They all waited, staring at the flickering announcement that centered itself in front of them. The amphitheater itself was newly built, its pale wood and rough stone polished just enough to withstand the weather, but raw and bare in the moonlight. The rows of simple stone cast all their eyes directly at the three men as they looked onward into the non-existent distance.
The villagers sat in complete silence. Eyes remained fixed on the blank space, where the system announcement should have appeared by now. But there was nothing. The announcement timer hung frozen in the air
System Announcement: 1 Second
Cheese swallowed, a laugh clawing at his throat—a helpless, near-hysterical urge to break the silence that he fought back. His eyes drifted toward the stage, where the town’s three leaders stood as if they too feared to move or speak.
Rook his father stood at the center, tall and unyielding, his shoulders set against the empty darkness like an immovable rock in a storm. His jaw was tight, face shadowed beneath the half-light, unreadable as he surveyed the crowd. Ibron, on Rook’s right, looked uneasily out at the crowd, as if he wished to flee, his wide shoulders tense. Yet the man persisted and stood ramrod straight under the press of eyes. Every now and then, his hands flexed, restless, his steady gaze darting from crowd to Rook, waiting for some kind of signal. Thomphson, leaned heavily on his walking staff, knuckles white as he clutched it tightly, his gaze fixed with a peculiar intensity on the crowd, as if to hold their silence. His lined face, still as stone and sent a single message to his people, his children. Cheese could almost hear the ancient mans will as if it was his own, it said "Betray no fear." And the look that he cast cheeses way pushed the hysterical laughter away instantly, the boy felt his spine straighten as he watched.
In the ring closest to the platform, the ten elders sat in silence, hands resting on their laps. Their eyes darted to one another in a series of flickering glances, their mouths set in grim lines. Some leaned forward, some sat bolt upright, and others clenched the edges of their seats. They were still, yet the tension between them hung thick in the air, each one tense and poised, waiting for a sign or a word as to what to do.
Cheese sat further back among the town’s masters, his two brothers beside him, both with eyes fixed on the platform, as still as statues even Waff seemed to feel the weight of the moment as the gargantuan man was not even breathing. To Cheese’s left, Vella, the master weaver, sat rigidly, her hands tracing invisible patterns over her knees. Her fingers moved like she was spinning thread out of air, needing something to work, something to control. Further down the row, Halrick, the log rider, clenched his hands in his lap, the faint torchlight casting shadows across his brawny arms, his soot-streaked fingers gripping hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Nearby, Soryn, the herbalist, sat hunched forward, clutching her pouch of herbs with a look of almost feral alertness in her eyes, her head tilted as if she could hear something none of the others did.
The silence deepened, expanding into the night. The quiet was an almost physical presence, thick enough to choke on. They were all waiting for something—for words that had not come, for guidance, for a mission, answers. The occasional creak of leather, the shuffle of boots on stone, or the rustle of a cloak in the cool night air felt deafening, magnified by the silence.
Then, suddenly, a sound broke through—a soft, rhythmic pad of footsteps, far off at first but unmistakable. They grew louder, each step falling with precise, deliberate weight. It was a sound foreign to Timberbrook ears, like footfalls on cobblestone. Few here had even walked a cobble path, let alone heard this noise. Even those who had never heard such a noise before felt a chill race through them at the sound, the unnatural cadence of it setting everyone on edge.
Rook’s jaw clenched tighter, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the shadows beyond the amphitheater. Beside him, Ibron’s fists clenched, his gaze flicking toward the darkness beyond the torchlight, as if willing the footsteps to reveal themselves. Tomphson remained motionless, though his grip tightened even more on his staff, his frail shoulders somehow exuding a steely resilience.
Among the elders, every face was turned toward the sound, their grim expressions fracturing as unease broke through their stony calm. The masters around Cheese stilled as well, their fidgeting hands freezing mid-motion. Cheese felt his heart hammering in his chest, each step drawing closer, tightening the tension like a drawn bowstring. They had gathered here expecting an announcement, something to clarify the darkness that had begun to cloud their town. But instead, they were met with silence, and the approaching echo of something unknown.
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Then, like a bowstring snapping against an arm, the tension was suddenly broken as a form materialized before them taking center stage.
Oh and what a form it was, the figure stood eight feet tall and was clad in Dark obsidian armor. Cheese looked at it and felt a oneness with the form. He instinctually knew what it was he was seeing. This WAS void. This creature before him was the embodiment of that darkness that he had recently faced as he warred with himself. As the form swept its view along the people present it spoke out into the crowd saying simply "Am I truly the first? Well. So be it."
His words were simple, but his message was like Ice through their souls. Every syllable held a weight that threatened to crush those who heard it, and all who heard those words instinctively knew across the planet every single person still living was seeing the same thing. And in their own way they knew who this man was, Dac, Lord of Dread.
He was known to all who went out on dark nights, to all who faced their fears, and to all who felt that lingering doubt in the back of their mind.
As they surveyed his form, someone spoke out beside Cheese. "Uhhhhhh, Master Rook, may I speak?" It was Vella, her hands still knitting as she did.
All eyes turned to her, and as Rook nodded his confirmation, she continued. "I believe we may all be seeing the system announcement, but I do not trust my feelings. By a raise of hands, is there anyone who does not see a man in dark armor, casting a magical aura that forces you to cringe?"
Only one hand went up, and it surprised them all. It was a small child named Rickon at the very rear of the amphitheater, barely four years of age. As he raised his hand, Rook asked him, "Boy, what do you see?"
The boy shrugged and said, "I see nothing, Master Rook. I feel a feeling I've never felt before, like a sickness in my stomach, but I don’t see a man in armor."
There was murmuring at this, but after a moment, Vella continued. "That tells us much. I cede the floor." She then sat, and silence overcame them. The figure stood before them all, and after a moment, they heard a loud sigh, and he began to speak.
"Well, I guess it is unsurprising that in this time I may be the strongest of us. I expected Jansriel, or perhaps the Blood Huntress. Yet what do magic and a search for battle hold against human fear, eh? Well. Know that I, too, await the system’s decision on recent matters, children. So do not mind me."
With that, the God of Dread simply walked down to the amphitheater seats and sat. The elder next to whom he sat, Master Theilen, hurriedly scooted as far away as tradition allowed.
Over the next twenty minutes, similar scenes played out, and the masters and elders deduced several things. First, their feeling that everyone in the world had these visions was likely incorrect—it was likely only those gathered at amphitheaters like theirs. Since the beginning of civilization, such structures had existed, and it appeared they had a purpose beyond the mundane. Second, not all known gods presented themselves. The Church held 23 gods in its pantheon, yet many were absent, and some who did appear looked diminished. Many believed that this was due to the gods perishing or falling out of power. Third, other entities appeared on the stage. Some seemed confused as they appeared, accompanied by a system message. These appearances started after the gods descended from the stage, and by that time, the three leaders had joined the elders in the ever-more-crowded Masters’ circle of the amphitheater.
Presenting: Highest Level Skill Holder
An elderly man, appearing even older than Thomphson, stood with the title [Teaching: Level 51] above his head. A ripple went through the crowd at this, and even a few gods seemed interested. He was a small man with dark yellow skin and tired eyes. Looking out at the crowd, he spoke.
"Oh my, it is strange. I can see so many of you, stacked like wheat on a cart. You weave in and out like a basket. May I ask you glorious beings—where are we?"
One being stood to answer him. "Greatest of mortals, I am Dac. You are at the original place of gathering. Come, sit among us and see what is to come."
The old man walked gingerly to the steps and sat a row above the gods. An elder quickly vacated the spot as he approached, and Cheese didn’t doubt the same was happening across the world.
Several other achievements were presented—eight more in total. They were largely skill-dependent, though one was for the largest number of subjects, held by a king Cheese had never heard of, and another for the largest religion. Surprisingly, this did not go to a god but to an acolyte of Zelphon, God of Wine, who boasted a congregation of 24,000 daily worshippers. The god, a being rounder than a wheel of cheese, joyously greeted the drunken acolyte, offering him wine and a seat beside him.
The last achievement appeared. Before Cheese could read it, he felt an uncomfortable pull on his being, not unlike the tug of battle he had felt in recent days.
The words Presenting: Most Damage Dealt to Invaders: 2,232,424 appeared, and Cheese found himself standing in the center of the amphitheater, millions of eyes on him as he tried to collect himself.