as it had a few days ago, except that her swordsmanship had risen yet again. It had been at level 72 before her fight with Asha. Lucifer had no idea what that level even meant, as they seemed to rise at completely arbitrary moments.
Two new skills were listed, but they were not something new, only two things she could already do. Though Lucifer had to admit, the moment the skills unlocked, it became markedly easier to use them.
The first was something she had done a lot in her time in the void, yet the moment the now dead girl threw waves of force at her, it was suddenly easy.
Kinetic absorbtion: absorb kinetic energy from your surroundings or incoming projectiles.
It wasnt suddenly as easy as walking, but it felt like spiritual muscle memory.
The second skill was something she had used before as well, but not nearly as much as just absorbing kinetic energy.
Kinetic release: release stored kinetic energy
The moment the second skill kicked in, Lucifer felt something guide her. She hadn't used kinetic energy in such a direct manner before, but it felt like she had the same spiritual muscle memory, without the acquired experience.
Aindaeth had told her that mana wanted to be used, no matter in which form. Sometimes someone else had walked a path before, causing the mana to instill echoes of their knowledge in new people that walked a path. To Lucifer that felt kind of weird, especially considering that humans were apparently rarely stronger than tier 3. Should their numbers not make it easier for them, if multiple people walked similar paths?
Lucifer could not wait to find out.
—-------------------------------------------------
Daranturn sat cross legged in the shamans tent. The ground below him was decorated with the pelts of various beasts and carpets traded from the sects. These carpets were supposedly called “Meditation Mats” but they worked much better as carpets.
Even the ceiling of the tent was covered in furs and carpets. Occasionally there was the skull of a beast or an amateurishly made weapon mounted on the beams holding the ceiling.
In the Middle of the tent burnt a slow, almost lethargic fire, one which had not needed fuel for centuries.
The air was thick with smoke that hung lazily in the barely moving air and refused to dissipate.
Daranturn was the oldest and strongest of the gathered Shamans, having been given his position after outliving every other Shaman. Having crossed the second leap, he was granted an increase to his longevity that had helped him guide the tribes for a long time. And if everything went well, he would guide them for half a century more.
Thoughts of his mortality flickered through his mind as they had so often these days. Ever since the pillar of fire shot into the sky, he could feel the souls of the ancestors growing restless. The discordant calls of the long deceased elders called to him, some warning of great danger approaching, to be cautios. Others called for war as the last of their embers were returned to the great whole.
Daranturn let the thoughts of death and the calls of the ancestors flow through his mind, acknowledging, but never dwelling on them. They were often a great help when it came to leading the tribes, offering hundreds of different perspectives. But Daranturn knew of the nature of orcs, as he himself was one. He was self aware enough to know the war-like nature of his people. Orcs thrived in combat and war, but were similarly undone by it.
So while the unity of the tribes grew ever weaker, the ancestors continued to call for bloodshed. If only Daranturn could allow such a thing. He yearned to join his ancestors after a glorious death in battle, but he knew that any large-scale war would wipe the rest of the tribes from the steppes. Forcing the rest deeper into the wasteland.
While the human Kingdoms continued to expand and the sects refused to yield, the orcs were pushed further and further towards the wastes.
Sooner or later his people had to fight for their space, and he hoped that when the time came, his people were numerous enough.
Daranturn sighed, ending his meditation. His mind was overburdened and he was in no mood to continue. He looked down at the weathered hands laying in his lap. They were wrinkly and clawed, despite his apparent vitality. All ten of his fingers were decorated with crudely made rings of steel, each carrying an emblem of a different tribe. Only his right pinky was bare, but despite the lack of a ring, the skin of his finger still showed the mountain that had been the emblem of the Stoneskin tribe.
A soft chime brought Daranturns attention back to the present. One of the ceremonial guards entered the tent, his face hidden beneath the decorated skull of a wasteland lion.
“Moroks patrol is back.” The guard spoke in a gruff voice.
“Ahhh, right on time.” Daranturn answered. His the voice of an old man. He struggled to his feet for a moment, using an old carved branch as a walking aid.
Once he exited the tent and took a brief moment for his eyes to adapt to the light, he took a deep breath of fresh air.
He turned to the guard that was accompanying him and asked “Do you think we will accept a new adult into the ranks?”
“I do not know head shaman. Such matters are best left to you.”
Daranturn chuckled at the way the guard evaded his question, before picking the direction that Morok had most likely returned from. With the guard at his side, he walked throug the massive gathering of tents and large wagons. It was bustling with young orcs, many still too young to go on their first outing.
The air was thick with the smell of boiling iron grass and the heat of forges. The sounds of metal being beaten into shape sounded all around him, mixing with the chatter of children into a unified droning noise.
It took Daranturn quite a while to reach the edge of the tent city. Mostly due to his ageing form and his frail legs. But occasionally a group of children would approach him to ask for a show of magic, or an expecting mother would ask for the ancestors blessing.
When finally he arrived at the spot where Moroks group had arrived, he let out a tired sigh.
The original group of young and excited children, came back with a hardened and harried look in their eyes. Morok himself looked utterly exhausted. The only exception was the proud look of one of the Stoneskin siblings. The girl stood beside the group with a straight back and a puffed out chest.
At the sight of her standing so proudly, a tiny sliver of warmth suffused his chest.
As soon as Daranturn got close enough, Moroks gaze fixed onto him and he came frantically running. Morok came to a stop in front of him, the outstretched hand of the ceremonial guard entirely unneeded.
He hurriedly bowed, before speaking without being invited to. Something entirely unusual for the hunter Morok, who despite his upbringing as one of the martial path, was still a strict adherent to tradition.
“Head shaman. I apologize for my overstepping of boundaries. But there is something you should know.”
“Young Morok you look dreadful, can it not wait a while? You should rest.” Daranturn spoke in a well practiced fatherly voice.
“No elder sadly it can not wait. We have guests.” The last word was spoken in the old tongue, carrying the meaning of those that were bound by laws of hospitality.
It took old Daranturn a moment to understand the meaning of moroks words, but when he understood, his eyes widened and he shakily nodded.
“Yes, that is a most urgent issue.”
Daranturn let his gaze wander over the gathered people, until he found the two that stood out.
One was a very tall humanoid woman, standing a good head above even the ceremonial guard, with black hair and a coat of fur covering her body. She stood next to the Stoneskin girl, both in an animated discussion.
The other, more memorable guest, was another woman. Though this one was far wider and more beastial looking. At this distance Daranturn could even make out her slitted pupils and the too sharp nails. The most notable aspect about her though, was the boiling aura of fire mana that was constrained in a bubble around her.
Daranturn turned back to Morok, with a terrible premonition on his mind.
"What words did they use? Did they give you their names? What have you offered them?"
Taken aback by the intensity of the old shaman, Morok took a moment to answer.
"I welcomed them and asked for forgiveness due to my inability to offer tribute. Then I knelt and offered my bow."
At that Daranturns shoulders sagged in relief. If they accepted the offering of peace, they no longer had to expect any aggression, whether through magical or martial means.
"The large woman next to young Asha over there, is called Lucifer Morningstar. She said we were allowed to use her name. She and Asha have been sparring almost the entire time they've known each other."
Daranturn raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the fact that Morok had remembered the young Stoneskins name. That meant he considered her an adult already, which was unusual.
"The other one is a predator. I remembered one of the lessons of older beasts taking on a different form, so I mean that literally."
Observing the woman for a moment, Daranturn could only agree with that assessment.
"She insists on being called Lady Ain and-"
As soon as he heard that name, the terrible premonition came true. In Daranturns mind he saw the figure of a Dragon burning the gathering site of the tribes to the ground. A baleful shadow blocking the sunlight with it's massive wings, while the people were burned to ashes under it's terrible wrath.
Aindaeth the Inferno had been released from her Mountain prison.