Moka clutched her stomach with her wounded arm as she ran. She coughed blood, drops splattering across her leather jacket. Despite the wounds, her headlong sprint remained intense. The sounds of her wheezing breath and drumming feet allowed the armored man, Alexander, to track her with ease. She ran in an arc. The exertion tinted her face red beneath her green skin. Her light and nimble feet allowed her to outpace her heavier, armored foe. Azarus could feel her panicked breaths, caught in her chest, as if they were his own. Her neck was like rubber as she used [Search], trying to find an opportunity to grasp. The spike-like tip of the spear, embedded in the cold dirt, was the only thing that caught her eye.
Moka’s reckless run brought her close to the spear, the sound of encroaching footsteps loud in her ears. She lunged, her fingertips brushing the haft of the weathered spear, polished by the natural oils of the many hands it had passed through. Alexander’s armored hand latched onto the trailing end of her leather and fur coat, pulling her up short. With a twist and roar, he hurled her aside, sending her tumbling through the air.
Alexander stuck his sword tip-first into the ground, leaving it there. With a heave, he pulled the spear free. He hefted it in his hand once, judging its balance. With a soft grunt, he hurled it at where Moka was rising. The spear whistled through the air in a blur, fast enough to pierce straight through the goblin and come out the other side, regardless of the crossguard.
As it flew, the spear turned in the air as if caught by a current of air. Either Alexander had been too hasty in his throw or some other force was at play. By the time it reached Moka, the spear had turned sideways. It struck her in the chest with the solid thud of wood meeting flesh, sending her into a backwards tumble. Her body curled around the haft of the spear as if she was trying to protect it.
Wincing at the impact, Azarus could not help but praise Moka’s gift of Luck. He felt the moderate gift was doing some heavy lifting in this exchange. Knack was another gift he credited for some of her ability. He would have to judge how much was natural talent.
Oblivious to her god’s musings, Moka was on her feet, spear in hand, in time to meet Alexander’s rush. To Azarus’s eye, she was overextending. Not that he faulted her. She was a [Peasant]. Having a knack for things could only carry her so far.
Alexander swung his sword mid-stride to punish the overextension by batting away the spear’s tip. He was wary of the spike meant to penetrate chainmail as easily as the muscles and organs beneath, but not enough to slow down. To Azarus’s surprise, Moka expected the action. She drew back her spear, the awkward positioning causing her to stumble a little, and planted the butt into the ground, holding it up at an angle. The sword missed its mark by a hairsbreadth.
For a moment, it seemed as if the spear and the earth beneath were as one. Moka looked like a guardian, standing against an unstoppable foe. Azarus’s domain radiated warmth at the sight.
Moka’s body trembled, her feet sliding in the dirt as Alexander made contact. He ran into the tip of the spear with his shoulder lowered, too late to dodge. The spearhead pierced straight through his bicep as he tried to twist away.
Alexander severed the shaft of the spear with his backswing. The blow cut several strands of Moka’s hair loose as she lunged in close with her knife, abandoning the upper half of the spear in her opponent’s arm. Screaming her chittering war cry, she slammed her knife into his exposed leg, right above the greaves and below his mail skirt. Still moving, she ripped it out and spun away, staying out of Alexander’s reach as she sought an opening to finish the fight.
Watching Moka put her life on the line, Azarus felt he had wronged her. He could not read her thoughts, but she seemed to truly believe she was completing the task he had assigned her. She was giving her everything without a drop of hesitation. If only she were not indulging her personal grievances.
Thoughts turning to how he might aid his fierce goblin in the future, Azarus pondered what gifts Alexander had. He showed strength and will beyond a normal human. Might and Perseverance were Azarus’s bet. Judging by how unphased Alexander was by the broken spear hanging from his arm and the stab wound now decorating his inner thigh, Azarus would gamble the man had a gift of Vigor as well. It was the same combination as a [Farmer]. However, Azarus doubted the roaring man trying to corner his Champion had a [Peasant] archetype. His armor was too nice.
As Moka ducked and dodged for her life, Azarus visualized her battling the blue-caped guard as a [Farmer] with [Boon of the Paragon]. Moka’s moderate gift of Luck was a clear cut above her gifts of Knack and Spirit. Not to say the other gifts had gone unnoticed. However, with [Boon of the Paragon] granting +1 to all gifts and the [Farmer] class, Moka would have moderate gifts of Vigor, Might, and Perseverance. If she could keep her fighting ability without a minor gift of Knack, Azarus thought this contest would have already been decided by now.
While Azarus pondered the next run in the back of his mind, Moka and Alexander settled into the rhythm of two people trying to kill each other. Flashes of blue, green, and red painted a tapestry of desperate violence. Bitterness etched their faces as they positioned themselves to be the first to find an opportunity to end the other. Alexander hailed down blows, needing a single solid hit to end Moka. Moka endured lesser blows, trading flesh for life, and forcing awkward angles to unbalance Alexander.
The struggle soothed Azarus’s soul. He furrowed his brows at the feeling, so in contrast to what he felt of himself. After some consideration, he acknowledged a truth about who he was. His domain reacted to chance, desperation, and defiance. They called to him like long-lost lovers. Despite that, he felt a deep well of empathy inside himself. His heart bled for all the fallen. He wore the memories of the champions he failed to help, like a badge of failure and remembrance on his sleeve. It was a paradox, and it was him.
Azarus turned away from the Mirror of Eons and looked at the galaxy-studded sky playing the role of a ceiling in the grand hall. A nebula, a thousand shades of glimmering purple, twisted into the shape of a great bird as he sank into his thoughts. The bird, with eyes of burning emerald stars, flapped its wings and opened its beak as if to letting out a cry that would reach this place in many millennia. It went unnoticed. Azarus’s mind was already a thousand miles away.
He pondered his wishes, a strange thing for a god to make. Struggle was a core concept of his being. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. So why did it hurt to see people struggle alone? And why was he energized by his champion’s fight for her life? Was it because she was struggling in his name?
Azarus felt he was asking the wrong questions. It vexed him, being unable to understand himself, let alone the strange screens that bound him to play this game. He was the embodiment of a concept, something so fundamental to the universe that the universe gave him life and the authority to hold dominion. He was that concept. His heart, body, and soul created from a focused idea that altered the face of reality. And yet, he felt confused. Mortal.
With a reluctant sigh, Azarus cleared his thoughts and turned back to the mirror. The [Divine Store] screen blinked into his face again, letting him know he could alter the outcome of this battle if he would part with his points. He ignored it with his nose upturned, punctuating the decision with a dismissive gesture. Moka would win or lose by her own efforts. This was her path, not his. She must see it through herself. There was no reason for him to interfere on her behalf, only to observe and learn.
Moka’s intense viciousness equalized the battlefield. Without it, she would have perished in the first exchange. Alexander was a superior fighter in every way, even with half a spear sticking from his arm. Gripping his sword by the hilt and the ricasso, he wielded it like a short lance, striking out with swift movements to keep Moka at bay. Moka lashed out at him in a constant barrage of changing weaponry, spoils from her previous kills she had tucked away, and odd-angled attacks that worked more often than they should have. Alexander seemed to be on the defensive, but Azarus could only watch as the guard methodically trapped his champion. His flashing blade and heavy pommel drove Moka into a corner without respite.
By the time Moka noticed, she already had her back against the wall. As soon as her shoulder blades touched the wood, not allowing time for hesitation, she feinted forward, acting as if she was going to dive between his legs. He fell for it, shifting position to block her way. She spun to the side, grabbed the broken spear, and ripped it out of his bicep. The blood being staunched by the weapon’s presence burst forth, spraying in an arc. Alexander brought his sword around to defend, but Moka was already too close.
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Gripping the spearhead like a dagger, Moka pressed her body against his. She tangled one hand in his cloak with all her strength. Using that handhold, she stabbed the spearhead into Alexander’s gut, bringing it out to drive it back in again. The iron spike punched through the ringed mail with ease, finding a lucky gap with each thrust. She stabbed him as fast as she could, twining her feet around his. He tried to move. Pushing with all his might, he attempted to use his superior weight and strength to gain space and leverage. Moka clutched him tight, not giving him the chance.
They fell to the ground like lovers in an embrace. Alexander dropped his sword, freeing his hands to fend off Moka’s piston-like thrusts. He flipped her over his body, using the momentum to roll with her, and pinned her weapon hand to the ground with one of his. Snarling in the back of his throat, he wrapped his free hand around her windpipe. His armored fingers pushed down to crush the monster reflected in his eyes. He leaned close, his eyes burning with a righteous hatred as they stared into hers.
Moka laughed at him, a wet, gasping chuckle that sprayed blood and saliva. Her ruby eyes turned bloodshot as he choked the life out of her. Undeterred, she wrenched her shoulders, shooting her unpinned hand toward his face, fingers straight and together. Her claws took him under the chin, punching through just above his gorget. His hate-filled eyes grew dark. He died, the rage etched into his face documenting his last moments.
Azarus watched the life bleed from his eyes, then turned his attention to his champion. She was battered, but alive. A flash of motion caught his eye. He looked over to see several screens scroll up the side of the mirror, one after the other.
Achievement Unlocked!
[Divine Bloodsport]
Your Champion murdered the villagers on the first floor, no questions asked.
She even murdered one of the few people able to enact change in the Village. Their fate was already death, but, hey. Faster is faster.
+ Minor gift of Violence when equipped
Reward: Achievement Points
Azarus blinked at the first screen. Reading through it, he fought the urge to rub his temples. [Boon of the Forerunner] worked well, at least. It had brought in an Achievement, as promised. If only it didn’t feel like such a stain on his domain.
Two versions of the next screen appeared. One before Azarus and one before Moka. They had minor differences, but carried the same message.
Quest: Clear the First Floor - Failed!
You could not change the [Village]’s fate.
Better luck next time.
Multi-colored flame lit up the Mirror of Eons. Like water flowing in reverse, it retreated, taking the vision of Moka with it. The tears staining her cheeks evaporated as she erupted into a vibrant inferno. With little fanfare, the flame returned to the smoldering statue of Moka in the hall of gods. Azarus got the impression of weakness from it, like his champion needed to rest. He agreed. She needed time to digest her failure.
In contrast, the screens were eager to chat.
Congratulations on completing your first run! Please use this opportunity to explore the [Divine Store] and [Achievement Shop] to increase your chances.
A weak god will never rule their peers.
Azarus saw the motivational jab for what it was. He did not find it amusing. The screens and their manipulations brought the image of a morally corrupt salesman to mind.
Please note, your Champion will not keep their memory. Each run will start as if they accepted your offer moments before. To change this, please check the [Blessings] tab of the [Divine Store].
Azarus had the sudden urge to spit at the screen. It was clear he was being hamstrung. The screens were waving around a stick to go with their dirty carrot. Without the ability to remember previous runs, Moka could not learn or improve. Feeling pushed into a corner, Azarus finally opened the [Divine Store]. Three available tabs greeted him, each with a small description.
[Divine Store]
Divine Intercessions: Intercede on behalf of your Champion.
Blessings: Bless your Champion with mystic abilities.
Unlocks: Unlock new features.
Available Divine Points: 50
Azarus noted Divine Intercessions as being useful later, after he had already beaten the first floor. At face value, he was enticed by Blessings and Unlocks. However, the arbitrary allotment of points for his Quests and Achievements irritated him. The screens were giving him play money and demanding he spend it. They decided how much he got and then dictated a price. All things equal, he would not spend a single point to protest the obvious scam. Unfortunately, all things were not equal.
Snuffing his growing resentment before it drove him to lash out, Azarus indulged in his curiosity and browsed the Unlocks. He did his best to keep an open mind.
Unlocks Available*:
* Parallel Growth
* Bloodline
* Titles
* Champion Quests
* To discover more Unlocks, please purchase current Unlocks or collect more during your climb.
The universal price tag of 250 Divine Points per Unlock was enough to make Azarus wince. Three completed quests and one achievement had only been enough to net him 50. The absence of details and a large price tag made him think either the Unlocks were worth the money, or the screens intended for him to spend the points before he knew the Unlocks weren’t worth it. So many options at such a high price suggest there were many Quests and Achievements to discover. Azarus sighed and turned to the Blessings. He knew he would need to buy Unlocks eventually, but without the points to decide, it was not worth agonizing over his choices.
Blessings Available*:
* [Dreams of a Past Life]
* [Remnants of Reincarnation]
*To unlock more Blessings, please complete [Quest: Establish Dominance] or collect more during your climb.
Azarus gazed at the two options and their prices with disappointment. He then dismissed the screens and went over the information he had gleaned. The Blessings were cheaper than Unlocks, coming in at 150 points each. He was almost certain that [Dreams of a Past Life] would fix Moka’s memory issue. Being less than halfway to having enough points imbued him with a sense of powerlessness. It was not the feeling of a god. He discarded it the best he could. This was an obstacle to overcome. So he would. As simple as that.
Azarus’s nascent domain resonated with his resolve.
Dismissing the points from his mind, assuring himself the Trials would provide many opportunities to collect them, Azarus focused on what he had gained. A clue. His next quest was to claim his domain, not that the screens had been nice enough to say so directly. Still, it was an easy conclusion to draw. Domain. Dominance. [Quest: Establish Dominance]. Basic wordplay. Better than that, Azarus now suspected future rewards would be more than mere points. New Unlocks and Blessings would be his, as long as he played the game.
The screens gave him points, then enticed him to spend them. They supplied the problems and the solutions. It was about as subtle as a street magician drumming up business.
Azarus turned to the Mirror of Eons, catching sight of his reflection. With a frown, he straightened up from his slump. He gazed into his own eyes, losing himself in the emerald rings. After a time, he closed them, reflecting inward. His reflection in the Mirror of Eons wavered. When it crystallized, he had a satchel slung across his shoulder. His eyes cracked open as he took in the changes. He hummed, listening to the new timbre of his voice. It was more dark and smooth than deep and husky. He nodded to his reflection, satisfied with the change.
Azarus glanced over at Moka’s statue and saw that it still looked dim. He suppressed the rising frustrations in his heart and reached into the satchel. There would be time for the [Achievement Shop] later. Withdrawing an easel, paint supplies, and a rolled up canvas, he set himself so he was facing the endless hall and the hanging stars. The pillars holding the sky rose around him like impossible towers. Azarus was untouched by their static majesty.
Reminiscing on the events of his brief life, Azarus put a large dollop of red, blue, yellow, and white onto his palette. Idly, he mixed them together with a palette knife, creating a rainbow hue of colors waiting for the touch of his brush. He unrolled the canvas, propping it up on the easel and pinning the edges to the air with a piece of his divinity.
Looking at the pure white canvas, Azarus felt it did not suit his mood. Dipping his brush in a purple almost as dark as the darkest night, he painted a straight horizontal bar. Frowning in dissatisfaction, Azarus made another stroke, sharp at an angle. He held the brush almost as if it was a sword. Feeling that the motion matched his angst, Azarus lashed out again and again. Before long, the white canvas was so dark it seemed to suck in the light of the stars.
Caught in the moment, Azarus dipped his brush into his palette without care. With a flick, he hurled droplets of paint at the canvas from several paces away. He dipped his brush and flung the contents at his canvas three times in rapid succession.
Frustration momentarily vented, Azarus regarded his work with a smile. Looking at the results of his work, then up at the stars, he decided luck was definitely an element of his domain.