“What do you think you're doing?”

Callum turned to Erin who stood in the doorway; he had wanted to be quick so nobody saw him. But that was never going to work. Erin wasn’t the kind to be restricted to her watch on the wall just because it was an order.

“Nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.”

Callum pulled his cloak’s gray hood over his head and tightened its strings around his leather garments. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, looping his belt around his waist. “What I do is none of your concern.”

“Shut up, idiot. Just tell me, why are you wearing that?” Erin said, marching toward him. “You’re better at following rules than I am, and you know as well as I do that an acolyte should always wear their robes.”

“I’m not sitting around doing nothing any longer,” he replied, checking the sword hanging from his belt and turning to pass Erin.

“You’re not actually thinking to…”

“And what if I am? Take a look around. Things aren't exactly ideal right now.”

“Callum,” Erin took his shoulders as he tried to pass. “I know you train a lot, and you’re probably the best out of us all with that thing, but you’ve never used it in a real fight. Leave the outer walls to the ferals and mercenaries like you’ve been ordered, and come join me on the wall.”

“There’s only so much you can learn training, Erin. This is something I need to do. For myself.”

“Callum…”

He shook, pulling away from Erin. “Just keep yourself safe, okay? And don’t worry about me. You’ll see, I’m better at this than you think I am.”

Erin went to retort, but her words got caught, and she watched silently as he left. What could she say? After yesterday’s attack, she wasn’t sure they would last more than a week anyway. If this was what he wanted to do, maybe it was best to just leave him to it.

**Imperator**

Stood several yards back, Mark watched as Henric ordered several ferals and mercenaries around. They were doing their best to repair the walls, even going as far as to pull logs away from a couple of cabins and paying their owners restitution.

“It’s not perfect, but it’ll be better than nothing. Still, it doesn’t solve our problem with the one who caused it.”

“I’m aware, Henric. But I can’t just fly overhead until I spot him. It’s a waste of energy, and if they attack like they just did again while the throne ship is exhausted, we'll be down an important resource. We need a better plan before we go hunting."

“I know,” Henric growled. “Those bastards are lucky we don’t have the full force of the Imperium behind us. If we did, we’d crush this petty army in an instant.”

“If only,” Mark sighed.

It was a precarious position they found themselves in, but it wasn’t as if the enemy had fared any better. The losses they had suffered in the last attack were staggering, and even with their greatly superior numbers, they couldn’t keep eating casualties like that. After all, they would need vastly superior numbers to take the fort; if they lost too much, the battle would be won, even if the enemy wasn’t routed.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mark. They can still place us under siege and take their time.

The barrel of Greek fire used in the last defense was a loss they didn't need, but they still had a decent amount to redistribute; a bigger problem was arrows. Even with all the work they had invested into crafting as many as possible, supplies dwindled at an alarming rate.

Mark had sent groups out to loot as many as possible, and just about everyone not actively involved in the defense was tasked with making as many as possible. But still, the enemy had bodies to throw at them, and if the next attack was as big as the last, they would run out of arrows quickly again.

Humming to himself, Mark tried to think of a better plan. Simply waiting for his enemy was a terrible idea. The priest would no doubt damage or destroy another section of the wall once his forces were ready to attack, and then they would repeat the process. Even worse, they had proven themselves resourceful. If they attacked again, they would likely be better prepared than they were last time. No, he was confident that waiting for the enemy was a losing strategy.

I have to find them; that’s the only way to secure our victory here.

The thought was risky. The walls were what was keeping them safe. But their enemy had seen all their aces now, and he couldn’t just assume they would repeat the same mistakes. If he waited for them to attack again, it might very well be the last attack.

Wait a moment.

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Mark might not know where his enemy was, but he did have a general idea. Maybe he could work with that.

Calling up several ferals and mercenaries, Mark ordered his followers into action. The first task was to skim Greek fire from the remaining barrels and fill six new ones. He didn’t need them to be full, just enough to cause a splash, and as long as the flamethrowers had a few seconds of fire remaining, they should be capable of defending another attack.

With the barrels prepared, he had them hauled onto his ship. He had wanted to always have either him or Henric within Fort Wintclaw, but a short exception would be needed since Henric was the only one he trusted to help him with this job.

“Alright, you ready?”

“Of course, Imperator,” Henric nodded, and they climbed aboard the throne ship.

Risking this much of their flamethrower fuel was a risk, but it was also their chance to sow chaos through the enemy camp and take out that priest with any luck. Besides, the walls were too long. The enemy knew where the flamethrower platforms were and could avoid them.

Onboard the ship, they tied the barrels together and left the rear hatch open. Henric’s job was to cut the rope holding the Greek fire barrels as they flew over their enemy. But the barrels wouldn’t cause much damage on their own. Fuses had been added. Henric would need to light them prior to dropping their load. It wouldn’t be an easy task since they didn’t want the barrels to be burning whilst aboard the ship for even a second longer than they had to, and even then, it was a risky maneuver that could easily end in disaster. However, it was also the best idea Mark could come up with. His second thought of a stealth mission seemed like a terrible option since the enemy had wargs with them. The beasts could run as fast as horses, and the chances that they would run them down were just too high.

With the ship loaded up, they pulled up and into the clouds. The priest was their only real threat up here, and while Mark knew he couldn’t underestimate the enemy leader, he also welcomed his attack. If the priest did attack, it would give him a chance to take him out. That was worth risking their life over since Mark felt confident in the fort’s ability to defend itself if the priest was killed.

After his last few attacks, the cultists took no chances, hiding beneath trees the moment they spotted the throne ship taking to the sky. Not that it bothered Mark; he wasn’t going through all of this just to try and take out a few grunts.

From the clouds, Mark scanned the trees. He had a general idea where the priest had attacked him and the walls from, and both locations were fairly close in proximity, so he guessed that their attacker had to be located somewhere in that area.

The brown tips of hide tents could be seen dotting the forest’s canopy, and if Mark had to bet, he’d say that their priest commander occupied one of them. Unfortunately, there were a decent number of tents, and he didn’t have the liberty to make mistakes. His enemy likely saw his failures in a similar light as he saw theirs. If the cultists could draw out Mark’s energy, taking potshots at their soldiers, then it would open the fort up for attack once he was exhausted. If anything, the cultists were probably hoping that Mark would take his shot.

Think, damn it. You’ve got to make this count.

“What are we waiting for, Imperator?” Henric called from the ship’s hold, hanging onto a rope and looking out through the open hatch.

“No good targets. We need to make this count,” Mark shouted back and turned to do another lap across the forest.

He needed a valuable target. Either the priest or a large clumping of wargs.

Flying low across the trees, Mark’s eyes widened as his suit’s mage heart thumped. It had detected something.

The suit had alerted him when he found the throne ship, and he was fairly certain it had some kind of link to other mage hearts used by the Imperium, but this was different. The sensation felt foreign, and he was certain it was reacting to something else.

A rush of energy passed through his veins and Mark felt his heart pound against his chest, threatening to burst free and bit down as a gasp escaped his lips. His vision seemed to heighten, and colors glowed more vivid than he had ever seen.

What the hell is happening to me? This isn’t just the suit…

A gnawing itch bit at his hands, and instinctively, he ripped his hands out from the piloting pockets of his throne ship cockpit, letting it glide through the air.

“The fuck?” His jaw slackened in disbelief; the wires and metal edges of his Imperator suit were digging into his flesh as if they were alive, and he watched in real-time as the cable burrowed into his skin and connected to his veins.

“Get out of my body, damn it,” he sneered, but the suit didn’t listen. However, instead of turning him into some kind of magical construct, the suit began to dissolve around him as it sunk into his body.

The rising panic within was instantly quelled as a strange, cooling sensation came over him.

Something was communicating with him. Not through words, but he understood what it wanted. It wanted him. A trapped entity of extraordinary power was calling out to him, and in exchange, it was offering him power.

The God-Lord, Mark’s eyes widened. In an instant, he saw a million scenes play out—visions from the Imprisoned god. Once, the deity of a tiny tribe raised themselves up, praying to their mighty lightning god and being granted power from their god in return. With the mighty god's power, their strength grew, spreading across the land like a plague and conquering all that attempted to stand in their way, but it wasn’t enough.

The tribe's people sought more than just begging their deity for the honor of being granted power; they wanted to control that power for themselves.

The elders imprisoned their own god and used your power to create the mage hearts?

Thousands of years ago, they traded in their deity and began the cult of the God-Lord, seizing the power of a god for themselves. Now that very god was reaching out to Mark. Transferring power to him, the god was making him its high priest. It was making him a champion for its cause, and in return, it wanted to be freed.

Mark gulped as the last of the suit was absorbed into his body. He was no longer an Imperator wielding a powerful suit but had been granted a fraction of the god's power.

Although Mark had previously felt bonded to the throne ship, it now felt like a true extension of his own body, one that he had unquestionable control over. The ship's mage heart was also undergoing a transformation, but he didn't absorb it as he had the suit. This was different as if the ship was becoming his steed.

Mark realized that this battle was now pitched between the chosen representatives of two great gods. This long-lost entity had been reborn through him.

This is only a taste of what this Lightning God can offer, isn’t it?

The vast majority of the god’s power was still consumed by the Imperium and the devices they had constructed to imprison and harvest their former god's energy. Still, if it could be released, and if it were, then the true rewards of power would flow free.

A defiant snarl bent Mark’s face. The path had seemed so distant and improbable, but now he had a clear path forward. The Lightning God could offer him power more than any suit had the potential for. Not only that, but he was now the god’s herald, champion, and high priest. He could use this tool to unite Fort Winterclaw and his growing fraction around. The potential was far beyond what he had possessed as just another Imperator.