Few of the buildings that stretched for the sky in Soar were quite as imposing as the Celestial Temple. It probably goes without saying that when you have the literal power of life and death over the little beings below, you tend to end up with highly motivated craftspeople. But as the avatars within the Temple made that point loudly and often - usually concurrent with vaporising whatever mason, plumber or carpenter that had displeased them - it is going to be said anyway.

If it seemed to the citizens of Soar that regardless of famine, flood or financial crisis, the Celestial Temple continued to grow more and more glorious as their own circumstances cratered into the mud, then they were to be congratulated on their perspicacity. The Mayor of Soar had not reached his station in life by pissing off immortal beings, no sirree, Bob.

The Celestial Temple occupied the very centre of the city, with tens of streets running off it. It was often mentioned that the various thoroughfares lined with shops, houses, and industrial facilities that led to and from the giant tower were like the spokes of some enormous wheel with the Temple at its heart. To which the Mayor would reply, whilst seeking to stand just outside the inevitable splash zone, "Too damn right. Have you seen the size of some of those thunderbolts?"

It was visible for leagues around, with its roof's vast black stone edifice shining with a, if not entirely holy, then certainly intimidating glow.

Mdamic Lavall watched the city hustle by beneath him with all the self-satisfaction of someone who never needed to commute to work again. It wasn't that he did not like the 'little people' rolling past him below; it was just . . . No, that was entirely fair. He didn't like them at all.

Fuck those guys. And the donkey they were riding around on.

If there was one thing that Soar gave you, it was opportunity. You could be born as the lowest of the low, but that did not, in any way, put a ceiling on how high you could rise. Providing, of course, you put your nose to the grindstone, pulled yourself up by your bootstraps and . . . some other meaningless cliche that he was too angry to verbalise right now.

He glanced upwards, calculating - as he always did at such moments - how far his chamber was from the pinnacle of power.

At eight feet, ten inches away, he was as close as he had ever been. And how little it now all mattered. If the news that had reached his ears were accurate, he would never move higher than his current position.

That bubbling anger just below the surface momentarily took hold of him, and an arching bolt of Righteous Judgement blazed from his eyes to incinerate one of the passing ants below. That this gave him an unusually high burst of XP suggested that he must have accidentally targeted someone above Level 40.

Mdamic opened a quick mental channel to his PA. "Szana? Can you look into who was recently moved beyond this vale of tears on the corner of -" he checked his geography - "Sorrow and Fortitude. Send the family my regards and make the usual apologies."

"The ineffable nature of Yolgorth?"

"Whatever eases their pain. You're good at this sort of thing. Of course, if it turns out it was a deserved smiting, please present the usual invoice." He cut off the communication and turned to his unwelcome visitor.

"Feeling better?" The reptilian eyes of Khaled Sahil regarded him with amusement.

Mdamic ignored him and slipped into his favourite leather armchair, putting his feet up on the desk separating them. It was so unfair! He had diligently served Yolgorth his whole life, and no one knew better than him that this was no Sun Day picnic.

Sure, the early years of slaughter and sacrifice had been nicely diverting for a wet-eared from the Western Isles looking to do something original with his fists. But, as he'd pushed on through the levels, by necessity evolving his Class to be less ‘hands-on’ than making dismembered corpses, it had all become much more of a trial.

After all, he was not a politician. He killed politicians. And enjoyed it. And, for a time, being the avatar of Yolgorth let him indulge that particular interest with impunity. However, as this approach had paid surprising dividends in the Celestial Temple, he had found himself climbing towards the summit of this bloody tower - 'bloody' in more ways than one - and it felt like his particular set of Skills were increasingly becoming moribund.

Worse, if what the man sat opposite him had just said was true, the climb was over, and a rapid and entirely lethal drop was coming.

"So, what you're saying is that I'm screwed?"

Khaled, the Chosen of Oh, cocked his head to the side. "Maybe. I guess that depends on what you might have to trade for the information."

Mdamic's huge, scarred hands smashed down and through his desk, reducing it to kindling. It was reasonably unusual for a to possess quite such an imposing physique as the Speaker of Yolgorth retained. The muscles - and the swords. And the battle-axes. And the temper - had undoubtedly added to his success in reaching the heady position of Level 72. "You will tell me, or you will die!"

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Khaled didn't blink at the primitive show of strength. As one of the key gifts that Oh had bestowed on him when he passed the Level 60 threshold was the Legendary skill, Never Surprised, he was capable of glimpsing what the next few moments would bring.

This was both extremely helpful to his long-term survivability in circumstances such as these and also an absolute buzzkill in more social settings. Indeed, it had put such a dent to his love life that he had made no effort, as of yet, to level it up to increase the amount of time he could anticipate. Who wanted to know how an evening's seduction would end before you even made your move?

"You know how this works, dear heart. There are no freebies at our level."

Unlike Yolgorth, who was best known as the god most likely to absolutely fuck you up if you spilt his beer, Khaled's patron - Oh - had no shortage of alliances he sought to maintain. There was literally no limit to the amount of arse his avatar would be ordered to kiss to bring his plans to fruition. Whilst Khaled was at present bumming around on the eighth Floor of the Temple, plans were afoot to help him rise.

And, right now, he was in possession of information that Mdamic's time on the penultimate Floor was about to come to a Fire Demon shaped conclusion.

"What do you want?" The eyes blazed with barely repressed fury. More than one avatar of a lesser deity had come a cropper in this chamber. Regardless of his Legendary skill, Khaled cautioned himself that he would do well to remember that Mdamic hadn't reached Level 72 without being an absolute monster.

"Very little, I assure you. The games of we poor souls on the eighth Floor can matter nothing to someone like yourself."

"I grow bored. Ask."

"The Great and Bounteous Oh recently lost control of a Starter Area north of the Terreto Province. A rather distasteful business involving Orcs, Kobolds, and a Princess of questionable virtue I won't bore you with. It would be extremely beneficial should that area suddenly experience . . . I don't know . . . a catastrophic thunderstorm?"

"How catastrophic?" Khaled saw the glint in Mdamic's eye and knew he had him.

"I think Oh was hoping for anything north of wholly apocalyptic. Her precise words were, 'Let the ungrateful buggers burn.'"

"And for that . . . service, you will share what you know about Yolgorth's fall from the Council's favour?"

"Indeed."

Mdamic's eyes changed to the colour of spilt blood for a heartbeat and then switched back to their usual blue. "Done. I assume all XP gains - such as they are - are mine to claim?"

"Why, of course. Oh would never dream of suggesting otherwise."

Mdamic licked his lips. Even such a colossal span of destruction - he sensed there was every chance Terreto Province would drop into the sea - would do nothing for his level. Nevertheless, it was always enjoyable to have the XP wash in. "Now, tell me."

Khaled opened his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, remember I am just reporting rumour. None of what I say reflects my own thoughts." Mdamic made a noise that was either the sound of a mountain collapsing or a gentle prod to get the fuck on with it. One of the two. "There is some gossip on the middle levels that Gravalk's star is very much in the ascendant sphere."

Mdamic's eyes flicked downwards, measuring the distance from his office to that of Gianna d'Avec. He was just one Floor above her. How had she been able to rise so quickly? It was surely only yesterday she had been a neophyte lighting the candles in reception for her betters.

How had she risen so quickly that she was now actually worth his notice? And, more importantly, had he become aware of her ascent too late?

Khaled watched the emotions flick over Mdamic's face and kept a very close eye on the next few seconds. It was a significant drain on his mana to keep Never Surprised open, and it radically reduced his ability to take offensive measures. However, Level 60 versus Level 72? What the fuck did he think we would be able to do anyway?

Mdamic managed to get a hold of himself. "I assume there is more?"

Khaled swallowed. There was, but he had hoped to hold something back for another day. But that was obviously going to be a forlorn hope. Still, any markers he could put down now might pay him back down the line. Should Mdamic manage to turn his fortunes around, he was a pretty decent source to cultivate. And if not, well, the Council had made its opinion of the big man very clear. "It has been suggested that the High Priestess of Gravalk possesses rather more diplomatic skill than the current holder of the Second Floor. If there is to be a genuine challenge to Arkola's dominance, the Council feel she would be a better balancing act." Khaled did not think he could possibly have put that in a way less likely to engage Mdamic's fury towards him.

He took a quick lean to the left to avoid the lightning bolt that flashed towards his head.

Mdamic did not even look sorry. "They dare suggest that whore has more chance of dethroning Arkola than I do? I have been on the Second Floor for three years, plotting the precise moment to make my move!"

"And there, I fear, may be the issue. It has been said, not by me, I hasten to mention, but these words have been spoken, that Yolgorth was fast-tracked to this position because of his aggression and the possibility such belligerence would shake the status quo to its foundations. You were not selected to rise for the subtlety or Machiavellian cant of your mind. If you have not made your move in three years, perhaps it is time for someone else to have a go?"

This time, Khaled needed to throw himself fully from the chair, which was reduced to smoking cinders.

"If we could possibly remember, I am here to help you, and it is generally unwise to vaporise one's allies?"

"Is this coup all decided, or do I still have room to act?"

Khaled sniffed. "For someone as powerful as you, with the blessing of Yolgorth, there is always time to act. My sources suggest nothing has been decided yet. Should you pull down Arkola from their First Floor home in the coming days, then I am sure we will all hail the new age of Yolgorth. However, it would be wise for you to be clear that . . . moving day is fast approaching."

Mdamic sat and seethed. He had no prospect of dislodging Arkola during that period, not without a significant risk of being turned inside out, upside down, and—potentially—back again.

So, what options did that leave him?

While it was frowned upon, in general terms, to eradicate one's anointed successor—especially when they had not made the first move—it was not an especially hard or fast rule.

And, of course, a Level 67 could be a rather tricky proposition.

It would require some thought.

Days, Khaled had suggested. He was sure he could come up with a plan in that timescale.