As Ethan and the wild man, neared the secluded village tucked away in the forest's embrace, the world transformed markedly. The dense foliage gradually receded, unveiling a rustic congregation of dwellings that lay in a harmonious circle around a grand central edifice. This structure, larger and more ornate than its companions, stood majestically at the village's heart, adorned with an array of totems that whispered of ancient lore and vibrant tribal markings that danced in the flickering torchlight.
Ethan, his feet aching and raw from the arduous barefoot journey through the untamed wilderness, couldn't help but grumble under his breath. "Damn, I had to run so fast without any shoes. My feet are killing me," he muttered, wincing as he gingerly stepped on his scar that was caused by a particularly sharp rock as they ran. Despite his discomfort, Ethan found himself utterly captivated by the sight before him, his eyes widening in a mixture of awe and trepidation as he took in the village's entrance.
The entrance to this secluded hamlet was guarded by two statuesque figures, each towering over six feet with physiques sculpted by the demands of forest life. Their attire was both minimal and functional, composed of leather that had been treated with the extracts of forest flora, giving it a durability and flexibility ideal for the rigors of their woodland stewardship. Intricate tattoos sprawled across their visible skin, a tapestry of ink that told tales of valor and duty. These markings, Ethan noted with a mixture of awe and apprehension, were akin in their complexity to those adorning the wildman next to him but varied distinctly in design, likely a representation of their unique roles and standing within the tribal hierarchy.
Their weaponry was a testament to the tribe's craftsmanship and resourcefulness. Each guardian wielded a spear that bore the distinct mark of tribal artisanship: shafts carved from the heartwood of ancient trees, hardened by fire and smoothed by stone, tipped with meticulously sharpened most likely obsidian that glinted ominously in the low light. The spears were adorned with feathers and small bones, each piece symbolic of victories past and rites of passage completed.
Ethan's heart raced as memories of his past encounters with tribal societies flooded his mind. As a seasoned survivalist, he had ventured deep into the heart of the Congo years ago, as he was in the middle of a recording.
"I remember the first time I came face to face with the Mbuti people," Ethan muttered under his breath, his eyes never leaving the guardians. "They were wary of outsiders, and for good reason. The world beyond their forest had brought them nothing but trouble. I guess, this tribe might have the same nature as them…"
As Ethan and the wildman approached, the guardians crossed their spears as they looked at them, especially the stranger not familiar with this world with killing intent.
"Holy shit! These guys look like they mean serious business." Ethan muttered to himself, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear. He quickly saw the wildman crossing his arm over his chest, he quickly followed along as he thought it must be a greeting gesture. "If I can mimic his gestures and show some respect, maybe I'll get out of this in one piece."
After they both crossed arms, the wildman bowed his head followed by Ethan, a gesture of greeting and deference to the guardians. Ethan quickly followed suit, touching his own chest and extending an open hand towards the sky, hoping that his attempt at the tribal greeting would be well-received.
The guardians observed Ethan's efforts with keen eyes, their expressions an inscrutable mix of curiosity and cautious acceptance. After a moment that seemed to stretch an eternity, they slowly lowered their spears.
The guardians, their spears now lowered but their vigilance unwavering turned their attention to the wildman. The lead guardian, a tall, muscular man with a headdress adorned with colorful feathers, spoke in a deep, commanding voice. "Kifo, why have you ventured beyond the village without the blessing of the God King? Forbidden it is. The God King must be informed of your actions and the presence of this outsider. Come, The God King decides your fate…"
Kifo's eyes widened, and he took a step forward, his voice pleading. "I’m sorry, great guardian. I heard loud cries at night, and had to help. Found this stranger, this man, he is a warrior, like us. He was hurt and alone in the jungle. He was attacked by gozilla."
The guardians hesitated, their curiosity piqued by Kifo's words. The lead guardian turned to Ethan, his gaze intense. "Is this true, outsider? Have you faced the great beast and emerged victorious?"
Ethan, sensing an opportunity to gain some measure of trust, nodded slowly with an awkward smile, he knew that this Kifo guy's lies had flown out from his lips like a river, as he clearly said many disturbing and concerning things back… He sighed, as he showcased his torn clothing and the scratches on his skin, evidence of his "harrowing" encounter with the creature.
The guardians murmured amongst themselves, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. The lead guardian, his voice laced with a hint of respect, addressed Ethan once more. "You have shown great courage, an outsider. But our laws are clear. The God King must pass judgment on all who enter our village, especially those who come from beyond our borders."
Ethan, his mind racing as he took in the guardians' words, found himself analyzing the intricacies of the tribe's social structure. The mere fact that they referred to their leader as the "God King" spoke volumes about the depth of their belief system and the absolute authority vested in this singular figure.
In a hushed rain of thought, Ethan mused, "Ah, so that’s how it is… A 'God King'? Considering quite lacking historical knowledge I proudly own, I could at least tell… He must be seen as the embodiment of their deity, the earthly manifestation of their spiritual beliefs."
Ethan's thoughts then turned to the potential implications of such a system, his expression growing more concerned. "But with that kind of power, as he holds all, legislative, executive, and judicial power, unchecked by any authority, there's always the risk of abuse. If the God King were to be someone with a hunger for dominance, or worse, a sadistic freak, he could twist their laws and traditions to serve his own whims. And in a society where his word is seen as divine mandate, who would dare to question him?"
He shook his head, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Of course it would be fantastic if I have such a luck that this person would be someone like this…"
With that, the guardians flanked Ethan and Kifo, their spears held at the ready. They began to march towards the center of the village, where the God King's dwelling stood, an imposing structure adorned with intricate carvings and ancient symbols.
As they walked, Ethan's mind raced with possibilities. He knew that his fate, and perhaps the fate of Kifo, rested in the hands of this mysterious God King.
The guardians led them into the heart of the village, their presence drawing the attention of the other tribespeople. Men, women, and children emerged from their dwellings, their eyes wide with curiosity and apprehension as they beheld the outsider in their midst. Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd, speculation about the stranger's origins and purpose.
Ethan felt the weight of their gazes upon him, the unease and suspicion palpable in the air. He kept his eyes forward, his posture erect, determined to project an air of confidence and respect. He knew that any sign of weakness or fear could be his undoing in this precarious situation.
As they approached the God King's dwelling, the guardians halted. The lead guardian stepped forward, his voice ringing out across the gathered crowd. "God King, we bring before you Kifo, one of our own, who has ventured beyond the village without your blessing. With him is an outsider, a man marked by the skies' anger, who claims to have faced a Gozilla and lived."
A hush fell over the crowd as the God King emerged from his dwelling. He was an imposing figure, tall and broad, his face, a series of intricate tattoos adorned his forehead. At the center of his forehead, a stylized representation of the sun, the life-giving force that sustained their world, was inked in a rich, black hue. From this central point, delicate lines radiated outward, curving and intertwining to form abstract patterns that seemed to dance across his brow.
Upon his broad chest, a great tree of life was tattooed in black, its roots spreading out across his abdomen and its branches reaching up to his shoulders. Within the branches, countless leaves were inked in varying shades of green, each one representing a member of the tribe, past and present. At the heart of the tree, a vibrant red circle symbolized the beating heart of the community, the life force that flowed through them all. his skin adorned with intricate tattoos and his head crowned with a headdress of vibrant feathers and polished bones. His eyes, dark and piercing, fixed upon Ethan and Kifo with an intensity that made Ethan's blood run cold.
The God King, a commanding presence at the center of the village, stood resolute as the murmurs of the crowd dwindled into a tense silence. His gaze, penetrating and unyielding, lingered on Kifo, who stood with his head bowed, the weight of his deceit heavy upon him. Ethan, standing slightly behind, could feel the palpable shift in the atmosphere as the anticipation built among the onlookers.
"Kifo," the God King's voice thundered across the gathered villagers, each word resonant with authority and expectation. "You have ventured beyond the bounds of our lands without my blessing, a grave trespass. But what weighs more heavily is the tale you bring with you. Speak now, the truth only. I demand it."
Kifo trembled under the God King's unyielding gaze, his initial resolve wavering like a leaf in the wind. He swallowed hard, gathering his scattered courage… and that’s when the man of God knew, he would be lying…
"Great God King," he began, his voice quivering yet striving for steadiness. "In the dead of night, I heard cries echoing through the darkness, cries that spoke of imminent danger. Compelled by duty, I ventured beyond our sacred boundaries and found this man, alone in the jungle, beset by the Gozilla. He fought with the valor of our greatest warriors and survived. He is a warrior like us."
The God King's eyes, dark and fathomless as the deepest well, bore into Kifo's very soul, scrutinizing every flicker of his expression, every tremor in his voice. The assembled villagers held their breath, suspended in a moment thick with tension, their hearts pounding in unison with the storm that rumbled ominously above.
"Kifo," the God King intoned, his voice a resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the earth itself. "What I seek is not a tale spun to save your skin, but the unvarnished truth. You forget I am the God King, endowed with the mandate of heaven."
A collective gasp rose from the crowd, their awe palpable. They watched, spellbound, as the God King appeared to pierce the very fabric of Kifo's being, his scrutiny as relentless as a summer sun. Kifo's face blanched, his flimsy bravado crumbling beneath the weight of the God King's piercing gaze.
"You lie," the God King declared, his voice slicing through the air with the precision of a honed blade. "You have brought this stranger into our midst without my blessing, and for this, you shall face the consequences."
Whispers fluttered like errant sparks amidst the crowd, weaving a tapestry of disbelief and reverence.
"How can Kifo speak such lies in the presence of the God King?" one voice quavered, barely audible above the distant rumble of thunder. "The God King sees through deceit with such ease and he knew, he must be mad."
"He has brought shame upon us," another murmured, their tone edged with fear. "To anger the God King is to court disaster…"
"Did you see how he looked at Kifo?" a third voice whispered, trembling with awe. "It was as if he could see into his very soul. Such power…"
"Shut your mouths you idiots!" a woman hissed, her eyes darting nervously between her neighbors. "You’ll enger him even further!"
Kifo, his spirit shattered, fell to his knees, his voice barely more than a hushed plea. "Forgive me, God King. I meant no harm to our people…"
Kifo, his shoulders taut with tension, lifted his gaze to meet that of the God King. His breath came in shallow gulps, but he found the strength to speak. His voice began as a whisper, trembling like a leaf in the wind, but as he continued, it grew louder, fueled by desperate courage. "Great God King, my actions were driven not by folly, but by a dire need. The cries in the night were those of young Gozillas. I... I ended their lives as they slept, believing it would turn the older beasts away from our lands, sparing our people from their relentless hunting."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, the weight of Kifo's confession striking them deeply. The God King’s face, previously an unreadable mask, was now contorted with a mixture of anger and dread, his eyes flashing with an intensity that seemed to draw the very light from the air.
"You have acted," the God King intoned, his voice now a low, ominous growl, "without foresight, without wisdom. The tales passed down from our ancestors speak of the Gozilla's vengeful spirit. You have not protected us; you have endangered every soul here."
Kifo's knees buckled under the weight of his miscalculation, the full gravity of his actions crashing down upon him like a relentless storm. He had hoped for approval, for understanding, but now faced the stark, unyielding reality of his misjudgment.
The God King turned slightly, his stern gaze sweeping across the assembly. His voice carried a timeless weight, echoing with the wisdom of countless generations. "Many moons ago, another village, rich in life and laughter, stood beyond the eastern ridge. When a young one among the Gozillas was slain by a hunter's misplaced courage, the beasts came under the veil of night. No one survived. The land there lies barren, haunted by the spirits of our kin."
The villagers listened, their eyes wide with fear, their bodies tense with the apprehension of what might come. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the electric charge of a brewing storm, nature itself seeming to mourn with them.
He paused, his gaze turning skyward, his face illuminated by a flash of distant lightning as a storm had begun to brew with malice under the starry night. "We have always known hardship, but it is through enduring these harsh times that we find the strength to persevere. The God of the Sun smiles upon those who endure and seek his aid in humility and reverence. You, Kifo, sought a shortcut, a path devoid of the wisdom of suffering. For this, you must be cast out, "
The God King's judgment fell upon Kifo with the weight of a mountain, his words resonating through the gathered crowd like the tolling of a doom-laden bell. "Kifo, your actions have brought the wrath of the Gozillas upon our village. Your foolishness and disregard for the wisdom of our ancestors cannot go unpunished. The safety of our people must come first."
He turned to the guardians, his voice heavy with finality. "Take him beyond the farthest reaches of our land and offer his soul to may seek the favor of the Sun God and find protection through the trials that lie ahead. His body shall be discarded, and hidden well so his odor will not lead the beasts to our gates. We cannot risk the lives of all for the misguided actions of one."
As the guardians began their grim task, moving with a grim determination to seize Kifo, Ethan’s heart pounded with a tumultuous surge of emotions. In the silent, oppressive expanse of the Northern forest, where the leaves whispered secrets and the ancient trees loomed like silent sentinels, Ethan’s thoughts swirled like a maelstrom. He had, despite the wildman’s error, been moved by Kifo’s actions—perhaps misguided, but undeniably driven by a desperate sense of duty.
"Why must fate be so cruel?" Ethan thought, the weight of his internal struggle pressing down on him like a winter storm. "Though Kifo's actions were wrought from ignorance and fear, he was a man of courage, however misguided. I mean, I wouldn’t done something so dangerous like this for a village, however selfish it sounds. He ventured into the unknown to seek what he believed was justice for his people. His error was grave, but his heart was not devoid of noble intent."
Ethan’s gaze locked onto Kifo, who was now being roughly handled by the guardians. Despite the wildman’s severe mistake, Ethan could not ignore the debt he felt he owed. Kifo had not only led him to safety but had also tried to defend him against the skepticism of his own people, a gesture of unwarranted but deeply appreciated solidarity.
"The man who has risked much on my behalf," Ethan mused, his mind racing with the weight of his own conscience. "He has sacrificed his own comfort, his own safety, to guide and protect me from his doings for an outsider. He could have easily left me without telling me shit… and maybe die if not still suffering from those gorillas not killing me in an instant. How can I remain still while his fate is sealed by the very people he sought to protect?"
As the guardians tightened their grip on Kifo, Ethan’s resolve hardened. The disparity between the impending sentence and Kifo’s earnest but flawed efforts ignited a fierce surge of defiance within him. Ethan stepped forward, his voice rising above the murmurs of the crowd, a clarion call in the shadowy recesses of the forest.
"Stop!" Ethan’s voice rang out with an intensity born of desperate conviction. The crowd gasped in unison, a collective intake of breath that echoed around the assembly. Their eyes widened in shock, and some even took a step back, as if physically recoiling from the audacity of Ethan's words. To speak against the God King was unheard of, an affront that carried with it the weight of sacrilege.
"Hold your hands! This man, though he has erred grievously, has shown a measure of courage that speaks to the very heart of our shared humanity. He has risked his life to aid me, a stranger in a land not his own. Despite his misjudgment, he sought to protect, to safeguard his people, even at the cost of his own safety." The God King's head snapped towards the source of the sound, his eyes narrowing with a mix of irritation and fury. His face, already stern, twisted into an expression of severe annoyance. His gaze bore into Ethan with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey, every muscle in his powerful frame coiled with barely restrained anger.
The lead guardian pounced on him with a swift and brutal efficiency as he held his spear against his throat. A strong, calloused hand gripped his arms like an iron vice, twisting them behind his back with a force that sent a jolt of pain shooting up his shoulders. Ethan gasped, but his cry was cut short as he was shoved downwards, his knees buckling under the sudden and unyielding pressure.
His face slammed into the rough, unforgiving ground, the coarse dirt and grit scraping against his cheek and he could feel the sharpness of the obsidian almost cutting his throat open. The sharp tang of earth filled his mouth as his head was forcefully pressed deeper into the ground, the grains of soil grinding against his teeth. He could feel the uneven terrain beneath him, every pebble and root digging into his skin with cruel precision.
The weight of the guardians bore down on him, their knees digging into his back, pinning him in place with a relentless pressure that left no room for movement. Ethan's breath came in ragged gasps, each inhalation drawing in the bitter, dusty air. His chest was compressed against the earth, every rib straining under the oppressive force.
Above him, the God King's frightening figure loomed larger than ever. His eyes, dark and piercing, burned with a mixture of disbelief and rising fury. He stepped forward, each step deliberate and menacing.
"Your insolence knows no bounds, outsider," the God King continued, his voice rising with each word. "You seek to sow discord, to challenge the sacred order that has sustained us through the ages. Such insolence cannot go unpunished. Kifo's actions, as misguided as they were, must be a direct result of your corrupting influence. You must face the same consequences as Kifo..."
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The lead guardian's iron grip tightened around Ethan's arms, his calloused fingers digging into Ethan's flesh with a fierce, unyielding pressure. With a sharp, forceful motion, the guardian hauled Ethan to his feet, the sudden movement sending shockwaves of pain radiating through Ethan's shoulders and down his spine. Ethan gritted his teeth, fighting back a grimace as he struggled to find his balance, his legs quivering beneath him like leaves in a storm. Beside him, Kifo stood similarly restrained, his once-proud figure now stooped and defeated, his face etched with the deep lines of despair and the grim acceptance of a fate he believed to be sealed.
Inside Ethan's mind, a tempest of fear and desperate calculation raged, his thoughts whirling like windblown leaves in a chaotic dance. "I should have known better. Why did I have to play the main character? Stupid ass brain of mine. Of course, they wouldn’t listen to reasoning."
As the tension mounted and the seconds dragged on with excruciating slowness, Ethan's mind whirled with desperate calculations. His gaze darted from the God King's inscrutable as he was about to enter his hut. The sea of faces surrounding him—a mix of curiosity, fear, and anger etched upon their primitive features. At that moment, a realization struck Ethan like a thunderbolt: these people, with their superstitious beliefs and unquestioning faith in the divine, were ripe for manipulation.
A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow upon the gathered crowd. In that fleeting moment of illumination, Ethan's eyes fell upon the scar that marred his skin—the mark of the "Skies' anger." A flicker of inspiration, born of desperation, ignited within him.
"These people…" Ethan mused silently, his thoughts racing with a newfound sense of possibility, "Mh, why should I not use this to my advantage?"
The more Ethan considered the idea, the more it took hold, his mind latching onto it like a drowning man grasping at a lifeline… to make them believe…
He is a God.
"Yes," Ethan thought, a flicker of hope sparking to life within his chest. "This could work. These people, with their simple ways and unquestioning faith, are the perfect audience for such a story. But, is it far-fetched? I don’t know if they would believe that a God chose to cloak himself in mortal flesh, but perhaps? I have to give it a try!"
Ethan drew in a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself for the performance of a lifetime. He was a survivalist, damn it all, and he would not—could not—allow himself to be snuffed out by forces beyond his control… as he began.
"Hmph," Ethan said, his tone low and rumbling, like the distant growl of thunder on a sultry summer's eve as he tried to act as confident as possible without making any expression that would break his image. This was his last chance. "I must confess, I find myself... disappointed. Disappointed, but alas, not surprised in the least. For I have walked among you, a silent observer, studying your ways and customs with the keen eye of a god. And in my observations, I have come to a most distressing realization: you are a people consumed by fear, driven by the basest of superstitions, and blinded by ignorance so profound as to be almost pitiful."
His piercing gaze raked across the gathered crowd, his eyes seeming to penetrate the very depths of their souls, to lay bare the secrets hidden within. The villagers shifted and fidgeted beneath the weight of that gaze, their own eyes darting nervously towards the God King, who still stood before the entrance of his hut like a statue carved of stone, his expression an inscrutable mask.
"I came among you as an outsider, the mark upon me is not just a scar—it is a sign that proves me as the ruler of the skies. I am a god walking among you, choosing to experience mortal life. I have grown weary of the heavens and sought to understand the lives of those who dwell below,"
As he spoke, Ethan fought back the urge to burst into laughter and shit himself at the absurdity of his own words. The sheer audacity of his claims was enough to make even the most seasoned con artist blush, but he maintained his composure with a difficulty that only his mind experienced. Not a single twitch of his lips or glimmer of mirth in his eyes betrayed the true nature of his intentions. Even the guard released him, in the fear of divine retribution.
"I sought to test you, to see how you would treat one of your own, a stranger cast adrift in your midst. And what did I find? I found a people all too willing to condemn, judge, and kill, without a moment's hesitation or a flicker of compassion. You would slaughter one of your own without a second thought, for the simple crime of being different, of not conforming to your narrow, primitive ways."
With every word, Ethan's presence seemed to grow, an almost palpable aura emanating from him. His voice carried a weight, a gravitas, that seemed to press down upon the villagers, compelling their attention, and demanding their respect. The God King himself could not tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the charisma and authority that radiated from this enigmatic figure.
"What if he truly is a god?" one villager murmured, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and awe.
"I have never seen anyone speak with such power, even the God King," another whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. "Could it be that we are in the presence of the divine?"
"Did you not see the mark on his arm?" a young woman interjected, her tone urgent. "The 'Skies' anger'—it's a sign!"
"What if we anger him further by questioning him more?" a mother clutched her child tightly, her eyes darting between Ethan and the God King.
The villagers began to whisper among themselves, these voices rising and falling like the susurration of wind through the trees.
"And yet," Ethan continued, his voice rising in a crescendo of righteous indignation, "I gave you another chance to help, to save your brother and yourselves from the incoming suffering that my anger would ignite. But yet again, your ignorance and your fear would rather see us dead. Rather condemn us as heretics and threats, than lend an ear to your brother, or even the words of mine."
Ethan’s eyes bore into the God King’s, challenging him in a way no mortal had dared before. His words were chosen with meticulous care, crafted to sound both ancient and eternal, as though he spoke truths that had been inscribed upon the very fabric of reality itself.
The God King, for the first time in many years, found himself at a loss. The stranger’s calm, collected demeanor, combined with his powerful oratory, made it impossible to discern the truth. No man he had ever encountered possessed such charisma, such an unwavering sense of purpose, that he could not read through if it was a lie or not... which made him think he truly was a god among mortals.
"Could it be?" he thought, his eyes narrowing as he studied Ethan's face, searching for any hint of deceit or trickery. "Could this man truly be the God of Skies, descended from the heavens to walk among us? It is impossible! There were never such stories, no prophecy of such. His words might carry the weight of ages, and his eyes seem to hold the fire of a thousand lifetimes. And yet, how can I be certain…? I cannot let myself bow before a mortal, but I also cannot risk to anger him even more. How can I know that this is not some elaborate ruse, some ploy to undermine my authority and sow chaos among my people?"
The God King's thoughts raced, his mind grappling with the impossible implications of Ethan's claims. If this man were indeed a god, then the consequences of his own actions, of the way he had treated this divine being already, could be catastrophic. The mere thought of incurring the wrath of a deity sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, the God King felt a flicker of something he had never experienced before: fear.
"I must be certain," he thought, his jaw clenching with determination. "If he is truly a god, then let him prove it. Let him perform a wonder, a feat beyond the capabilities of any mortal man. Only then will I bow before him, only then will I acknowledge his divinity."
The God King's voice rang out across the gathered crowd, cutting through the whispers and murmurs like a knife through silk. "You claim to be a god," he said, his tone measured and even, belying the turmoil that raged within him. "You speak with the authority of the heavens, and your words carry the weight of eternity. But words alone are not enough, not for a claim as bold as yours. Prophecies never told such statements that the God of Sky would ever wander the mortal lands. If you are truly a god, then show us a sign, a wonder that will leave no doubt in the minds of all who witness it. Only then will we bend the knee, only then will we accept your divinity… Oh, you great ‘God Of Skies!’"
Ethan's fierce gaze locked onto the God King, his eyes blazing with an intensity that seemed to burn right through the man's royal façade. The villagers held their collective breath, the tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife. But beneath that steely exterior, Ethan's mind was reeling, a frantic whirlwind of panic and desperation.
"A wonder? A fucking wonder?" Ethan thought to himself, his inner voice dripping with sarcasm and disbelief. "What the hell am I supposed to do now? Pull a rabbit out of my ass? Make it rain fucking skittles?"
His mind raced, desperately trying to come up with something, anything, that could convince these primitives that he was the real deal.
As Ethan bit his lips in a desperate attempt to maintain his composure, his fingers brushed against the cold, hard surface of the multi-tool concealed within his grasp. The sensation sent a jolt of realization through his mind, a sudden flash of inspiration that cut through the impenetrable fog of panic and desperation like a beacon in the never-ending darkness.
"The multi-tool!" Ethan thought to himself, his inner voice tinged with a glimmer of hope. "Maybe I can use it to buy myself some time, to distract these primitives long enough to come up with a real plan."
He turned the idea over in his mind, examining it from every angle like a jeweler appraising a precious stone. To the villagers, who were accustomed to tools of a far simpler nature, this device might appear as a fragment of sorcery, a token from the heavens. But would it be enough to convince the God King of his "divinity"? Would a few flashy tricks with a pocket knife and a can opener really be enough to save his skin?
As Ethan’s thoughts raced, another bolt of lightning struck, this time closer than before, its electric tendrils reaching down from the sky like the hand of an angry god. The thunder that followed was deafening, shaking the ground beneath his feet and sending a fresh wave of fear through the gathered villagers. In that blinding flash of light, Ethan's gaze fell upon a distant cliff, its broad expanse dotted with massive trees. The cliff faced directly towards the settlement, its prominence and elevation making it a natural focal point.
In that instant, an idea struck Ethan with the force of a lightning bolt itself. The storm was relentless, with lightning flashing across the sky almost every minute. The frequency and intensity of the strikes suggested a high level of atmospheric energy, something he could potentially use to his advantage.
"Those trees," Ethan thought, his mind racing with the possibilities. "If I can place the multi-tool high up in one of those trees, it might act as a lightning rod. The metal could attract a strike, and from the villagers' perspective, it would look like I commanded the heavens to unleash their fury. It's risky, but it's the best shot I've got."
He knew that at higher altitudes, such as the 4 920 to 5 250 feet (1,500 to 1,600 meters) he estimated they were at, the air was slightly thicker compared back in South America’s mountains. This thinner air was enough to be more exposed to cosmic rays and ultraviolet radiation and became increasingly ionized throughout the harsh sunlight during the day, making it more conducive to electrical activity. The intense storm they faced was likely a result of these conditions, with charged particles in the atmosphere creating a perfect breeding ground for lightning.
Ethan turned to face the God King, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity that seemed to pierce through the very soul of the man before him. "If the storm that followed in my wake was not enough to convince you of my divinity," Ethan declared, his voice ringing out across the gathered crowd, "then I shall show you a wonder that will leave no doubt in your minds. But know this, I am a forgiving god. Those who believed in me from the start shall be spared my wrath."
The God King's eyes narrowed, his gaze locked onto Ethan's with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "And what kind of wonder would be so dangerous that you would spare your believers from your wrath?" he asked, his tone laced with a hint of mockery and now suspicion.
Ethan's lips curled into an enigmatic, mocking smile, his eyes glinting with a secret knowledge that only he possessed. "You will soon see if you have not yet comprehended what I am the God of," he replied, his voice dripping with derision.
The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, their faces etched with a mix of fear and curiosity. They followed Ethan's gaze skyward, their eyes straining to pierce the turbulent clouds that roiled above them.
Another train of whispers rippled through the crowd, a low murmur of speculation and anticipation.
"What does he mean?" one man muttered, his voice barely audible above the howling wind.
"Could he command the rain?" a woman wondered aloud, her eyes wide with apprehension.
"Perhaps he will part the clouds," another suggested, his tone tinged with both hope and skepticism.
Yet as they pondered, their gazes flickering between Ethan and the stormy sky, a creeping realization began to dawn upon them.
A voice whispered, the words barely more than a breath but enough to send a shiver through the crowd. "He must control the lightning."
"I will demonstrate my power at that cliff, where all may witness it without risk to themselves."
The God King's brow furrowed, his mind racing with the implications of Ethan's words. He knew that the cliff was a sacred place, a spot where the village elders would go to commune with the spirits of their ancestors. The thought of this outsider, this self-proclaimed god, desecrating that hallowed ground filled him with a sense of unease and anger.
But before he could voice his objections, Ethan spoke again, his tone commanding and unwavering. "I will permit myself to be carried to the cliff by your guards," he declared, his eyes flashing with a sense of supreme confidence. "I will not attempt to escape, even if I desire to do so. Such is my commitment to proving my divinity to you and your people… and learn a lifetime’s lesson…"
The God King hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with his curiosity. In the end, his desire to see this stranger's "wonder" won out, and he nodded his assent. "Very well," he said, his voice thick with a mix of reluctance and anticipation. "We shall escort you to the cliff, where you will show us this wonder of yours. But mark my words, great God. If you fail to deliver on your promise, your life will be forfeit."
Ethan merely smiled, his expression one of serene confidence. "I would expect nothing less," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
With that, the God King motioned to his guards, who stepped forward and took hold of Ethan's arms. They lifted him up, their grip firm but not as cruel as before, and began to carry him towards the cliff, the villagers parting before them like a sea before a ship.
The procession to the cliff was a silent one, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant rumbling of the storm. Ethan’s mind raced as they walked, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He forced himself to take deep, measured breaths, trying to calm the tempest of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him.
"This is it," he thought, "either I pull this off, or I'm dead. I have to stay calm. Focus. Just get to the tree, set up the multi-tool, and pray the storm cooperates and not deep-fry my brain again."
When they reached the top of the cliff, Ethan took a moment to survey the scene. The cliff face was broad, offering a panoramic view of the valley below, dotted with the homes of the villagers. The storm overhead was a roiling mass of dark clouds, and lightning crackled menacingly, striking the surrounding area with alarming frequency. Directly in front of him, a large tree stood precariously at the edge of the cliff, its branches reaching up towards the angry heavens.
Ethan’s nerves jangled as he faced the imposing tree. He knew the dangers of climbing it in this weather, but it was his only chance. The guards released their grip on his arms and stepped back, watching him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
"What are you doing, stranger?" one of the guards asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. "If you are truly a god, why would you need to climb the tree? Shouldn't your power be enough without such mortal efforts?"
Ethan turned to face them, his expression calm and composed despite the fear gnawing at his insides. He infused his voice with a serene authority, hoping to quell their doubts. "This mortal vessel," he began, gesturing to himself, "cannot contain the full extent of my divine power. If I were to unleash my true form, the very fabric of your reality would shatter, and your minds would be driven to madness by the truths I would reveal. You are not ready to witness the full glory of the skies. Therefore, I must use this form and its limitations to demonstrate my power in a way that will not destroy you."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to believe him but too fearful to question further. Satisfied that his explanation had been accepted, Ethan approached one of the trees that could be seen from the cliff, as he eyed the fire that could be seen amidst the pine and oak trees and finally began his ascent.
As Ethan began his ascent up the tree, his mind raced with a flurry of thoughts, each one more daunting than the last even with the help of his multi-tools knife. It was more than sturdy enough to hold his weight, sharp enough to penetrate the tree's bark, and yeah… it cost him a fortune to buy.
Higher and higher he climbed, the branches swaying under his weight as the wind howled around him. The storm above crackled with electricity, each bolt of lightning a reminder of the precariousness of his position. "Have I lost my mind?" he wondered, his grip tightening on the knife. "This is madness. I'm betting my life on a piece of metal and a desperate gamble."
Ethan muttered to himself, his mutters quickly lost in the howling wind. "I've already been struck by lightning once just a day ago… or was it even a day ago? I don’t know how much time I was out of commission." Ethan continued, his tone laced with bitter humor and sarcasm. "And now here I am, practically begging for it to happen again… at least if I die it would be mostly painless… If I'm lucky enough to survive the lightning, maybe they'll believe me… or just kill me out of fear that I would seek retribution as I’m out cold."
As Ethan ascended the venerable tree, each breath he drew was labored, harshly torn from the storm-wracked air around him. His muscles cried out with the strain of each movement, yet he persisted, driven by a singular, desperate resolve. The tempest about him howled like a congregation of wrathful spirits, the wind lashing against his face with the icy sting of raindrops started pouring from the night sky, as sharp as needles against his skin.
"Almost… there," he whispered into the tumult, his voice swallowed by the roar of the tempest. "Just a little bit more..."
Summoning what remained of his waning strength, Ethan hurled himself onto the tree's highest branch that could sustain his frame. Clinging there, his body wracked with heaves as he almost lost his balance, he dared to close his eyes momentarily against the relentless cascade as he quickly grabbed upon the branch when he opened them again, with hands that trembled not solely from cold but dread of avoided death.
The tool's metal, under the intermittent glow of lightning, shone with a subdued light—a beacon of his fraught hope as he held it, as literally, like his life was on the line.
Then, with a resolve steeled by necessity, he cast it with all his might into the heart of the tree. The tool embedded itself deep.
A surge of triumph blazed within him, quickly chased by the shadow of dread. He knew time was now his most capricious and unforgiving adversary.
With a speed born of desperation, Ethan began his descent, half-climbing, half-falling through the branches. The wind tore at him, threatening to rip him from his precarious perch, but he clung on with grim determination, his focus narrowed to a single, overriding imperative: survival.
Just as he reached the lower branches, a blinding flash of light split the heavens, followed a heartbeat later by a deafening crack of thunder. Ethan felt the hair on his arms stand on end, his skin tingling with the electric charge that filled the air. In a final act of desperation, he leaped from the tree, his fingers clawing for purchase upon the limbs of a neighboring oak. Time suspended, his life a thread spun from uncertainty. Then, contact—a branch grasped with the tenacity of life itself.
Ethan still hanging behind the smoldering tree, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum. The divine fire he had summoned still crackled in the air, the heat of it searing his skin, the force of the blast reverberating through his bones the ever-going buzz in his ears, and the fact that the lightning might deafen him… BUT WHO THE FUCK CARES HE LIVES!
"Jesus fucking Christ on a cross being stabbed by the Romans, that shit was insane!" he exclaimed internally, a fierce, almost manic joy surged through his veins at the sheer audacity of what he'd just accomplished. "I can't believe it actually worked! I summoned lightning! WHOHOOOO BABY!"
As he began his descent from the tree, his limbs trembling with a heady mix of exhaustion and exhilaration, a wild, ecstatic grin spread across his face. "I'm a fucking legend!" he crowed silently, his mind still struggling to process the enormity of his achievement. "I stared death in the face and made the heavens my bitch!"
His feet hit the ground with a jarring impact, but Ethan barely felt it. He was too caught up in the rush of his triumph, too drunk on the heady elixir of his own improbable success. He turned to face the guards, who were already prostrating themselves before him, their faces pressed to the earth in abject submission.
"That's right, you bastards!" he thought, a surge of fierce, almost savage satisfaction welling up within him. "Bow before your god! Grovel at the feet of the man who commands the very skies!"
But as the initial euphoria began to subside, a sobering thought crept into his mind. He was riding high on the thrill of survival, on the triumph of pulling off the impossible.
"Hold on a second," Ethan thought, shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts. "Am I really starting to act like a god now? Is this what happens when you get a taste of power? Well… it is pleasant not gonna lie… but I've got to pull back a bit."
The guards remained bowed, their bodies trembling with a mix of fear and reverence. Ethan took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and bring his demeanor back into a more controlled, measured form. He stood straighter, his posture exuding calm authority rather than wild elation.
“Alright, men,” he said, his voice low and steady, the edge of divine majesty returning to his tone. “Rise, and let us go back to your village.”
The guards slowly straightened, their faces still etched with a mixture of awe and anxiety. Ethan’s heart still pounded with the thrill of his success, but he now forced himself to focus on the next steps, on maintaining the façade without becoming consumed by it. He had lived to see another day at least.
In the village, they fell to their knees one by one, even as the God King himself, his visage pale as death, prostrated before the might that this stranger had conjured. "Forgive us, oh mighty one," came the sovereign's quavering plea. "We knew not against whom we truly trespassed..."
《ᘿᘕᘮᘔᘼ》