The blood-colored sun was still high in the sky as Hunter walked toward Sanctuary. Its malicious glare cast a crimson hue across the battlefield. The light was disconcerting, but Hunter found a surprising amount of comfort from the light. It was a simple symbol of the depravity within the Rift. It was easily observed and understood. The Rift wasn’t a place of purity and honor—it was a battle to the death. It wasn’t complicated, just a visible indication that the Apocalypse was here to stay.

Hunter wondered if that was why he was so quick to pursue the Path of greed. In his admittedly limited experience, humanity committed its crimes when there wasn’t anyone to watch. He stole because he knew he wouldn’t be caught. He lied because there was no one to reveal the truth. In the Rift, there was supposed to be a Sanctuary from evil and a Sentinel against the darkness. Neither of those things had survived contact with the Rift. The Sanctuary had been sacked and the Sentinel stolen.

Now, he was left to his own devices. He was given the freedom to choose his own Path. If Hunter didn’t have the risk of death hanging over his head like an executioner blade, he wondered what sort of person he would become.

Probably, not a successful one, he admitted to himself as he pushed past the double doors to the Sanctuary.

He was in Colorado because his mom didn’t think he had what it took to survive after high school. He was in Snodgrass Rift because even the Celestial Archives recognized that he didn’t have any real motivations for living. He had always gone with the flow. That had been his routine for as long as he could remember. He woke up, went to school, played basketball, went home, and then did the exact same thing the next day. On and on, he went like a wind-up toy, too stupid to dream of something different.

Sure, he had friends, but he wondered if he died in the Rift would anyone notice? He had been a passenger in his own life for so long that every relationship felt empty and trite. He’d like to think he would be remembered, but maybe that was just his pride talking. No one wanted to feel worthless. His mom would miss him, and perhaps his dad would wonder why his letters from prison were marked “return to sender.”

Hunter stood at the portal to the armory and thought about what he was about to do. For the first time in his life, he really needed to make a choice. He had the sense that if he really went through with his plan, he might be irredeemable. Hunter had already been marked by greed.

His eyes had a spark of emerald fire in their depths while only having the Sword of Avarice and a Minor Greed Imp’s focus. What would change with his new suit of armor? He was afraid to look in the mirror. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize himself.

You were nothing before greed, his heart whispered.

Hunter raised a hand and pressed the tips of his fingers against the surface of the portal. It responded to his touch. Small ripples extended from his fingertips and bounced against the stone archway. It was true. He had been nothing before the Rift. He dropped his hand and looked around the Sanctuary. The painted frescos chronicled a vast war far beyond his understanding.

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He couldn’t see a character that looked like himself. White-winged angels were fighting twisted demons while fantastical races of all stripes did battle underneath a crimson sun. They had all committed to a path. For good or for ill, they had found their place in the war while Hunter was still questioning his.

He knew that if he committed to his Path of greed, he would find a place among the painted Infernal Horde. It didn’t feel right to him. It wasn’t a morality decision—he didn’t know enough about either faction to assign morality. It was the loss of freedom that bothered him. Giving into greed meant becoming a caricature of himself. What kind of creature did desire produce? An imp digging into a family grave on the off chance that it held a small measure of treasure? Something worse?

More than that, what did committing to the Heavenly Host mean? He had observed a number of people in his old life who did terrible things because they felt justified. There were pastors who bought private jets because they felt it was justified by the work they did on behalf of their god. That wasn’t even the worst that faith had wrought on his world. People had been defined by caste, enslaved, and killed on the basis of faith. History books were written in the blood of those that had fallen to holy war.

Hunter scowled at the Sanctuary’s decorated walls. He felt visceral disgust at the eternal war. Both sides were guilty of stripping men and women of their humanity. The Infernal Horde’s methods were just as transparent and straightforward as the Rift’s scarlet sun. The Heavenly Host’s ways were far more pernicious. At every avenue, he had been made to feel like something other. Their promise of power just took a little longer to manifest.

If the teenager was honest, the scales in his soul had been tipped to the side of the Infernal Horde. He didn’t even need to search his soul; all he had to do was check his stat sheet to see the truth written in simple math. Maybe it was his newfound Intelligence and Willpower, but he finally came to a decision.

He needed to balance his stat sheet until he found the best Path forward. He had enough power to easily defeat the imps even before he upgraded the rest of his armor. He wasn’t going to commit to more until he absolutely needed it. He could justify his choices thus far, but he instinctively knew that if he converted and absorbed the contents of the armory, he would be taking a step down a path that he wasn’t confident he could return from.

Heh, here I go again. Typical Hunter can’t make a decision even when his life depends on it.

The teenager took a step away from the armory portal, and he felt a clenching in his gut. Every piece of his armor vibrated dangerously. They wanted to go into the armory. They hungered to be used. His body trembled as he tried to fight the influence of his equipment. He slowly raised a foot inch by agonizing inch. It felt like he was trying to walk through quicksand.

Hunter growled as he took one more step. He raised his next foot, and instead of quicksand, he felt like a sucking whirlpool was drawing his foot downward. His growl turned into panting, and sweat began to drip down his forehead. When he placed his foot down, he sighed heavily in relief.

His third step felt like he was trying to draw away from a black hole. His muscles strained at the effort. He heard the ligaments in his knee pop in protest. His bones creaked from the strain.

I can do this. I’m better than this. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s not committing to a path.

He could only laugh as he finally put his foot down. He didn’t want to take another step, but he knew he needed to. He wouldn’t become a slave to his greed. He raised his foot for the fourth time, and it was like trying to walk through a physical barrier. He strained against it with every physical and mental fortitude he could muster. It wasn’t enough. He pushed against the invisible wall of greed. After minutes of concerted effort, he still hadn’t been able to take a step.

Congratulations! For performing an uncommon feat of will, you have earned +5 to Willpower. You have been awarded the Body of Will Path.