Man, it's so boring around here. As Fikre flies around, he hears a murmur run through his head. What's that sound?
"Oh great guardian of Ancalia," says the voice, "hear me. I'm surrounded by a great host of shambling monsters. Please, come to my aid!"
This must be one of the powers The Lich was talking about. I can hear prayers made to me. Fikre closes his eyes, and focuses on finding the person that called out to him. He sees a vision of them, surrounded by the same monsters that had tried to attack him when he returned to the ruins of Ancalia. With a moment's concentration he warps to the person's location.
"Great one! You have come!" Shouts the man in delight.
"Get on my back," says Fikre. "I'll take you out of here."
The man, a woman, and three children, who Fikre deduces are his family, all climb on his back and he lifts off the ground.
"So what are those things?" Fikre asks.
"People are calling them Husks. The mysterious gateways that have been appearing all over recently have brought with them an alien disease that our doctors call 'The Hollwing Plague.'" He must be talking about the Night Roads.
"Do not worry," says Fikre. "I will take you all back to a refuge where you can safely reside for now."
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Fikre returns to his cave after dropping off the family in the city. He waits out the daily routine of some people dressed in fancy priest attire come to offer prayer and gold to him, but something feels off.
"Gift of Time: Look Forward!" Fikre says aloud. His worshippers ignore his words. In Fikre's mind, he sees three distinct futures. In the first, the small refuge that has formed around his home has grown into a sprawling city. In the second, the small refuge is ablaze, its inhabitants either slaughtered or missing. Oh shit, something terrible is about to happen! Before the vision fades, Fikre catches a glimpse of the third potential future. It's hazy, but he thinks he can see... a man? Before he can see any further, a purple mist covers the scene and he awakens from his future-looking. His priests are still at his feet.
"Something terrible will soon befall this settlement," says Fikre. The priests look up.
"What is it?"
"I don't know for sure. Rally the citizens. Something is going to attack us."
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Fikre looms over the village, perching on the cliff above his cave. The citizens of Ancalia all stand at the ready, weapons in hand, surrounding the perimeter of the village. Fikre's instincts are accurate; he hears the army before he sees them. Oh my... a marching force of what must be nearly 10,000 soldiers, all donning the flag of the Atheocracy of Lom, march towards the hamlet. They stop short about 300 feet, and a stout man emerges from the line of knights.
"Ahem. I, Fruitful Scholar, with authority bestowed upon me by the Voice of Reason, Atheocrat Truth, demand to speak with the so-called 'god' that you worship. If we can reach an agreement, we will leave this place in peace." I don't think I can take on that many people at once without a significant number slipping past me and murdering the citizens... Without another clear option, Fikre glides down from his perch to meet the stout man.
"Hello, lizard. I heard you call yourself Fikre Soro," says Fruitful Scholar.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"You are correct. Why are you here?" Asks Fikre.
"Our mission is to eliminate any false gods that stand in the face of True Reason. One such individual would be yourself. We know where your friends are, too. That skeletal freak's palace has been particularly tough to take over... anywho, we have demands if you do not want your little village to be destroyed."
"I'm waiting, then," says Fikre.
"One - you will come back with us peacefully to the Atheocracy, where you will be studied by magicians and theurges. Two - you will tell us about any individuals we may not know about who have also found themselves in your... situation. Three - when we are done studying you, you will enter the Pyre."
"What the hell is the Pyre?" Asks Fikre.
"You haven't heard of the Pyre?" Asks Fruitful. The legions of men all laugh mockingly at Fikre. "It is our sacred artifact. Anyone who enters it gains the power to suppress the abilities from powerful beings, such as yourself. If any of them were to enter it, they would instantly die." It's a death penalty!?
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I have to think about this carefully. I think I could probably take out a good amount of them by combining my Words. Maybe I could even use the Word of Time to tip the battle in our favor... Fikre roars and moves to strike the stout man, who hurriedly falls back into the horde of soldiers and shouts, "Slay this beast! Ready the bombardment theurges!" Bombardment theurges!? In the back, Fikre sees four or five people who start making similar hand movements to those that The Lich was doing. If I had to guess, I'd say their theurgies are far weaker than his. He has the Word of Sorcery, after all.
Fikre swipes his claw through the front line of men like butter, and burns those knights who were a bit further away with a blast from his fire breath. I have to reach those theurges before they can finish casting! "Gift of Underworld: Swallow the City!" A massive, 300-foot wide sinkhole forms below the theurges, and their casting is interrupted as they scramble to escape the area before it swallows them completely. Fikre takes off and blasts more flames at the soldiers, who are now running directly into the city. Arrows bounce off of Fikre's armor. You'd think that they would give up after the first few don't penetrate. Just then, an expertly-shot arrow finds its way between his scales and pierces his flesh. Fuck! I jinxed it! He roars in pain, but continues to spray fiery death onto the soldiers below.
Half an hour into the battle, Fikre feels his strength waning, and he is forced to land, lest he crash out of the sky. "What the hell..."
"Fool! Feel the power of the Pyre!" Shouts Fruitful, who has reappeared. "The soldiers can break your defense and enter the city now!" Fikre hears the clash of steel in the distance. Fruitful holds his hands up towards Fikre, who struggles to reach him. Come on... move... Fikre pushes his now-limp upper body with his hind legs towards the man, too weak now to even shoot fire at him. Is this it?...
Fikre closes his eyes as a wave of knights climb on top of him and start stabbing at his scales. He feels the painful pierce of the swords, now even his hind legs giving out. Not... like this...
Then he hears a howl in the distance.
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Barbatus sits on the bloodied throne of the Patrian Empire, Emperor Claudius XI now dead at his feet.
"The old fool wouldn't relent," says Barbatus. "Did he truly believe he could best a god with dominion over swords in a sword fight?"
Everyone in the room sweats, forced to swallow their fear of their new emperor. "Yes, sir," says a butler, "it was awfully foolish of him."
"Go get me some wine," Barbatus demands. The butler leaves the room in a hurry. "Those fucking Dulimbaians... they're not even useful as slaves. You have informed the people, correct?" He asks another servant in the room. The servant nervously nods. "Good." Barbatus stands up from the throne and walks onto the balcony of the castle, where below, tens of thousands of Patrians cheer up to their new emperor.
"Citizens of the Patrian Empire, a new era is dawning!" Shouts Barbatus. "An era of ruling! An era of peace! An era of prosperity!" The crowd cheers. "Claudius could not conquer Dulimbai. But with me as your new king, the god of Swords, Command, and War, there is no possible way we can lose!" The crowd goes wild, now. Barbatus smiles and whispers to himself, "Gift of Command: The Lieutenant's Wisdom!" Then he shouts to the whole crowd, so everyone in the empire can hear him, "We must destroy Dulimbai!" The power of the gift flows with Barbatus' voice and into the minds of everyone that hears it. Barbatus laughs and the crowd cheers as the gift now allows him to know and perceive everything everyone in the entirety of the Patrian Empire sees.