Grand deeds come with a price. Barely a fledgling, and yet facing a god. The path is long and arduous, and no amount of rushing will make up for what is not yet earned. Fight well, wretch, and you will be rewarded even further. Be the first to fulfill your ultimate purpose.
Further? I haven’t been given shit apart from trouble! I’m barely standing on my own feet… fucking yapping gets me nowhere.
A golden page unfurled before Sunday on its own. The words bled upon the paper, and his eyes widened. The title of the page was something he had seen before. He had been promised rewards for killing the prophet, after all. However, now the goalpost seemed to have changed somewhat. Technically it hadn’t been him that had killed the madman…
Quest:
A prophet falls, destroyed by his folly. You’ve done a great deal to aid the demise of one who was lost to madness. When the Divines whisper, no mind remains intact, no realm remains untainted. And now, you’ve taken it upon yourself to go to even further lengths… Joy has fled, but another stands tall before its executioner.
Slay the incarnation of the lesser god before you. Deal a blow to the Divine, and weaken their presence. As a reward, you’ll be allowed to meet one of the makers of your Talents and seek out their wisdom.
Sunday didn’t like this one bit, but the reward… he wanted to slap some people. If they were people. Still, fighting madmen and monsters was one thing… but a god? What even was a god? His own understanding of the notion was very different than in actuality because a god was not supposed to be standing in the same room as him, talking in gibberish, and looking like it could bench a ton! Praying had been a mistake, but he had simply gone with the flow. Why did the Divine fear it so much if it summoned them into the world?! He hadn’t known an actual fucking god would pop out right before him. This was absolute madness! Utter lunacy!
Words, spat out and twisted, left the being's mouth. It moved like a broken thing, with each joint and limb twisting oddly, trying to get forced into place. The green vapor took over the world, making it almost impossible to see things on the furthest ends of the hall. Sunday could also feel the swirling void in the middle better now. Each use of Chaotic Step made him feel closer to whatever was going on inside it, and he could almost smell something bubbling there... That was an insane thought, but what was even sane any more? The swirling chaos was growing hungrier by the minute; especially after the appearance of the ‘god,’ it was ravenous.
“I’ve waited for this for so long… Don’t go too far, cub. Your presence makes this thing vulnerable,” the woman next to him said. She bared her teeth into a snarl and then moved like no one was supposed to move. Kallus was but a child compared to the impossible grace with which she broke the laws of physics.
It was all her fault in a way, but she had also saved him, so Sunday wasn’t sure whether to be mad or grateful. One thing was certain—he still didn’t know who he was more scared of.
Without so much as a sound, the woman was upon the god, not a hint of fear on her face. She moved much like Sunday envisioned Chaotic Step would look from the side if one were to observe it used correctly. Perhaps there was a connection of the talent to the way wights were?
Blades raised high and a smile on her lips, the wight fell toward god and a hand instantly went flying as it tried to stop the attack. Sunday’s eyes widened. Was it that easy? This didn’t feel right at all. Gods being cut like that… dismembered… outclassed… No. If this was true, then the world wouldn’t need to summon people like Sunday. Outsiders gifted with weird powers and made into weapons against the Divine.
His suspicions proved right as the vapor next to it converged and the limb returned to the body, as good as new. The god screamed in two voices as it swung toward the woman, but she was already gone. Sunday barely managed to dodge an orb of green miasma that flew and exploded on the other side, corroding stone and air.
Many such orbs shot out of the god’s mouth and the green vapor grew more intense, demanding, and poisonous. It made his soul wretch in disgust. The nauseating feeling was quickly turning into boundless hate, and without thinking Sunday summoned his soul moths. The Berserk Moon shone behind him, and Sunday’s essence churned stronger than ever as it fed the hungry Vision.
Moth after moth flew out and charged toward the god. Twenty. Thirty. They exploded like tiny fireworks and showered the thing with essence made to corrode the likes of it… Its skin burned under the weight of the essence and the god screamed even louder, making the whole place shake. It fought against the moths, but each strike was another wound. Not that they lasted at all. Its healing was faster than the Baron by many times, and what the moths had achieved after the last one exploded was to enrage the god further.
Sunday felt something come for him, but it was too late. Distance of ten feet had been crossed in but a moment and a hand of green vapor sent him flying toward the other end of the hall before disappearing. Bones broke as he slammed into the stone wall, and he instantly summoned moths between himself and the wall. His essence was growing mad inside him, wanting to be unleashed.
He stood up and took a breath, only to realize he had been practicing unconsciously. The Black Breath, or a twisted version had been constantly on since the god’s appearance. Strange. The green vapor was flowing into each of his pores—a poison to all but the strongest—and it was feeding him. Essence, tainted and wrong poured into his soul space, and the yew tree there refined it, turning it into crystal clear power that made his spells tremble with excitement.
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This… this was awesome. Sunday finally understood part of his value. This was an advantage that made him the perfect enemy against a Divine. Their own strength turned into fuel for him. With the right spells, he would be unstoppable, and ranks would lose their meaning…Perhaps the value of those gifts was greater than he had initially thought. No, that was certain, but there was too much to learn, and that woman seemed to know a lot. More than Mera. More than the fools of the Arcanum or the Baron.
Sunday watched her move. She was a ghost who fought like there was no tomorrow. Her smile was constant and beautiful, brimming with passion he hadn’t seen in ages. He almost envied her and wanted to try and emulate this feeling. For now, however, he decided to bet on what he knew.
Two moths, red and bloodthirsty, infused him with death essence that aided the healing and added a red tint to the green world. The green seemed to win out, and even the effect of the berserk moon wasn’t enough to chase it away.
That didn’t matter. The strength was there. The surroundings buzzed louder than ever behind the grainy screen as Sunday stepped through the hall to appear next to the god and tried to slap its face. A hand blocked his attack, breaking his forearm, and another punch sent him flying. His sternum broke, his ribs shattered, and something stabbed in his throat. He didn’t know if it was a piece of his own internals or just a feeling created by broken bones and twisted flesh. The essence churning inside quickly got to healing, but it took a minute until Sunday was up and running again. Something in the vapor tried to prevent his spells from being used, but they were fueled by it and ignored the effort altogether. He hadn’t even felt it before, but as he lay popping and twitching, he had time to observe his inner world.
Sunday grinned as he felt things go back to their rightful places, the bone shift and the flesh grow. This was tougher than the Prophet, but at least he had his spells and the ability to cast without limits.
“I think I might lend a hand here, what do you say? I’ll only need a little something after that,” a voice said from beside him. A bald rotting undead, smiling under the green vapor. There was a barrier of death essence surrounding him, constantly churning like a flame and burning the mists.
What’s this bastard doing here…
A roar shook the hall before Sunday could respond and Trust was gone as fast as he had appeared. Did everyone have a fancy movement ability?
Another Chaotic Step brought next to the god again, and Sunday tried to slap it again, opting to go from its blind spot. His strange attempts aimed one thing—to sever the strength of divinity as they had done with the Prophet or those brainwashed by him. His slaps held power. An open palm to take away, was that right?
Again, a hand appeared seemingly out of nowhere and swatted him down like a fly and into the ground. The angles were impossible. The movements were unpredictable.
“Are you a fucking moron?!” the wight woman screamed at him. How did she have the time?
Sunday groaned as even more of his buff was gone, the essence rushing to heal the broken bones. He took a breath and more moths popped into existence, bringing much-needed death essence into his body. Just as he rose he saw a bare foot flying toward him, but in the next instant, it was cut, reformed, and cut again.
A giant fireball came out of nowhere and slammed into the torso of the god, producing a fiery explosion. Sunday felt the heat burn some of his skin, but the still-going essence quickly took care of that. He frantically fled backward as another giant fireball slammed into the god. They did little to it but threatened to turn him into charcoal.
Was that trust? What was with that spell?!
“If you’re scheming something I’ll end you!” the woman yelled while she tried to cut at the neck of the god only to narrowly shift and dodge a hand trying to do what it had done to Sunday.
“I’m a man of science! I only want to witness the result!” Trust screamed back.
What the fuck is going on!
“What have you… done?!” another voice joined.
That was… the Baron’s voice. Sunday created some distance only to see the vampire leaning on the wall. His body was constantly being assaulted and the green mists had it out for him. They melted his skin like acid, even worse than the moths would do, and Sunday felt some pity for the mighty Baron. Death moths flew and infused the vampire with energy, and another pair spawned through the Vision of the Berserk Moon empowered him once again.
There was an audible sigh of relief, and the Baron nodded to Sunday. Then, without waiting, he bolted for the still-open door. Sunday couldn’t say he was surprised, but he had expected the vampire to stick around. This was a god, after all. A rare occurrence.
Had Mera left too? She was nowhere to be seen, but he hoped she had. If—
The vapor parted and a body walked out of it. It was a carbon copy of the naked sexless form of the god, who was locked in combat with the wight woman. A thing made of mists that were quickly turning into bronze-greenish flesh.
What the fuck?
Another body appeared in the next moment. Then another. And a fourth and fifth. Beautiful faces, all the same, and all sneering at him. Sunday acted quickly, surrounding himself with moths and trying to escape with Chaotic Step. As the world once again became coated by the curtain of chaos, something slammed into him and brought him down. His Talent was interrupted and he felt a hand hold him and heard the bodies surrounding him whisper strange words. Sunday screamed and forced a massive amount of essence into Phantasmal Fall, sending himself flying upward instead.
He hit the ceiling and broke something yet again, but he didn’t care. This had been too close for comfort… Their faces stared at him through the mists, and Sunday felt a different kind of disgust. Those things were mere copies of the thing that weird woman was fighting, and even they had almost bested him?
Another explosion sounded from the main fight, and with a yell of his own, Sunday dropped down. The Berserk Moon appeared mid-air and another form walked out of it. Large and enraged, the Mournful Bear howled as it lunged toward the god’s clones.
Sunday followed after it, surrounding himself with moths, and once again swung with his open palm toward the nearest one, using Phantasmal Fall to shift his whole body into falling to the side and empowering his own attack, while shortening the time it took for it to land. And it worked.
The slap landed and echoed through the hall. He saw a humanoid ghost of green energy leave the clone, but it was pulled back a moment later by the tendrils connecting it to the false body. In that split second, the body had started rapidly degrading. Sunday did the only thing he thought would work and slapped again and again, hoping the bear would hold off the other clones long enough.
It took three slaps, and on the third, his hand reached for the green ghost just before it went back into the degrading body and wrapped around its throat.
Sunday pulled.