Beginning of Book 3: Astral
The Tyrant sat on their throne, gazing out across the deserts before turning to those assembled before them. Raising their head, they spoke three words with their stolen voice. "It is time."
The once day laborer Famar had risen the most of anyone in this city after the Mirage had nearly destroyed the Spoke, the source of divine power in the region and a bastion for its citizens when storms or monsters threatened them. Hammer himself had visited once the enemy had been defeated, only to depart a mere minute afterward. The message, according to the Tyrant, was clear. The ruling elite of Aughal had forgotten their place, allowing rot to creep in, which had almost brought the four Spires of Aughal crumbling down. This had been averted and when the dust settled, it was Famar sitting on the throne that had appeared when the Tyrant took the city.
He despised it, for it was not his will to sit here, just as it was not truly him speaking. Aughal had been ruled by a Tyrant once before, and the scars of that time had driven a hatred of the rare, terrible class into its culture. Now, Famar was the chosen Proxy of Ashier, the air gestalt who had promised safety in a time when the risen dead would have otherwise killed him and all he knew. It had been a week and Famar had yet to see any proof that Ashier had orchestrated these events, but deep down he knew he’d been tricked. If only he could take back his choice.
The Tyrant neither cared for his opinion nor his exhaustion, giving only empty promises that he could rest once the region was safe. He knew differently. Famar was the only Proxy the Tyrant had bonded with who could advance, and he did so relatively quickly so long as they spoke through him and possessed his body. Ashier used their own advancement potential to bring more under their thrall and so took a tithe from his power to fuel their leveling. That violation was one he cared about the least, for all his class did was make him a better slave.
Most of those gathered on the platform suspended between the highest points of the Spires were similarly loyal. The red draconoid standing at his side was Ashier’s most yet least trusted. When a large group of the nobles had tried use the enchanted items they’d built up over the better part of two centuries to break another Tyrant, he’d stepped in and crushed the rebellion. Without the greatest of their legacy, lost with the Council, the flames of the draconoid had reduced the rebellion to ashes. Famar didn’t know much about this man, not even his class, as he never spoke. All he could judge was the death the draconoid glared at Ashier whenever their true body was visible.
The two others of note who’d taken a deal were Gtoll, the dusker Berserker who’d taken over the Hunter’s Guild, and Xavier, a Cleric of the Hand who could bring back the dead. That human was the reason everyone was standing here at dawn. Ashier had chosen the time of mana renewal with the hopes that the Octyrrum would show more favor toward what they were attempting to do.
The body of Rasalia Stoneclaw lay before the Tyrant. The Champion known as the Ironrush Ravager had been killed in a fight outside the city, the Mirage somehow defeating the armored terror only to turn her remains on the city. While those combat transmutations had remained in death, the body hadn’t been damaged to the point that the soul would refuse to return to it. Still, an entire week had gone by while Xavier’s cooldown recharged. Swearing himself into the Tyrant’s service hadn’t affected that, and the other representatives of the Hand church here did not look confident in what they were attempting.
His mouth moved by itself as Ashier continued. “Exalted Sharise, leader of the Hand’s faithful, are you ready?”
“Yes,” the avianoid with dark green feathers replied, forgoing any title in the address. Ashier didn’t signal the draconoid to immolate the Cleric for her disrespect at least. Any who served the gods were treated quite well, Clerics chief among them. They aligned with the Tyrant’s convictions despite the churches harboring no love for the gestalt. Everyone else faced rationing and packed housing as a general edict had been declared, emptying the outlying villages that had been faring poorly against the untended monster hordes of the region.
Crowding aside, only a hundred were assembled on the Eye of the Spires as Xavier knelt in prayer by Rasalia’s body. This was a holy moment, Famar wouldn’t dare disagree with that point. The Bastion Saint, as Ashier’s propaganda had twisted his initial impression of them, tolerated the discontent within the city aimed at their rule. None who took issue with the gods themselves were spared. Only the trusted were here to witness this moment as Ashier would not dare taint the ritual with those who may be unfaithful.
Famar felt the control the Tyrant had over him slip as Ashier left his body to manifest directly. They were still weak, relatively speaking. Gtoll could have crushed them, or the draconoid burned them, if Ashier didn’t have an iron grip on the souls of both. Ashier wasn’t completely defenseless and had a power that could make them nigh undetectable, though now the form of the air gestalt hovered above Rasalia and Xavier to witness the moment with their not-eyes. Despite all the power they wielded, Ashier could be mistaken for any of the other air gestalt that had flocked to them when they’d taken over the city. The only major difference was that their form didn’t shift as much with the wind, their powers giving greater resistance to the natural weaknesses of their race.
“Initiation.” The Tyrant spoke the world on their own, crippled in speech unless they used a Proxy. Xavier nodded as Sharise led the assembled Clerics from every church save Hourglass’ in a mass prayer. Gtoll and the draconoid did not join, the first once more looking at the sunlight on his exposed flesh. The Berserker had benefited most from the deal he’d made, becoming immune to the sun that would otherwise turn him to stone if it got under his outer carapace. Of all those Famar had worked with while under Ashier’s control, he had been the least hesitant in his service.
After a minute of beseeching every god and the Octyrrum itself for mercy, Xavier placed his Focus onto the warped, metallic chest of the fallen Champion with shaking hands. “Hand, this servant pleas for the return of Rasalia Stoneclaw to the Octyrrum. Long is the night to come, and many the challenges we will face. Return to us our Champion, return to us our hope. Return to us our salvation!”
Almost imperceptibly, Ashier’s cloud head nodded and the Cleric’s Focus broke as he used the ability. Everyone held their breath as they watched. Truthfully, Famar did not hope for this to fail. He believed in the gods and held nothing against the former Commander of Aughal, and yet her return would surely mean another pawn for the whims of the insane Tyrant.
As if the Octyrrum had granted his prayer amidst all the others, Rasalia refused to rise. Xavier collapsed in despair and Famar knew the man had locked away his class for a full year regardless of the outcome. They had faile-
A blinding light suddenly appeared on the Eye close to the central dias, the air shimmering around it. Appearing once the dust settled was a young human wearing the finest Cleric robes he’d ever seen. He lay face down on the stone of the Eye, and on his back was emblazoned the symbol of Hammer, god of transmutation and ruler of this Realm. He wore a red pouch on his waist that, to the empowered Proxy’s senses, faintly shone with magic. Not much else could be seen, other than the brown head poking out from the hood that had fallen halfway across the back of the man’s head. Everyone took a moment to gape at the new arrival, but before anyone could say anything, the shavi Fate in attendance started writhing in pain.
Stolen novel; please report.
…
Daniel awoke to a scream and breathed in sand. Recognizing a familiar place despite the cloudiness in his head, he turned his face to the side and coughed out what he’d inhaled. The strangest case of deja vu he’d ever had struck him as he registered something glossed over his most recent memories: nothing.
Innately, he knew time had passed but could not find the memories that should have filled the blank spots in his mind, just as he couldn’t guess how long this void covered. One odd change from the sky island was a sense of wrongness. It was like phantom pain, but instead of feeling what wasn’t there, there was an absence of what should be coupled with a faintness. No amount of pondering cleared his head, and the second scream brought his attention elsewhere.
He jolted up to his feet just in time to catch all the gathered eyes swinging from him to the shark person he was pretty sure was called a shavi as she clutched at her head and collapsed on the ground. Utterly confused, Daniel used Identify Creature.
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Silora Thelonas - (Shavi, Fate - 5)
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He was only able to get that information because they’d met just before- “Hunter!” His mind crystallized on that terrible memory, driving out anything else. The crowd began to swing back toward him, only for the shavi to completely outplay his heartbroken scream.
“I, they’re using Farspeech but I’ve never-“ The shavi paused as she was wracked with more pain, either an amazing actor or just naturally histrionic. “It’s Rikendia! Something’s happening in Rikendia. They’re- The King is dead!” She gasped on the floor like a fish person out of water before her whole body shuddered once. It reminded Daniel of when she’d started seizing during her attempts to see the future, but before he could do anything a Cleric he thought he recognized rushed towards her. It wasn’t Quala though, since Identify Creature gave him nothing on the avianoid’s name.
“She’s unconscious,” the Cleric reported. “Detect Malady isn’t showing anything.” She turned to an air gestalt floating over everyone, and while what aura revealed around them shocked him, another’s sparked a far stronger emotion.
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Ashier - (Gestalt: Air, Tyrant - 2)
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Rorshawd - (Young Fire Dragon, ???)
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“YOU!” Daniel screamed the word at the red aura and charged, turbulent emotions running through him so strong he was beginning to lose reason. Rorshawd, who was somehow in a humanoid form, looked momentarily confused before rage and a kind of bemused glee overtook him as well.
“You. Do you still have my Focus?” he intoned menacingly, humorously, indicating his neck. “I think it’s time I take back what you stole.” The draconoid began to inhale, only for the Tyrant to shout a word.
“Halt!” Rorshawd froze as the clouds that composed the Tyrant flowed into a human sitting on the raised throne like his whole body was a vacuum cleaner. The man began to speak, but the faint mist issuing from his eyes made Daniel suspect it was still the same person talking. “Gtoll, seize him, gently. I will have order.”
Daniel gritted his teeth at another giant figure he recognized, desperate to kill Rorshawd before the dusker intercepted him. He eyed the area around the draconoid and hoped no one was close enough to be injured by the lightning. Even if there wasn’t a storm overhead, he’d spend however much mana he needed to…
The Artificer slowed and blinked as part of the void in his head was scraped away and he recalled his fight against the monster-Tyrant. Of summoning a storm and defeating Casia Seliri with the help of a Vanguard who’d given his life to see the deed done. The massive amount of mana he’d had at his disposal was gone, yet at the same time his class powers were back. That incongruity, along with the mental impact of downloading all of that at once, stunned him long enough for a giant chitinous hand to shove him to the ground.
“You?” Gtoll echoed his earlier cry, though the voice was somehow softer despite their relative size. His eyes turned to Daniel’s clothing and he nodded as if that told him something. Daniel looked down at himself as the pressure released to the point that he could move, though not escape, and he saw he was no longer in his armor. “Khiat said that the Hammer took you. I couldn’t believe it. I do now.”
“Khiat? Hammer?” The very edges of his memory did reach to his brief conversation with the god before blanking out as a full-body twist overtook his senses.
“They have sent you back. He must have.” The dusker looked towards the possessed man and raised his voice. “Saint, he is the answer to our prayers. This is the one Hammer took, the one who saved Aughal.”
That Gtoll was both not hostile and knew of his friends raised an immediate question. “Wait, is Khiat ok? What about Khare? Anyone else?” He remembered four of his friends vanishing after Hunter, but he’d also seen them die, the memories between his Foci breaking and the lightning powers as temporally confused as the time he’d lost just before coming to this world.
“She and the gestalt live. Farthest Run did not find anyone else,” Gtoll intoned before his face turned to the approaching Tyrant. Everyone else visible had spread out from the tableau save for the Clerics tending to the Fate.
Still controlling the man Daniel could identify as a level 1 Proxy named Famar, Ashier came within a meter of where he was pinned and looked closely at his face. “I recognize you. As one servant of the gods to another, I ask, what are you? To wield powers as you did, you cannot just be a mortal.”
Daniel ignored the question, asking one of his own to the air gestalt he recalled meeting back in Hagain. “It was you? All along, it was you? You tried to kill Murdon and Lograve. I thought you were his friend!”
“I was his assistant.” Ashier didn’t deny it, nor did they turn away. “When he chose to abandon his duty to defend the Octyrrum from the Crest, I was Blessed in his stead with the power to preserve the region. I failed, I admit, but I regret none of my decisions. I ask again, what are you?”
At that moment, Daniel didn’t know how to answer them. He couldn’t explain where the powers he’d manifested had come from, unless that was the emergency option Earth-Daniel had mentioned. If that was the case, he definitely couldn’t mention it. The zealot of all zealots was standing before him, and they could order around the giant Berserker and the level 5 dragon shoved into humanoid form. One thing made him reconsider. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but one of my friends is dead. I know Aughal has someone who can revive people. Help me and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
Gtoll sighed and explained as Ashier looked at him. “The Druid. He fell to that Crest spawn. The only one we know that died fighting here. Poor timing.”
“What do you mean?”
The Tyrant answered him evenly. “Rasalia Stoneclaw also fell in the siege. We attempted to Resurrect her, but the gods did not see fit to return her to us.” The man’s face contorted to express the curious look Ashier wanted to give Daniel. “Instead, they sent you.”
“Look, if you need diamonds or something to make this work, I can pay whatever you need me to.”
“The Cleric’s power is sealed for some time, enough that there is no hope of your friend’s survival. Rasalia was stronger than he, and yet her soul could not return after a week had passed. With the year you must wait in addition?” Famar/Ashier shook their head sadly. “I am truly thankful for their sacrifice. Were I able, I would do this to honor your efforts in defending the work of the gods. It is simply not possible.”
A week? Daniel shoved that aside as he pushed at the dusker’s hand, the Berserker letting him up after a nod from the Tyrant. The turbulence, the instability within him rose once more. There was an inexplicable chaotic energy incongruent with the sensation of the god-like powers he’d used to battle Casia.
”No! I don’t care. There has to be a way. Hammer was just here, if we can…” Daniel trailed off in horror as he looked into his bag of holding. The space inside was entirely visible through the small opening through a trick in the magic and so he was completely sure. The armor Hunter had worn when he died was there, but the body was gone. “His body. Did anyone find his body?” Despite his alien features Daniel could still read what he needed to know in Gtoll’s face. Crushed, his unsteady mind plummeting, he fell to his knees.
Above him, Famar’s face frowned and the Tyrant turned, speaking over their shoulder. “Have someone bring him to a room to rest. Treat him well. We will continue this conversation at a later time.”