Out of everything Darian thought the God of Seasons would want from him, breaking the system wasn’t on the list.
“Is that even possible?” he asked. “And why would you want me to do that?”
The God of Seasons waved a hand at the Augur, and the water shifted and formed into the visage of a desolate battlefield, corpses piled by the thousands across the bloody expanse. “This is our future,” he said, sadness dripping from his voice. “If nothing changes, the coming war will tear this realm apart. The Gods have fought many times, but nothing on this scale. And even if one of us stands tall over the others, what then? The conduits will continue to summon new Aspirants, who will rise to become new Gods. A cycle without end.” He turned sharply, his staff tapping on the metal floor. “But I’ve seen the cracks in the system. And through those cracks, I saw a way out.”
He waved his hand again, the water returning to the show the seven forms of the Aspirants. “If you make an Aspirant a vampire, they will be dead temporarily. This will raise the other Aspirants’ level caps and get them a step closer to true divinity. But then they will rise as a vampire, an undead whose divine soul will still be intact. Once all the other Aspirants are vampires and only you remain, the system will attempt to imbue your soul with incredible power, making you a God.” His lips curved into a wicked smile. “But the others will still technically be ‘alive’. Once the system begins the process of your ascension, it will recognize the others are still ‘living’ and attempt to ascend all of you at once. Doing so will overload the system, and I will be able to destroy it for good.”
Darian stood motionless, not sure if the God was simply insane, or maybe just delusional. “How do you know this would even work? I’m the first vampire, as far as I know. How can you be so sure the system would react like you expect it to?”
The God of Season raised the Tome of Knowing up, purple light blinking between the closed pages. “The system has not always existed in this world. It was brought here by someone. And the Tome and the Augur predate the coming of the system, and they have shown me how I might destroy it.”
“The book and Augur,” Darian said. “Showed you this?” He gestured at the pool.
“You might think I’m mad,” he said, a little dejected. “But even if I am, would it not benefit you to join me? Whether you like it or not, you’ve a target on your back. Without my help, the other Gods and Aspirants will come for you, and they will kill you.”
“I can handle myself,” Darian assured, his pride flaring.
“Not against the Gods or their companions. To them you are nothing more than a gnat. But we can change that. We can make you strong.”
Darian considered the Gods words, doubt and worry nipping at him. But if he could help him grow stronger, he would consider staying.
“I’m not entirely convinced turning the other Aspirants into vampires will give you what you want,” Darian said. “But it’s true that I stand no chance fighting the Gods on my own. If you can help make me strong enough to survive them, I will stay. But this is a partnership, and I will not be lied to or manipulated. If I ever catch a hint of deception, our time together will be at an end.”
The God of Seasons nodded, then tucked his staff into his elbow and placed the Tome of Knowing back into his inventory. Then he extended his hand. “A fair deal. I will help you, and in turn you will aid in my plans.”
Darian reached forward and took the God’s hand.
“My true name,” the God said, smiling. “Is Rafael. Please feel free to use it when we are alone.”
With a shake, Darian pulled his hand away. “Rafael,” he mumbled. “And when you say ‘true name’, do you mean your name from Earth?”
Rafael nodded. “Most of the others changed their names after they became Gods. But my mother gave me this name, and it is the only thing I have to remember her by.”
He whispered something in what Darian believed was Spanish, then turned for the door. “Come,” he said. “We still have much to discuss.”
***
Darian dismissed his character sheet. “That’s about it.”
Rafael leaned forward, placing his elbow on the small oak table between them. “Aspirants come in two varieties,” he explained. “Those who are given powerful unique skills, and those who are gifted enhanced attributes. You seem to be part of the latter.” He waved for one of his servants to bring them more tea. “That’s not to say you won’t get strong skills, just that your attributes are the main thing that sets you apart from others. For example, your attributes are nearly double what mine where at your level, but I had access to powerful unique magic.”
Darian sipped from the wooden teacup. They were sitting in a side room within Rafael’s home, which was carved out from the insides of a massive tree. An open window across from them filled the room with golden light, and Darian for nearly the first time since coming to this world felt a sense of peace. He reclined in his chair, his new clothes chafing a little around the shoulders.
“Your class skills are a little sporadic,” Rafael continued. “But they can be fixed with that divine essence you have. Beyond that, you must start clearing your quests.”
Rafael had poured over Darian’s character sheet, classes, unique skills, and quests with a fine-toothed comb. Apparently, the system would only issue someone a limited number of quests and since Darian hadn’t completed any in a while, the system wouldn’t be issuing him any new ones.
“The most important thing for you to do right now is complete your quests. Especially the quest ‘Nightlord’.”
Darian brought the quest back up, the screen blinking to life a few inches from his face.
----------------------------------------
Quest: Nightlord
Objective: Create fifty vampires. (6/50)
* Reward: 300 Race XP
* Reward: Nightlord’s Mail
* Reward: New divine subskill added [Vampiric Bloodlines]
----------------------------------------
“Your divine skill, ‘Blood Lord’ is still in its fledgling state,” Rafael said. “You need to do these quests to add more subskills to it. Until you complete ‘Nightlord’, you’re going to be stagnating your skill progression.”
Darian fiddled with the white cuff of his new shirt, the time he spent in Fria’s village flashing before his eyes. “Can I really justify turning more people into vampires?” he asked, thinking about Krast in particular. “I’m lucky none of them have gone on a blood hungry rampage yet. But if I make more and more, it could spiral out of control.”
Rafael thought on this for a moment, his fingers picking at the ends of his leafy hair. “While I appreciate that you’re concerned,” he said. “It’s required for you to continue to grow. For the sake of the realm, sacrifices need to be made. But,” the table creaked as he leaned forward. “The quest, nor your divine skill, specifies what can and cannot be made into a vampire.”
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“The only thing I’ve turned so far are humans, but you’re right.” He smiled, excitement swelling in his veins. “But what about animals? Or other races?”
Rafael grabbed his walking staff and pulled himself to his feet. “It sounds like we need to experiment.” His servant returned, a woman whose race Darian now knew were called nymphs. “We will not be needing more tea,” Rafael told her. “But please fetch my daughter and Obern. I have need of them.”
The small nymph woman bowed, then left the room.
“Before we do anything else,” Darian said, rising to his feet. “I wish to see my friends.”
“That is fine.” Rafael hobbled to the window and looked out at the sanctuary below. “I will send a fairy for you once everything is ready.” He turned, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “We are about to do great things together.”
“I sure hope so,” Darian said, heading for the door. He found a red-haired satyr woman standing just outside. She smiled when she saw him.
“I am Lucia,” she said, bowing. “And I will be your guide.”
“She will take you to the south commons,” Rafael added. “Feel free to have her show you around the sanctuary later, if it pleases you.”
Darian nodded, then followed Lucia down a flight of winding stairs.
“I have not seen the God of Seasons in such a good mood in many years,” Lucia said, grinning. “Not since the birth of his third daughter.”
“Third?” Darian questioned. “How many children does he have?”
Lucia’s face darkened for a moment, but then her smile returned. “That is a question better left for him to answer.”
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Lucia led Darian outside. There they took a wide street that passed various homes, some made of wood, others of stone. Fey of all kinds filled the streets, most looking rather peaceful, but others cast Darian sideways glances. Eventually they passed what looked like a training ground and Darian stopped as he overheard the clash of steel.
“What is that?” Darian asked, nudging his head at the arched stone gate. The area was sectioned off by tall wooden walls, but Darian could make out the shapes of small building beyond the gate.
“That is where we ready ourselves for the battlefield,” Lucia answered, pausing as giant man approached them from down the street.
He was green skinned, nearly double Darian’s height, and had arms and legs bristling with muscle. A massive sword was slung over his shoulder, but the thing almost looked like a short sword in the man’s grip.
“Yazliar,” Lucia said with a curt nod.
“As I’ve said.” The massive man’s voice was harsh and full of gravel. “Please call me Yaz.”
Yazliar? I swear I’ve heard that name somewhere before. Darian looked up at the hulking orc. “What’s an orc doing here at the sanctuary?”
He shrugged his giant sword off his shoulder and buried the end of it in the dirt beside the road. “Could ask the same thing about…whatever it is you are.”
“He is here by our God’s request,” Lucia cut in, gesturing at the orc.
“Seems like we’re in a similar boat, then. I’m Darian.” He extended his hand.
Yazliar looked at Darian’s hand like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I am Yazliar, the Blade Breaker. And I do not converse with weaklings.”
Darian let his hand fall back to his side. “Well, I don’t see any of those around here.” He smiled.
“Please,” Lucia said. “There is no need for such friction. You are both guests.”
Yazliar snorted, then plucked his blade from the ground. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on trying anything. Not after last time.” He stepped forward and glared at Darian. “But if you ever wish to prove yourself, step into the pit with me. Win, and maybe I’ll think about shaking your hand.” Then he grunted and walked around them, his heavy steps taking him to the training ground beyond the archway.
Once he was gone, Darian turned to Lucia. “What’s his problem?”
She sighed. “I believe he sees you as a worthy opponent,” she said. “He did the same thing when he arrived here to the gate guard Zander. He would likely have continued taunting you until you fought him if I was not here.”
Darian followed Lucia down the street. “Did Zander end up fighting him?” Almeda had told him the guy could apparently take on a small army by himself, but Darian had his doubts. And I can tell that orc is no joke. I’m not even sure I could beat him in a straight fight.
“They did fight, if you could call it that,” Lucia said, pausing before a hedge tunnel. “It ended after only a single strike, with Zander as the winner.”
“Really?” Darian glanced over his shoulder. Hard to believe a guy like that would go down after one hit.
Lucia nodded at the tunnel. “Your friends have been given the root home beyond this tunnel. You should find them within.” She stepped back. “To ensure your privacy, I will remain out here until either you leave, or a message arrives for you.’
“Thank you,” Darian moved past her, wondering how the others were doing.
The tunnel went on for a while, ending as it met a large oak doorway. Opening it, Darian stepped into what he guessed was a living room. Looks like this house is inside another tree. Wandering toward a hall on the other end of the room, he spotted someone lounging on a couch near the front door.
“And here I thought they’d keep you longer,” Jorg said, pushing himself upright.
“Where are Krast and Isaac?”
“Asleep, surprisingly. Apparently all of this was bit much for the boys.” He chuckled.
Darian grabbed a nearby chair and plopped it down opposite the paladin, noting he was sporting a new set of white clothing. “I see the God of Seasons managed to nurse you back to health,” he said, easing into the chair.
“I wouldn’t phrase it like that, but he did heal me.” He touched his chest. “Told me I was lucky to be alive.”
“That bolt was close to your heart, so I think his assessment is accurate.”
Jorg shook his head. “Almost seems like I have someone watching over me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The paladin waved a dismissive hand at Darian. “Nothing. Just feel blessed is all.”
They sat for a few quiet moments before Darian worked up the courage to ask what was on his mind. “Before the dwarves attacked,” he said, easing forward in his chair. “You said someone instructed you to follow me.”
Jorg looked to the floor and frowned. “Aye, I did.”
“Who were you talking about?”
The paladin did not answer.
“Jorg,” Darian said. “You need to tell me.”
He looked up, face strained like he was in great pain. “You will think me mad.”
“I’ve heard a lot of crazy things today,” Darian admitted. “So if there ever was a time to talk about something strange, it would be now.”
Jorg’s shoulders slumped and for a moment Darian thought he was done talking. But then his brow drew downward, and he stared into Darian’s eyes.
“When the plague began to ravage me,” he said. “I thought I was going to die. And the man I’d come to the village to speak to? Well, he died right beside me.”
“You’re talking about Carver’s father, aren’t you?”
Jorg nodded. “I tried healing him, but that damn sickness took him. I could not save him, his son, not even the companions that came with me to that damned forest." His eyes glistened, a single tear working its way down his cheek. "I felt worthless and even contemplated ending my own life before I could die like all the others. But then a voice reached out to me. And through all the pain and sadness I was given a new purpose. A holy mission from my God.”
“Jorg,” Darian mumbled. “You don’t mean—”
“I do.” The paladin squared his shoulders. “Argus himself, Lord of Sunlight and God of Lonelen is who told me to follow you. He sent me visions of a horrible future, a world drowning in blood. But he said you could stop it. That by your hand, the other gods would die.”
“The other Gods? He thinks I’m going to kill them?”
“Yes,” Jorg said, madness in his eyes. “And he told me where you would start.”