So small. Prometheus curled his hand into a fist, the flame on top of his palm flickering out and plunging the world around them into darkness. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let the crisp mountain air whistle against his skin as he listened to the sound of rushing water far below, perhaps in a stream that came from higher up.
The black ghoul and Erafros sat at ease, leaning against a cliff face while their chimeras rested beside them. The creatures were enormous - horse-sized spiders with a grace that belied their ungainly appearance, able to move with an eerie precision across the jagged terrain. It was for their sake they rested now. The undead required next to no physical recuperation – only sustenance and water.
"You must have a lot on your mind. Ask, and I will answer."
Erafros's sonorous voice broke him from his thoughts as if capable of reading another's mind.
The black ghoul looked up to see the rusty knight's green eyes on him, green spheres in the sparse light of the night and stared back for a moment before nodding. "The path tree. Tell me more about it."
"What did Ezra tell you?"
"Other than to pick something combat-related? Nothing."
Erafros sighed. "And did you?"
The black ghoul nodded, which made the other undead shake his head. After a moment, the antler-wearing knight spoke again.
"Firstly, which of the three paths did you choose?"
"Middle path."
The black ghoul's answer caused Erafros to sigh and shake his head for a second time, "Well, what is done, is done. There is a common conception that the path of duality is the worst of the three – since it doesn't increase your attributes as much and makes you less likely to focus on reaching the stem – but it has its advantages, I suppose."
"What do you mean?" Prometheus was confused. "Reaching the stem? Why would it be so?"
"The right and left paths have smaller path trees and root systems," Erafros explained. "Their path to the stem requires fewer path points, and therefore a lesser level before one can sprout, as reaching the stem is called. For the path of duality to be worth taking, you need to at least travel through two roots, relating to both the physical and the mind, respectively."
"And this is a bad thing?"
"No, and yes," Erafros answered. "As you travel through the roots, you unlock passive and active skills. These skills can increase in rank from proficiency or putting additional path points into them. The first option is hard because training an ability takes a long time and a lot of focus, while the second option is easy but distracts you from reaching the stem – which is where the real power lie. On the other hand, if you reach the stem too quickly, your foundation will be shallow, and you won't be able to climb the tree and reach the canopy to bask in the sun."
Not even Orpheos talks so abstractly... The black ghoul didn't fully understand what he was told but thought he realized the substance. "So, the middle path is longer but more versatile. I need to travel the roots delicately, spend enough path points to build a steady foundation for climbing the tree, but also be aware that each point I spend increases the length of my journey?"
His companion nodded in deference. "Yes, and each path point is harder to come by, as each level demands more. So if you spend foolishly, you won't reach very high."
"Can you only gain level by killing?"
Erafros nodded. "The path is unlimited, but at the same time, it is not. Each time we eat meat, an animal must die. Each time a necromancer raises the dead, a corpse is required. To grow stronger, you must consume. That is the way of life. To climb, you must trample. To breathe – another must suffocate."
"I see."
The words of the undead were perhaps harsh, but there was a glimmer of truth in them. If the world was limited, so must the path be.
Prometheus sat in the twilight, after the conversation, thinking about how to proceed – how to structure his path.
His advantages could be compiled into a short and varied list of areas: fire, illusion, manipulation, physicality, mental resistance, and path points.
Mental resistance was an area in which he couldn't improve – it was a result of his [Divine soul] title. His best guess was that when the blue core was broken, it had assimilated with the living world and based itself upon the parameters of mortal creatures and not that of the divine.
As seen earlier with the dark lord of the craggy peaks, mental resistance could be useful for more than simply defensive purposes as long as one knew how to use it.
If not for the mental resistance, he would have been a slave. This was the defensive side. His being able to use it to fool the necromancer and achieve absolute trust... that was the sharp edge.
But if not for the fact that he understood the limitations of other's skills, was prepared for possible deception, and showed no hesitation, the aged necromancer would have known of his ritual's failure.
And if the dark lord was as callous as Prometheus thought, the man would have killed him on the spot if he found out he couldn't be sure of his absolute loyalty.
So, the four areas he could work with and improve were fire, manipulation, illusion, and physicality.
He had three path points per level compared to the two others received, but this didn't give him a lot to work with if he wanted to focus on all areas.
Erafros had told him that spreading himself too thin would leave him with a weak foundation and a slow journey.
And because divine beings from the prison that was the pit might overturn the mortal world in but a year or two, he couldn't be too slow in his rise to power.
Simultaneously, he must forge himself into something extraordinary to face what would be regarded as the fiercest challenge of his two lives.
I need to spend my path points wisely. But I also need to be diverse. I need to think about what is, what could be, and what will be.
Stop hesitating. Trust your wit.
He concluded after long consideration to spread his points across all four areas, regardless of what the rusty knight suggested.
He would reserve as few points as possible for fire, manipulation, and illusion, using the higher efficiency – given to him by his titles – to increase both the rank and expertise of skills without having to invest additional path points.
In addition, he planned to boost his physical strength. No matter what, his body was a large part of how he interacted with the world. It would not do to neglect that fact.
Prometheus smiled as he felt the pieces falling together; yes, this was the style that would be most fitting for him.
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As Prometheus followed Erafros on his chimera, the wild landscape opened up before them. The sharp ridges of the mountains cut into the sky as if the snow-tipped spires sought to pierce the veil to the realm beyond.
Ahead, a sea of mist blanketed the endless craggy slopes and deep valleys that sheltered a powerful alliance of mountain races, its vastness dwarfing the two undead travelers.
Hours passed until they reached the camp, its existence betrayed by smoky plumes and a looming stench of sulfur and death that overwhelmed the crisp mountain air. Grim-faced, fire-weaving necromancers bowed as Prometheus and Erafros rode past with their sinister chimeras, setting alight the bodies of fallen undead stacked in deep trenches.
Thousands upon thousands of figures milled about, twisted abominations lurking in every corner. He was not afraid. He was simply overwhelmed by all impressions. From beyond the veil, creatures such as this looked like specks of dust milling about in unremarkable, gray swirls. But in the midst of them, Prometheus was shocked to find himself feeling cramped and small in an endless sea of motion and voices.
"This way, please."
The general and the trainee were led by a steward of some kind, who greeted them as they rode into camp. This was an older woman of pale complexion and silvery hair, stooped back, and rheumy, blue eyes. She greeted them with respect, a deep bow that seemed to take more energy than she could spare, a ragged breath escaping dry, thin lips as she stood up.
She took them between tents and flimsy buildings until, at last, they seemed to reach the center of the camp, where a large tent stood erected. It was draped with black cloth that bore the signature green skull of The abominable.
As they pulled away the cover, they seemed to have interrupted a fierce discussion, for five figures stood talking around a thick, round table of dark wood, each turning their head as the two were led inside by the older woman.
"General Erafros. Oh, and this...?" A tall, lithe woman stepped forward from the table, curly black hair draped over a fair but worn face of sharp beauty past her prime. Brown eyes bore into Prometheus, red lips parting as realization struck. "Semian mentioned it yesterday as he arrived at camp, to think it was true."
Erafros clicked his tongue but said nothing as the woman advanced, hand outstretched. Prometheus took it, receiving a firm handshake from a soft, slender hand. "Lydia, arch-necromancer and master of the eighth alcove."
"Prometheus," He said simply, which made the woman's lips quiver into what resembled a smile but didn't quite reach her cold eyes.
As she stepped back, the other people in the room introduced themselves. Two of them were senior necromancers of the eighth and sixth alcoves, one wearing a plain black robe, the other an indigo robe with gold threading, Gerald and Thorn.
"Semian. Semian the black." the last figure introduced himself, matted black hair covering a charming but chubby face of a man in perhaps his thirties. The man was big and tall but wide around the waist and thick in the limb.
After the introductions, Erafros stepped forward to the table, where the skin of a beast lay unfurled. On this skin, there were etched markings and symbols that formed a map of some kind.
"So we are stuck here?" the undead pointed at a particular marking, receiving an agreement from the necromancers.
"And we must go here?" he asked.
"Yes." responded Lydia. "the earthworms from the fifth alcove will be transported here in a matter of weeks. Until then, we must drive deep enough to distract them enough for us to penetrate through the here, look." she pointed at another marking.
"This will cost us a lot." mused the rusty general.
Lydia laughed. "We are legion. What is cost, general?"
"You're right. What we lose, we recuperate when the battle is over." Erafros agreed.
Feeling watched, he glanced up to find Semian staring at him. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and Semian smiled with a strange intensity that made Prometheus uneasy before returning his attention to the map.
Apart from that odd encounter, they continued to discuss plans, many of them going over Prometheus's head. He had once been a god, he was crafty and keen of mind, but these detailed strategies they soon went over went beyond him. He knew nothing about collapsing mine shafts, navigating through twisting tunnels, or fighting against gunpowder and gnomish magic.
As he stood there, alone in his ignorance, he promised to learn what he lacked. An odd sense of shame crept over him. Yes, he was in the realm beyond no longer – he needed to learn the ways of the mortals, be it reading a map or grasping mountain lore.