In a pavilion among clouds Garroolsh faced his nemesis from across a clear pool. Within the pool, the world below could be seen. In the places where his foe’s people once thrived, only his hordes could be seen. Her only surviving worshippers were even now gathering within her last cathedral. Armies of his devotees were gathering to that place to expunge her influence from this world once and for all.
“Arinth,” he glowered at her, his porkine features quivering in his excitement. “Did you ever imagine that a day like this would come? In a thousand worlds, our followers clash but only in this one will a victor be decided. Only in this world, there is no other deity to interfere and prevent this. In all of the ages I have existed I have never had the chance to purge a world of a deity, nor have I ever had the chance to take a world as my own. But here, in this place, I will have the pleasure of doing both.
“Even better, it is you that I will purge. You who have held me back on countless worlds, you who have stymied my will, you who have denied me again and again… you! I will take pleasure in this! Know this! And in this place, I will produce champions to send to every world you have ever denied me and I will start to destroy you in those places as well! Hahahaha!
“What? Do you have nothing to say now that I have wrested this gem of a world from you? Are you feeling fear now? This is the only mortality one of our kind may know and I have the pleasure of inflicting it on you, Arinth!
“Look at you now. Your followers are so few that you can barely even maintain your form. What can you do? Say something, you pretentious witch! You always were so capable with your words before. Say something now that your end is at hand!”
The woman across from him was barely discernible now. A strobe of light flowed from her as more of her divine power was consumed by her remaining followers and the majority of the remaining ones vanished from the space they were in. She looked up from the pool where she had been watching the last of her champions fighting a horde of his followers. There was a look of pity and scorn on her face.
“Garroolsh, I am sure you are proud. You have defeated me and slain many of my followers. You will get your wish and purge me and my followers from this world, but you are wrong about one thing. This was never my world. My people were never the masters of this place, but merely the servants. I was asked to watch over those servants, but unfortunately I failed. You do not know what you have brought upon yourself today. You have my pity. I will waste no more time with you…”
As she spoke her form dissipated as her divine power grew too weak to maintain it. Garroolsh felt a chill go down his spine as he thought of her words. Arinth was a goddess of civilization. She was a city builder and law giver. Her words were often cunning but never outright deceitful. There was always truth in what she said to him and if what she said was truthful, then there was something greater than her in this world.
As he looked up from the pool and looked out into the heavens, the clouds around him seemed much darker than normal. They loomed around the pavilion like thunderheads. There was a promise of violence in them. From the pool he heard a sound. It fit somewhere between a scream or a shout. Within it was the rage, sorrow, and despair of the young human warrior inside of the cathedral.
The warrior was the last of his kind in the world, and his emotion was palpable. It sounded, even to the barbaric god who was watching, as if the pain and rage was coming from the depths of the young man’s soul and as it poured out of him, it changed into something else. The sound became deeper and more regal and Garroolsh felt a threat waking from the sound of it. Something was stirring in response to it. The sound, originally something between a scream and shout, now sounded more akin to the roar of a great beast whose dignity had been impugned and as that roar finished, a new roar replaced it.
This roar was much deeper, much more powerful, and much more regal than the one before. Garroolsh did not know the language of the being that had just roared, but as a deity he could understand it. In great fury, the recently awoken sleeper in the world below him roared out, “You dare?”
Garroolsh didn’t have time to concern himself about that as he saw a new figure emerging from the clouds to join him in the pavilion. The man before him gave Garroolsh the impression of ages even in comparison to his own. The ancient deity before Garroolsh stared at him as a predator would stare down pray and spoke only two words, “You dare?”
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“Big brother Jaren. Your hand is hurt. Let me fix it.”
The little girl, recently turned eight, took the pretty blue ribbon she was so proud of out of her hair and wrapped his hand. Jaren reached out to pat her head but pulled his hand back at the last moment. His hands, much like the rest of him, were filthy. There were weeks worth of dirt, sweat, blood, and soot on them and he couldn’t bring himself to dirty her pretty blond hair. Half of it was still in a ponytail on the right, while the other half fell messily about on the left.
Inoa’s green eyes, so full of concern, looked up at him after she was done binding the cut on his palm. He didn’t even remember when it had happened, but that didn’t matter now. She smiled at him after kissing the dressing. There was a slight smudge on her cheek.
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“It’s all better now, big brother, don’t get hurt again.”
“I won’t, my little princess,” he said, smiling down at her. “Just because you said so. Now, go along with your mother. Your group is leaving next.”
“OK, stay safe. We’ll be waiting for you and father so please hurry.”
He watched as she obediently ran to her mother, Queen Ancela. The Queen grabbed her daughter’s hand while she held her newborn son. As the maids fussed over Inoa’s face and hair. Ancela looked over at him and smiled. He could see the tears forming in her eyes but she held them back and gave a brave front. Around her was the last group of refugees. The last group to be sent through. They were made up of the high ranking members of the kingdom and their families that had bravely stayed til the end.
Many of the families around the Queen had already lost their fathers, mothers, husbands, and wives during the war. The elite of the kingdom had bled as much or more than the common folk on the thousands of battlefields across the kingdom. The sacrifices had not been in vain though. Already, the vast majority of the populace of the kingdom had already been transported to another world through the portals opened by the combined efforts of the Priests of Arinth and the Mages of the Tower. All that was left was this final group and then only the King and a few retainers would be left in this world.
King Dane had his own duties as King and could not leave and the retainers that were left, a few Mages, Priests, and Royal Guards, would stay to ensure he had time to complete them. Jaren, the youngest Royal Champion, would stay as well. He could not imagine leaving his great benefactor behind so he had volunteered to hold the cathedral narthex as long as he could to buy the King time to complete his duties.
Of the twelve Royal Champions of Derkoman five had died in the war, while the other six had sworn to protect the earliest groups that fled through the portals. While the world they were fleeing to was said to be safe, weakness breeds disdain so many of the heroes of the kingdom were sent first along with a portion of the army. On the battlefields around the kingdom, the armies retreated in a controlled fashion towards the capitol, always buying just enough time for the populace to retreat ahead of them. Finally after years of conflict, the army had retreated into the capitol itself. The wounded and final civilians were sent through, and as the army retreated into the cathedral’s grounds and began transferring to the other world, the city itself was fired.
After four years of skirmishing and eight years of pitched apocalyptic war, the final group of refugees made up of the officials and their families disappeared in a flash and only a handful of picked men and women were left. The High Priest of Arinth sighed as he sensed his goddess growing ever weaker and the power from her reducing to a trickle. He knelt before the altar and began some mundane chants for his final moments. The Royal Guards moved towards the doors to protect them as the two Mages who had stayed behind to assist the King in his final tasks headed deeper into the cathedral.
“Jaren, you have grown so much since that day I found you.” the King said. “You should have gone with my wife and kids. I would have felt much more convinced of their futures if you had been with them.”
“My King…” Jaren began, but the King cut him off.
“It’s ok, I understand. In a selfish way, I am glad you decided to stay with me. You have been like a son to me ever since the day I found you at that orphanage. I am so proud of the man you've become and knowing that you are here with me gives me more courage to do what I must.”
Sounds of fighting carried to them, and Jaren and the King gave a wordless farewell before Jaren ran towards the entrance. Donning his helmet, he lifted his spear before piercing through the gap between the few Royal Guards. With several great swings of his bladed spear, he brought down the first wave of assailants, low tier Orcs and Goblinoids meant to test their defense.
“Retreat indoors and protect the inner sanctum,” He commanded the Royal Guards behind him before pushing further into the cathedral’s narthex.The space was large enough to allow the full range of his motion while not too large that the enemy could easily break past him. He heard the inner door slam shut behind him and knew that he was now alone with the enemy.
“Come then, let’s see how many of you I can take with me.” He said, a dark smile forming on his face before stepping forward to meet the next wave of enemies to push into the building. He took position in the center of the narthex, taking minimal steps to the front, left, right, and back before returning to the center to maintain control of the space of the room and the tempo of the fight.
Dozens of waves of enemies came and most were no challenge. As a tier five Royal Champion, his resistance against fatigue had reached a supernatural level. He had not tested the limits of his endurance but he was certain that against foes that were no threat to him in a space that allowed him to control just how many he could face, he could hold his ground for over a week of constant fighting. The occasional high tier enemies would attack him in groups, parties formed akin to how adventurers would attack bosses in dungeons and while some managed to escape, he slayed far more.
No matter how weak or strong his opponents were he maintained focus on the fight, always optimizing his movements to conserve stamina, avoid injury, or inflict damage to ensure success. There was no time to think of anything else. Years of training since the King had taken him in had prepared him for the war and years of war had prepared him for this day. He had no doubt that the enemy would eventually be able to force their way into the cathedral somewhere, but it would not be here. Everywhere else would require breaking through barriers of magic and stone, whereas here the only barrier was made up of blood and steel.
The sun was setting many hours after he had begun fighting in the narthex when he received the indication he had been dreading. A message appeared in front of him from the Divine System.
[Your Kingdom is in ruins. Your King is dead. Your people are scattered. You no longer meet the prerequisites for the Royal Champion Job.]
[Automatic Job change in 3...]