Welcome to your first run! Please advise your Champion to complete the floors according to your [Domain]. Enough discrepancy will cause an automatic failure. Each run, you will start again from scratch! Please check the [Divine Store] and the [Achievement Shop] to empower your Champion between runs, and even unlock new ones.

As your Champion’s god, you will guide their growth as they climb the tower. Bring out their full potential to complete the Trials.

To begin, please select your Champion’s [Archetype]

Azarus twitched at the flood of implied information. His first thought was the Divine Points he had noted as a reward on the earlier screens. He suspected it was the currency of the [Divine Store]. Despite the indignity of being forced to purchase power from a shop falsely labeled as divine, using points his jailer rewarded him with for doing what it wanted, Azarus could not deny he was interested in seeing what was on offer.

The screen implied his champion was immortal, able to run the tower again and again until they succeeded. He could grow them for an eternity. Azarus fought to stifle his rising sense of excitement. Being contained was not supposed to be fun. But it would be, especially when his little goblin surpassed all limits and freed him to smash this hall to bits.

Doing his best to not to savor the fantasy of an imagined future, Azarus went to select an [Archetype]. It turned out to be a simple choice.

Archetypes available for Champion [Moka] (1): [Peasant]

Azarus selected his only option. Thinking back to the other potential champions, he felt he understood Moka’s limited selection. The others were a savage warrior, a bright alchemist, and a monster hunter. She was a villager.

[Peasant] Archetype selected.

[Peasant]: The common people whose backs form the staircase of success. The growth of this Archetype is slow and uncertain. However, some [Farmers] become [Heroes].

Azarus hummed to himself, idly touching the spinning dice that made up the pommel of his sword, his fingertips lightly grazing them as they orbited each other. He felt oddly pleased by the description of [Peasant]. It suited both him and his champion at this stage. He felt sure they would outgrow the Archetype together.

Generating Potential Classes from Archetype…

Please choose a Class for this run.

[Serf]: Hearty folk who till the land and reap its harvest, but cannot revel in the riches they produce.

Minor gifts in Might, Vigor, and Perseverance.

[Tribesman]: Sensitive to the whispers of nature’s spirits, these folk make their home in the wilds, safeguarding the land until it is ripped from their hands.

Minor gifts in Luck, Spirit, and Knack.

[Worker]: The bread and butter of any society. These folk do the labor others won’t, holding society on their aching shoulders.

Minor gifts in Might, Perseverance, and Will.

Azarus considered the choices one by one. He found it did not help. The limited choices irked him. If he was going to do this for the foreseeable future, the boredom of repetition might drive him mad. Discovering there was a certain context he was lacking, Azarus prodded the screen for more information. It flashed at him with disdain. The words did not change. From the pessimistic descriptions, he would bet the screens were punishing him for not being unhappy with the [Peasant] Archetype.

Resisting the urge to test his sword on the uppity screen, Azarus chose the option that appealed to him the most, [Tribesman]. He suspected luck was an element of his domain and a gift in that direction, minor or not, would aid his champion. It was the logical choice, even if Azarus felt it was a bit too straightforward.

The screen blinked away, and another appeared.

Generating starting Skill from [Tribesman]…

Please choose your Champion’s first Skill.

[Search]: Heighten your Champion’s ability to find what they seek; based on their gift of Luck.

[Commune]: Your Champion can appeal to the spirits of nature; based on their gift of Spirit.

[Sure-footed]: Your Champion’s feet are steady, their steps resistant to change; based on their gift of Knack.

Azarus had complained about the difficulty of the decision in his mind, and the screens seemed to agree. This choice was much more difficult. The lack of variety still worried him, but the future would wait. The relationship between the Class, gifts, and offered Skills was clear, one informing the next. Unfortunately, Azarus had no context for their synergy or usefulness. It did not help he was ignorant of his champion’s personal strengths or weaknesses.

Azarus looked at the smoldering gray figure of his Champion, Moka. She was small and lean, taller than five feet, but not by much. His instincts suggested he should be able to peer into her soul, but when he tried, nothing happened. So, he relied on his observations. Based on his interaction with the other champion candidates, he suspected there would be much fighting in the future. Violence was a common theme in each scenario. With Moka’s stature, she would need all the luck she could get.

Azarus decided. He selected [Search] for his champion. At the very least, it would be a learning experience. Not that Azarus was eager to learn from failure. That was the domain of mortals. Perfection was divine.

A sliver of doubt invaded the recesses of Azarus’s mind. Noticing the change in himself, the fledgling god was quick to dismiss it. It would not help him here, so he did not need it.

A new screen blinked at him, waiting for his input.

Searching for [Domain]…

[Domain] unrealized.

Generating [Divine] Boons…

Please choose a [Divine] Boon for this run!

[Boon of the Paragon]: +1 to all Class allocated Gifts.

[Boon of the Disciple]: Purchases to aid your Champion through the [Divine Store] are cheaper.

[Boon of the Forerunner]: Your Champion gains a minor gift of Luck and instinctual knowledge of unclaimed [Achievements].

Azarus rubbed the scruff on his chin and considered the three boons. He immediately dismissed [Boon of the Disciple]. For his first run, he would not be using the [Divine Store], so it was useless.

His first thought leaned toward [Boon of the Paragon]. It was a straight boost for Moka, with obvious benefits; better Luck, Spirit, and Knack.

When Azarus considered his other option, the thought of choosing [Forerunner] on his first run gave him a sense of risk he could not explain. It came from deep within his domain, like an ethereal echo of the rattling that lingering in the cinders of his power. The feeling made his heart race with anticipation. He could sense risk and reward in the boon, inextricably intertwined. He was more than willing to gamble.

It helped that he would see the gifts in action for himself, regardless of choosing [Paragon] or not. [Paragon] was a mere enhancement, while [Forerunner] could provide him information on these so called [Achievements].

Azarus touched his dice with one hand and selected [Boon of the Forerunner] with the other. The screen vanished. A new one flashed to life in an instant, then disappeared almost as quick.

Beginning Attempt Number: [1]

[Speak to your Champion]

Moka’s smoldering statue burst into emerald flames, flecked with motes of gold and gray. Color raced through her, spreading from her hands and wrists before merging on her torso. When the waves of color merged, their speed increased by tenfold. In an instant, Moka’s ruby eyes shone with life. She took a deep gulping breath, like a diver emerging from the ocean.

She blinked, looking around at the pillars of earth holding up the sky, studded with galaxies like they were stars. Her wounds and possessions were gone. She wore a pure white robe, tied in place by an emerald sash, trimmed in gray and lined with golden runes. Her hair draped over one shoulder, exposing one long ear and allowing the other to peek through. She was in peak condition, all signs of injury gone. Before she could get her bearing, Azarus spoke.

“This is your chance, my champion,” he said, noticing for the first time that his voice was husky and deep. He let the observation flow through him, but marked it for later consideration. “Climb the Tower and change your fate.”

Stolen story; please report.

She looked at him with wide eyes, her long, pointed ears twitching even as they laid flat against her head. Azarus’s instincts drew a comparison to the flexible ears of a cat-like species. The copper piercings in her ears clashed against each other as the tips of her ears trembled, letting out a pleasant jingle. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, emerald, gold, and gray flames burst from her skin. The flames surged, becoming incandescent and obscuring her figure.

The flames gathered together, then shot forward, flying like an arrow to the Mirror of Eons. The stream of flames burst into pieces as it touched the surface of the mirror, rolling across the reflection in waves like a rising tide. Where the emerald fire touched, the face of the mirror changed.

Moka stood in the image, on a hill overlooking a village, amidst a barren forest dying in the cold, hard ground. The village bore a heavy cloud of smoke hanging over it, obscuring the details but allowing Azarus to see the shape of perhaps a hundred single story homes.

Moka was checking her arms, finding her clothing had changed. Her pure white robe and colorful sash were gone, replaced by a fur lined leather jacket and sturdy leather leggings. A knife hung at her hip, attached by a braided leather cord.

The knife looked more functional than dangerous to Azarus. He felt a frown pull at his lips. A common belt knife was a poor weapon. She may as well have a sharpened spoon.

Ignorant of Azarus’s opinions, Moka gazed around in awe, taking in her sudden change in outfit, location, and her newly healed injuries. She ran her hand across the top of her head, giving her long braid a sharp tug. With wide eyes, she flipped the braid over her shoulder and checked the weave, her expression blooming into a satisfied smile.

“Oh Great Spirit,” she whispered beneath her breath as she got her bearings. “Thank you for this opportunity. I will honor our pact with my life.”

Azarus scowled at his champion through the mirror. He rapped it with a knuckle as he willed it to zoom in on her face. The mirror responded to his direction with ease, changing the view without complaint. To his displeasure, knocking on the mirror had no effect. That was unacceptable.

He was a god, not a mere spirit. It was quite insulting. The first time she had called him a spirit, he assumed it was a mistake in the heat of the moment. To do it again showed a lack of respect he needed to correct. Azarus decided he would introduce himself properly at the next opportunity.

Without warning, a blue screen rolled up the side of the mirror, looking much the same as the ones that invaded Azarus’s space. Moka jerked back in surprise as an identical ethereal blue screen appeared before her. Reading the screen on the side of the mirror, Azarus saw the notifications as his champion did, without having to peek over her shoulder.

Welcome, Champion of the god Azarus. Your task is to explore the [Village] and change its fate according to your god’s Domain. To aide your quest, your god has granted you:

Class:

[Tribesman]: Your god has acknowledged who you are, to show you who you can be. Once you were a member of a small tribe, now you are a Champion. Prove it.

+ Moderate gift of Luck

+ Minor gift of Knack

+ Minor gift of Spirit

Starting Skill [Search]: Find what you need to succeed.

[Boon of the Forerunner]: Get in touch with your inner self and find your way forward. This Boon will help guide your step as you journey to become more than what you are.

Azarus gave the screen a curious look. The way it phrased things… Azarus did not care for the screen’s blatant manipulation of his champion. It reeked of hidden agendas and a mire of problems. To her, the screens must seem sent from him through an intermediary. These screens had no right to be his mouthpiece. They did not represent him.

Azarus brushed aside his irritation, adding it to the growing grudge he held against the screens, and turned his attention to his champion. He could not deny he was interested in what she would do next. He had already resolved to wait for an opportunity to wreak havoc on the screens and the entity behind them. Enduring these insults was the first step.

Moka finished reading her screen, finishing with a decisive nod. Boasting soft and steady steps, she walked toward the village, following the worn path she appeared on. As she went, she experimented with her new skill, [Search]. The first thing she found was a broken branch, roughly the width of her wrist and two feet long. Smiling with razor-sharp teeth, she took out her belt knife and whittled the stick while she walked. By the time she used [Search] a second time, the stick had become a tool Azarus recognized as an atlatl or spear-thrower.

Before Moka reached the village gates, she had collected a dozen straight sticks exactly four feet long. She had carved each one into a sharp spear.

To say the village looked down on its luck would be generous. The walls were missing large swathes. The blackened skeleton of a watch tower loomed in one corner, smoldering chunks of charcoal breaking off with the breeze. A section of the wall was missing, the wooden stakes forming the palisade torn away to create an entrance. Ash covered the rest.

Moka crept away from the path, circling around to the main entrance of the village. There, the gate was hanging off a hinge, blackened and battered. From her vantage point, she could see several humans worriedly scurrying about their business. With a silent nod, she gathered her spears and crept through the skeletal brush. When she was just out of sight of the main gate, she scouted out a natural ditch beside the road. She hid there; her spears within easy reach.

Azarus blinked at his champion in confusion. He did not understand what she was doing. The village was in the opposite direction. Azarus needed her to glean information from the village to illuminate the purpose of the Trial. Knowing their current fate was the first step to changing it. What was she doing if not that?

A sickening premonition gathered in Azarus’s gut. He pounded on the mirror, his fist carrying the lingering might of his dormant domain, trying to get Moka’s attention. The mirror rippled. A green wave of light reminiscent of the earlier fire rolled across it. Nothing changed. The rattling in Azarus’s domain intensified.

Inches from Azarus’s face, another screen appeared, forcing its presence on him. It flashed the [Divine Store] button at him, like a trainer showing a dog a treat. Azarus grimaced. With a grunt, he acknowledged the devious nature of this game. If he wanted to affect the Trial, he had to purchase the right. It was like buying the ability to use his own power. He gritted his teeth and dismissed the screen. Someday, he would have to use every advantage. Today, it seemed he would learn from failure.

A bittersweet feeling tugged at Azarus’s attention. As much as he enjoyed seeing a world beyond this hall, the bitterness of failure was a hard pill to swallow. Moreso for a god.

Azarus took a step back from the vast Mirror of Eons, taking in every inch of what it showed. He immersed himself in the present, accepting it for what it was and what it might become; conceding the present to change the future.

Through the mirror, Azarus watched a young man emerge from the broken gates of the village, hauling an empty sled with a woodcutting axe on it. He hummed a sad tune as he walked, following the road to some unknown destination. As he turned a bend, stepping out of sight of the gate, Moka struck.

She raised one arm and drew the loaded atlatl back with the other. Taking her time, she planted her feet with care, aiming the fingertips of her free hand at the humming youth. She took several seconds to adjust her form; the spear notched into her atlatl threatened to roll off if she hesitated much longer. Her breath came out in large, nervous clouds in the freezing air.

The young man seemed to sense something, his melancholy song dying on his lips. He glanced around, his hand on the axe at his hip. With sharp, fearful eyes, he paid special attention to the emaciated undergrowth. Azarus felt torn as the young man cast about. Any second now, he would see the ambush. It might save the young man’s life and doom Azarus’s first run. Azarus’s body felt heavy, his chest tight.

As Moka finished positioning herself, a split second before the young man’s gaze passed over her hiding spot, a brittle branch on the other side of the road gave way to the weather. It cracked free from the trunk with a sound that split the air, crashing to the ground with thunderous force in the still winter air. The young man flinched, dropping the loose rope harness of the sled and fumbling to unsheathe his axe. His hands shook as he took a two-handed stance with the tool made weapon, his knees bent and body square toward the sound. Moka’s wooden spear struck him between the shoulder blades. He let out a soft grunt, crumbling to the ground without resistance.

The convenience of the broken branch and Moka’s excellent aim did not escape Azarus’s notice. Nor did her skillful carving of the atlatl and spears, or the way the skeletal forest seemed to do little to bar her path. He expected some proficiency, but this reeked of the gifts granted by [Tribesman].

Moka’s ears twitched as she watched the body, swiveling back and forth with a series of small chimes as she kept an ear out for anyone approaching. After a few minutes, when she was sure there were no more humans coming, Moka scampered onto the path. Moving quick, she salvaged her spear and claimed the axe. Taking a few test swings, she practiced with its heft for a minute before tucking the tool into her braided leather belt. With a grunt, she grabbed the young man’s corpse by the foot and dragged him into the underbrush and out of sight.

As the body slid across the ground, Azarus looked over the young woodcutter’s sallow cheeks and thin arms. He had corded muscle and very little fat on his body. Too little. Even in death he looked tired, a certain weariness of life.

Azarus lamented the cruelty of the boy’s fate, reaching out to touch his bloodless face on the surface of the mirror. The cool, hard glass was firm beneath his fingertips, remaining apathetic to the scene it displayed. Azarus pushed harder, but the mirror insisted on keeping the boy’s cooling corpse imprisoned away.

“Next time, it will be different,” Azarus promised, looking into the boy’s lifeless eyes. His domain shook at the declaration. The vow of a god was no small matter.

Moka found a hiding place for the body with ease, covering it from scrutiny with a few conveniently placed branches. She then moved the sled to the other side of the road, making it seem, to a casual observer, that the boy left it there to venture into the woods. With deliberate movements, she broke a few dead twigs to give the illusion of someone walking into the woods, away from the body.

Resuming her previous position, Moka took a minute to resharpen the tip of her spear, electing to use the same one again. It did not take long for her next victim to arrive. A mere ten minutes after Moka cleaned the scene, a girl dressed in threadbare skirts walked out of the broken gates, glancing around with a worried gaze. She half walked, half ran down the road, rushing to catch up with the young man.

Azarus let out a sigh as she approached. It was clear his champion intended to kill the humans, still high on the raid against her village. This poor girl and her lover had no chance. It ate at him.

The girl rushed forward with a cry when she came across the sled. She peered into the forest with a worried expression.

“Silas!” she called in a loud whisper. “Silas, we need to talk!”

When there was no response, she looked back down the road with a look of dread. She gathered herself and called out again, louder. Moka crept up behind her with the stolen axe in hand.

“Please, this is really important,” the girl said, clutching her skirts and taking a step deeper into the forest. “My dad has been going on about the bandits again and I’m really worried. They’re talking about sending some girls to appease them. Please, I-”

She cut off with a sharp gasp as Moka sank the axe in the middle of her back. It made a solid thunk as it connected, sticking out of the girl the same way it would a stump. She fell forward without a scream. Moka leveraged the axe out and wiped the blade on the girl’s dress. Repeating her process, she dragged the body into the forest and hid it. Afterward, she broke a few handfuls of loose dirt from the frozen earth and sprinkled it over the bloodstains on the road.

Azarus held his forehead in his hands, feeling his first regrets. Any of the other potential champions could have handled this situation better. His domain itself ached as Moka ignored the girl’s words and prepared to kill the rest of the humans, one by one. He could not let this stand.