God’s Eyes… Oh, how I missed this view of you on the far side of Heaven.

Elijah took in a deep, greedy breath and held it for a few seconds before blowing it all out slowly through his nose. One thousand years. The stars beyond the twin moons winked at him in their splendor, a few at the edges of his vision ducking in and out of focus as the movement of his head made the view of the night sky shift ever so slightly through the cracks in the cathedral’s dome ceiling.

Another hungry breath filled his lungs. Exhale.

His back was burning, so he rolled to the side and instinctively grabbed the edge of the altar and pushed upright, swinging his legs down before he outright fell. Instead, he landed in an unsteady standing position, one hand on the scorching stone that contrasted the somewhat frigid night air. A warm smile floated across his lips as he ran fingers across its surface feeling the sensation. It was the simple things of mortality that Elijah had missed.

A naked knee sank to the ground. Soft words floated out in prayer and a light golden glow illuminated his thumb as he drew a circle over his chest in rapture. Runes appeared after the circle’s completion and began rotating clockwise around the perimeter of the lingering band of light. Pinching together in the center with two fingers, he pulled the figure off of his chest and reverenantly offered it on upturned palms to the sky. Twin heavenly beams streaked in from the two moons and congregated on the symbol, filling it with an ethereal warmth.

“My cup overflows yet again, All-father,” he whispered. A single sigh of contentment leaked out as instructions flooded into his soul.

A groan came drifting over the marble floors and Elijah’s gaze swiveled to land on a wretched old man twisted up on the ground in agony, breath coming in short, fevered gasps. Eyeing the wound inflicted on his shoulder, he quickly located the ghoul laying fifteen meters away and his jaw clenched in reaction. Standing up with a newborn’s grace, short, awkward steps filled his gait until the mind reminded the body of the normal process for walking and he found himself standing over the smoking corpse, far steadier than he was before.

A leg flashed out and gruffly kicked the fiend’s body over onto its back and he looked carefully at the scars that no longer wriggled like they contained a colony of worms. A few cautionary prods in key places later, he stepped back fully ensured it was truly dead and turned his attention to the priest. Clenching and unclenching a fist, he crossed the short distance until he was hovering above the man and switched to touching thumb to the index, middle, ring, and pinky fingers in sequence.

Seeing the golden-haired youth come into vision, the old soul’s dim eyes lit up with hope as he wheezed out among ragged breaths, “You...came…! Praise the...”

“Shh.”

Elijah regarded the priest with hard eyes, fingers stopping their dance abruptly. Dropping down on a knee, he stared unblinkingly into the confused man’s eyes as he said deep and firm, “It was not for you that I was sent, priest.” He bit at the title in disgust and then motioned towards the undead corpse with his head. “This nasty piece of hellspawn is a hunter ghoul and their specialties number two: act as scouts for the main force and…”

A lip curled upwards in revulsion as he inspected the now wriggling shoulder wound on the prone figure. “Find excellent candidates for conversion.”

Invisible mana congregated onto his hand before suddenly turning into a blazing disk of light. Ignoring the fear-filled cries, the youth thrust that palm down to land on the old man’s chest, the light firmly planted on its surface. The woolen robe started to burn away in that circle as the priest’s eyes went wide and his aged body stiffened taut like a bow string, toes curling in horror. Elijah relaxed backwards into a sitting position on the rapidly cooling stone and wrapped his hands around a knee, bringing it towards him as he watched the embers burn.

“What…” the priest rasped while watching the scene on his body play out.

“Putting your soul on display,” Elijah interrupted gruffly, eyes never leaving the disk. A few more moments passed before a dark orb floated upwards from the magical cavity, tendrils of acrid smoke wisping off of wicked looking roots that clung onto the sphere. They were so numerous that it blanketed the entire surface in their vile black appearance, warping what was perfectly smooth. A gentle beating of a heart could be heard as a few of the thicker roots pulsed with the rhythm of unseen blood flow. A new blackened stem shot up from within those folds and blossomed into a flower that glowed insidiously red.

“That... is your soul. To think that such a thing can occur to what was once perfectly unblemished makes my stomach roil.” A gaze shifted and their eyes connected. “They can use practically anybody’s corpse not of the All-father to raise a standard ghoul, but hunter ghouls especially like to seek out the corrupt. You’re the best incubators for new ghouls, like fertile ground to a budding seed. A soul like this would give birth to a ghoul lord or higher if the conversion were allowed to run its course.”

The priest tensed at the words and whispered between spasms, “Can you...do...something?”

Elijah paused, coolly regarding the old man before slowly nodding his head, a few short strands of golden hair falling to rest over an eye. “Indeed, that I can,” he confirmed with finality.

Standing up with the vigor of a teenager in his prime, he walked over to a nearby pew and pulled at a splintered chunk, ripping it off into a jagged spike and then gripping it firmly in a large hand. With large, resounding footfalls that belied his weight, Elijah turned and strode back to the priest’s side.

The old man’s eyes went wide.

Mustering an impossible amount of control, he mentally ignored the body that refused to obey him and forced it to roll over to his uninjured shoulder, a hand darting out to prop himself as he tried to scramble to his feet. The new movement unsettled whatever was festering in his shoulder wound however, and another spasm assaulted his body sending him tumbling back down onto his back. A sharp hiss accompanied by spittle leaked out between his cracking teeth.

Eyes half-crazy with despair, he looked upwards at the towering giant above him and wheezed, “Please! There must… be another way…! Ahh! ” He cried out as an audible crack came from his shoulder. It began to bulge and contort as something writhed beneath the skin. Hopelessness turned to pain, and anger began to flow out in his delirious tone as he raged, “I thought… you paladins… were powerful! HEAL ME DAMN YOU!”

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Elijah looked on with the dispassionate gaze of a judge, twirling the long piece of wood in his hand and feeding mana into it after he had converted it to the holy element. Having packed enough within, he kneeled down once again in front of the priest and leaned over, whispering near his ear, “Why should I heal that which is already dead?”

A powerful thrust struck upwards and the glowing spike penetrated through the soft bottom part of the corrupted man’s jaw and into the skull. Feeling the body go limp, he gently pulled the blood-covered implement from its meaty sheath and then quickly pierced it into the largest bulge on the priest’s shoulder. Only now did the holy power contained within the spike unleash in a small ripple underneath the surface of the skin. The trembling flesh became motionless and Elijah let loose a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A small wisp of energy leaked from the body and flew into his hand without him noticing.

His mana was practically gone, but a ghoul lord’s birth was prevented.

Weighing the priest’s soul and the strike amplification had cost more than he could ever have imagined. Leaving the spike in the wound, he stood up too quickly and the mana-starved state he was in brought on a terrible headache. Stumbling over to a pew, he took a seat, wincing as the somewhat jagged paneling dug into his bare thighs.

His rebirth was proving to be somewhat troublesome in its own right. He felt like a newborn with the strength and mana pool to match.

Remembering the instructions he’d received during his prayer, Elijah meditated for a few minutes to regain some mana and then cast a summoning.

Yellow ribbons of light unfurled, and a tome, so nostalgically familiar to him like a piece of his own soul, appeared hovering in the air, its comfortingly warm spine refreshing to the touch as it fell into his waiting hands. A small smile creased his lips as he ran a finger over the ornate circle inlaid on the front of the metallic cover. The light receded and all that remained was a large tome the size of a town’s annals and a silver chain with which to carry it over the shoulder.

Opening to the first page, a wholly new sight appeared before his eyes. Three branching runic pathways surpassing even that of master dwarven runesmiths connected little crystalline circle nodes that contained characters of a language beyond that of the common tongue. Something within Elijah called him to the first circle at the top of the page and a hesitant finger came up to float above it. A few centimeters of distance brought a strange feeling of gravity to his hand and the closer it came, the greater the pull.

When contact ocurred, a fantastic rush of energy flooding out from the shadow of his mana pool and through his finger. A small whirlpool of light formed within the well-like circle and the runes lit up with brilliance. Marvelling still at the strange energy essence he hadn’t noticed before, Elijah’s eyes suddenly constricted on the runic characters as a wave of understanding rippled through his mind. He knew this word. It was a type of recognition an amateur might feel standing in front of an artisan’s magnum opus. He’d experienced it, used it, healed others with it, but his approximation of the concept was far too shallow.

Feeling a greedy tug from the runic circle, the paladin let the energy flow out faster and it finally sated whatever reservoir was required for activation because the circle ceased its pull altogether abruptly. Like a door unlocking in his soul, Elijah experienced an epiphany and sent a small, exact burst of mana into the divine rune on the page and a small shockwave spread out from around his feet.

An aura - soft, golden, and inscribed with seraphic symbols - bloomed on the marble floor and began moving clockwise around him. Little firefly-like motes of light appeared and started Bathing the surroundings in a gentle glow. This was Prayer of Healing!

He studied the aura as it rotated around him and calculated that it was close to a third of what it had been before his death. He reluctantly deactivated it to save mana. By normal paladin standards, his current body shouldn’t be able to handle the activation of an aura at all much less one that equaled a third of his previous body’s peak strength. The body, spirit, and mind very closely linked - if one failed to meet the requirements, a spell would always fail. Blue eyes shifted back to rest on the tome and a new small segment of the Prayer of Healing’s circle’ had begun to softly glow, giving the impression that it would persist indefinitely. He estimated the distance it covered was about a 10th of the circumference.

Frowning at the confusing implication, Elijah turned his attention to one of the other circles farther down the page and attempted to hover a finger over one but was met with repulsion. No amount of effort overrode the sensation and he eventually gave up on that pathway and moved to the other two branches. Much like the first time, each beginning circle in the runic pathways accepted that strange energy, draining him dry of the available essence, and lit up, knowledge of how to activate the skills at his current level coming to him in a tide. He counted himself fortunate. He was given access to the auras of Ignis Divine and Fervor. Words from an ancient compendium for the Order floated into his mind.

“In the first days of creation, we warred against the creatures of night without end and so our hope wavered, but the All-father had mercy on us. He plucked starfire from the heavens and gifted it to us for use in defense of His will. Beware, hordes of Hell, as this divine flame brings righteous purification.”

“Brethren, it is a hard thing to persist under the weight of adversity. When your shields are lowered due to fatigue and your strikes ring hollow against foes, remember your faith. When ranging far and wide in search of enemies of the All-father, your vigor may fail you and the body prompt for rest. Remember your faith. Let it fill you with Fervor, as it did the first day the All-father acknowledged your service.”

Elijah took a deep breath and wiped away the thought. There was a new change. Only half of the strange energy essence had been consumed by the unlocking of those three auras. The rest of it rotated within his body, seeping into the bones and muscle and then galvanized, strengthening wherever it settled. Everything about him improved in those few minutes, especially his mana pool.

Useful...but I will have to explore this later. I can no longer put off my departure.

He was out of time, because as he had mentioned to the priest, a hunter ghoul’s presence also had other ramifications. If the dead creature only stalked the corrupt priest for an hour, he may have two to get to the town nearby and finalize any defenses they could muster. It was far too little, but he had faith that his presence here was by design.

Tiny pinpricks of blood tickled on the backside of his thighs as he stood up from his jagged pew, reminding him of his nakedness, so he strode over to the old man’s body and unceremoniously stripped the blood-splattered robe that was missing a large portion of its shoulder, ignoring the tattered shoes that were too tiny anyway. Elijah tore the other sleeve off to match the other side and then gathered a tabard that was lying on the ground a few meters away. After mumbling a prayer, he then tore a hole in the tabard and fashioned it so that he could slip the black and gold cloth over his head. Using the cord that came with the robe, he then secured the tabard to his body as quickly as he could.

That done, he had two things left to do.

Grabbing a nearby two meter tall steel candlestick that was covered in rust, he roughly snapped off the crowning thinner branches and also the lower legs. He gave it an experimental swing and the heft of its solid weight confirmed that it would make a passable stave with which he could fight. Eyeing the corpse of the ghoul once more, he strode over and thrust the pole down through its neck, the hide parting reluctantly like boiled leather and revealing the rotten flesh beneath. The feeling of hitting bone reverberated up the shaft and so he placed a foot on the body and pried off the head in gory display. A smell of death and sulfur had already been present before this, but when the skull was twisted off the stench thickened considerably.

Elijah grabbed another nearby tabard and wrapped the head in the makeshift bag, being careful to avoid the barbed hair with his hands. That final task done, his bare feet carried him out the cathedral’s doors and into the moonlit night of an overgrown forest caught in a late autumn’s chill. All the leaves had turned and fallen weeks ago by the look of it, leaving all but the evergreens bare and a carpet of decaying foliage underfoot. His breath fogged in front of him, feet chilled and numbed by the stone he stood upon. Desiring a path forward, he looked up towards the treetops. Towards the West, smoke could be seen wafting upwards, accompanied by the dim glow on the clouds overhead created by dozens of cook fires that promised food, safety, and shelter.

Just before he set off though, a sound pierced the nighttime air, silencing the howls that echoed out from the surrounding thickets. It was shrill and guttural at the same time, rattling and throaty. Soon, more and more joined into the call until there were an uncountable number echoing the same nightmarish roar stacked upon one another like a chord from Hell. Birds and squirrels fled from their nests high in the trees in stark terror, causing the the flutter of wings and mad chirping to clash against the undead’s call. Mice, foxes, boars, and deer all suddenly began stampeding all around him in the opposite direction of that cacophonous tide of sound that radiated from the copse beyond the cathedral to the East.

The hair stood up on Elijah’s neck as his body tensed. “Not this time,” he whispered to himself, recounting his first experience with a pack of ghouls. Uncoiling like a spring, he shot out towards the trail the priest likely used in his journey here and bolted down its earthen path with stave and bloodied trophy in hand.