Disappointed.

Alex had to admit, he was disappointed.

For days, he’d been looking forward to one particular moment: the moment he would watch Gabrian’s shocked face change. He’d played that image over and over in his mind, imagining it time and time again. He could see it in detail; the look on the First Apostle’s stunned face as he watched him spellcasting, watched him pick up a weapon, easily using it, using it specifically on him. For weeks he’d fantasised about how the man’s face would be, how his expression would shift, how it would turn from utter confidence and resolve, to shock and horror. Alex wanted to see that, to savour it, but he’d been denied. Except for his eyes peering through the visor, the man’s face was completely hidden by his helmet.

The young wizard would've loved to relish Gabrian’s horrified expression, remembering it from this moment to his dying breath, even if he lived for ten thousand years. Since he couldn’t have that moment to treasure though, he’d take what he could get; the First Apostle realising he was no longer the Fool, his screams of fear and pain, the look of shock as his eyes widened behind that visor.

Oh, and the satisfaction of taking his arm, again.

‘That was pretty good,’ he decided.

He would've loved to have done more to him, like some of the things he’d done to Theresa, Brutus, Bjorgrund and him, but he knew his enemy’s will was strong, and that allowing him even the slightest time to recover would be a mistake. He wasn’t done with him yet though, not by a longshot.

With a twitch of an eyebrow, he began speaking the words of a sixth-tier spell. Energies gathered around his sword-staff, instantly pouring from the tip of its blade.

Disintegration magic arced toward the First Apostle’s breastplate, it struck the servant of Uldar, attacking him, seeking to split the screaming priest in two. His will, abundant life-force, and divine protections warred with the General of Thameland’s spell.

Fighting to stop it from doing its worst, but failing. Armour cracked, the energies within it exploded, searing light engulfed him.

The First Apostle—his skin raw and smouldering—sailed across the room, striking a wall with a wet crunch.

His body sprayed red, covering the tattered remnants of his armour and clothing as he dropped to the floor.

His followers screamed.

“It cannot be!” one cried.

“Impossible!” another shrieked.

“The Fool cannot…he cannot…” another stammered as flames licked the golden barrier surrounding the holy warriors.

“Uldar’s beard!” the Third Apostle swore. It was in his face that Alex finally got what he wanted.

The old man was watching him as though he were a demon crawling from the hells. His complexion looked green, he seemed breaths from either fainting, or soiling himself.

But, Alex had more to do, he couldn’t just stand there basking in their shock: every moment counted.

Channelling mana into his staff, he conjured dozens of forceballs, surrounding himself with the glowing orbs. Meanwhile, he cast a spell, launching a fireball across the room, it flew straight for the injured First Apostle.

An alert foe reacted, sweeping the storm of shrapnel around the holy leader, forming a solid shield that saved him. The fireball struck then ruptured, erupting in an inferno that blasted the ancient Chosen in waves of heat.

“Well, well, will ya look at that? Don't you have quite the bite for a supposed Fool!” the Guide shouted from atop the back of his mount. “That was a surprise! I see I wasn’t wrong about you giving us a great hunt—Argh!”

Alex cut him off, sweeping his sword-staff down, conjuring Wizard’s Hands to surround the fae. Their attack was vicious, pulling skin, yanking his beard, shoving glowing fingers in his mouth, poking at his eyes.

The fae slapped at them as though he was fighting off wasps.

With a twitch of a brow and a single syllable, Alex cast a fireball at him. The fae’s moose bellowed, tensing to spring away as the ball of flame hit the wall behind them. It ruptured. Beast and master shrieked, singed by the heat.

“I'm not interested in your stupid prattling, Guide,” Alex said, watching the beams ebb in the goddesses’ fire-gems. They would need time to recharge, and the church was already seething, readying themselves to attack. “You like to laugh, it seems? Do you want to have some more fun? Try this.” Alex said to the Stalker.

Drawing on Hannah's power, he opened a dozen portals throughout the chamber, leading to different areas of the sanctum.

“Hah!” The fae burst into laughter, ripping Alex's Wizard’s Hands apart with a wave of his hand. “Your wee elemental friends aren't going to—By the fae lords!”

Alex’s army came through the portals.

These were not the lower level summoned monsters he'd been using to harass the church earlier; those entities had been the spirits he’d first learned to conjure when he was the Fool, well before he’d erased that Mark.

They'd been the perfect distraction, a key part of the strategy to lure these hunters where he and the giants wanted them to be.

The creatures now emerging from the portals were Alex’s true army.

Scores of sixth-tier celestial dire tigers.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Elder air elementals floated from portals like storm clouds, their lightning growling within them. Elder earth elementals floated from the stone beneath where the hidden church’s warriors were standing, rising like mountains from below. Elder fire elementals—living infernos—crackled, entering the chamber, each of them a blaze of heat and blinding light. Elder water elementals rushed forward like the oncoming tide of an angry sea. Elder ice elementals, much like walking glaciers, followed, air crackling around them as they moved through the portal.

Each was a powerful, ancient spirit, representing one of the great elements.

They waited in imposing numbers.

The hidden church members had fallen into stunned silence, while even the Stalker could only gape.

But, the army was still not complete.

Its greatest members were only now joining the rest, taking up their positions.

The sound of a choir swelled, filling the chamber as several portals glowed with holy light. Winged forms floated from them, their beauty and song announcing astral engelis. The eyes ringing their halos burned, fixing upon Alex’s enemies, and in their hands, swords, warhammers, and spears, blazed. Their weapons were bathed in flickering, holy flame; its light dancing in their eyes as they looked down on the hidden church with disdain and pity.

Through another portal came Bjorgrund, his rune blazing through his breastplate. The giant glared at their enemies.

The hidden church’s reactions were mixed.

Some members had turned pale, eyes lifting to the ceiling as prayers tumbled from trembling lips.

Others looked on the summons with hardened eyes, clenching their weapons, ready to fight. While some looked to the Third Apostle for direction.

Another portal opened, this one much larger than the rest.

Through it walked Asmaldestre the Unmaker.

Alex’s champion.

The war-spirit’s claws dug into stone, her blade of energy burned at the tip of her tail. Blades plaited into her hair scraped each other with every movement she made.

But, it was the weapons in four of her six hands that drew the offended eyes of Uldar’s followers.

“Blasphemy!” the Third Apostle recoiled. “More of Uldar’s holy-weapons! How did you get them? What is this foul creature that you allow to defile them?”

In a liquid movement and without a single word, Asmaldestre the Unmaker raised a weapon, one resembling Toraka Shale’s prototype.

Before Izas even finished his sentence, she pulled the trigger.

A sound like the crack of a whip exploded through the air.

Light flashed.

A section of wall on the opposite end of the chamber—on the other side of the church warriors—exploded. Dust clouds erupted, spouting rock into the air, high above a cavernous tunnel extending through the wall leading to the next room.

The shield of golden light surrounding the Third Apostle’s followers, protecting them, abruptly vanished.

Holy warriors, in front of and behind the old priest, looked down.

Limbs were gone, holes the size of a man’s head gaped in torsos. Uldar’s followers stared at their fellows, right before they crumpled to the ground.

The Third Apostle stared too, seemingly unable to move.

The Stalker gaped at war-spirit’s weapon.

Behind him, the stone shield he’d covered Gabrian with, fell away, revealing the partly stripped body of the First Apostle. Some of his wounds were healed, his skin had renewed—for the better part—but his shield arm was still gone, tattered cloth was all that remained.

Uldar’s ancient Hero’s eyes were unblinking beneath the glowing symbol of the scales on his forehead.

Suddenly, a strangled sound escaped him, seeming to come from deep within his soul.

“Izas!” he moaned, his voice breaking at the gaping hole in the Third Apostle’s trunk...what was left of the Third Apostle’s trunk.

The weapon had sheared him nearly in two, leaving his white clothing and silver armour drenched in red. He coughed, choking up blood, yet his head turned, seeking the eyes of his leader.

“Save them…” he gurgled. “Run—”

Alex was beside him.

Few noticed the General of Thameland teleporting to the Third Apostle.

But, all noticed the General of Thameland slide his sword-staff into what was left of the priest’s chest. Alex looked up, holding the First Apostle’s eyes as he uttered the words of his spell.

Power flared.

Mana flowed.

A disintegration spell poured down the blade.

The Third Apostle’s strength was failing, Alex had no need to be either quick or kind, so he gave Izas the time he’d given Theresa; slowly disintegrating the secret church’s second in command, bit by bit.

He started on his skin, working his way in from there, controlling the spell’s destructive power.

Holy warriors wailed, crying out, pleading for the Fool to stop, as the Third Apostle—the second most powerful man in all of their church—was reduced, peeled away like an anatomical specimen in a Generasian blood magic lab.

In heartbeats, Izas was dust, gone.

Alex teleported high above, glaring down with disgust. “Before you get any ideas about surrendering, forget it. You don’t deserve mercy, you never gave anyone else any. You took my friend, Carey, you’re the ones who drove her to her death. She should be here, living her life, being with friends and her parents. She got no mercy from you monsters, so you won’t be getting any from me. Maybe, if I believed that you were misguided, things might be different.” His jaw hardened. “But I know that’s not true. You're all so sure of yourselves that you'll never stop. Everyone last one of you believes that you have some secret mission, that it gives you the right to do whatever you want to people, as long as it serves some silent god of yours. And oh, by the way, I can guarantee you one thing: he doesn’t begin to care even in the slightest about any of you, or the suffering you're inflicting on others.”

The young wizard paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully.

Then he made his decision.

None of them were leaving here alive, and—after what they’d done to him, and his loved ones—he wanted to shake their world.

He had one more thing for them before he unleashed his army’s full wrath.

“While you're standing there, gaping slack-jawed that your friend’s dead, I have a little something to tell you,” he growled. “Do you know why I’m so sure that Uldar doesn't even begin to care about you, or what you do? It’s because he's dead.” He paused, watching them. “That’s right, dead. I've actually seen his withered corpse sprawled out on his throne, and you know what? It looks the same as any other dead body. You've been killing people for a corpse!”

Gasps swept through the hidden church members.

Horrified eyes fell on Udar’s armour that the giant was wearing, and then on the weapons he and the spirit were holding.

Warriors shook their heads in disbelief.

Others screamed words of denial, shouting insults at the Fool.

For some, though?

He could see despair and understanding creep across their faces. At last, they understood how he could have taken weapons wielded by their god and not suffered his punishment.

“It makes sense…” a holy warrior sank to her knees… “His silence…the unpunished blasphemy…” she murmured.

“Hold yourselves strong! Hold onto your faith, children of Uldar!” the First Apostle limped away from the wall. Nearby, the Stalker’s eyes were darting back-and-forth, all signs of his earlier amusement gone.

The First Apostle glared at Alex with pure hatred. “You killed Izas, you killed my dearest friend in this world, you self-righteous hypocrite! Uldar will see you struck down!”

Alex laughed then, a cold sound. “There's definitely a self-righteous hypocrite here, and it isn’t me. And do me a favour, stop threatening me with a corpse, because that's one difference between you and me. I pray to a goddess who actually gives a shit about people, you stammer out phrases to a piece of carrion.”

He looked around at the First Apostle’s followers. “Looks like I gave some of you something to think about, and that's good enough for me. As for the rest of you? It's fine if you don't believe me. You will when you get to the after-world. How’s about I give you a headstart with getting to his side?”

The General pointed his sword-staff at his enemies.

Then he spoke two words in different elemental tongues.

“Kill them.”