“That bastard Treskur was in on this, wasn’t she?” Luna accused, holding her knife against her former lover’s throat, her other hand gripping his wrist so that he couldn’t run so easily. “That’s why she denounced the assembly and declared war, isn’t it? So she wouldn’t be affected while the rest of us suffered as mortals? What sort of sick, twisted revenge is this?”
Aolyn finally turned to look at her. He opened his mouth, probably to quip, but the words disappeared as he laid his eyes on her. He stared at her, dazed, until words wandered out from his lips unbidden. “Luna…” he said, “I can see you.”
Luna grit her teeth. The moonstone form she’d gained from her ascension remained, but it seemed her unknowability had vanished. “Answer the question.”
It took the former deathless god a moment to remember what she’d asked, but it came to him soon enough. “Yes, Treskur was in on it, but she didn’t know everything. In that burned note I gave her, I wrote that I’d get rid of the gods forever. All she had to do was disagree with me when I did ‘a thing,’ and that she’d know what ‘that thing’ was when she saw it.”
“You trusted that the rest of us despised Treskur so much, that we’d be predisposed to side with you just to disagree with her,” Luna stated, rather than asked. “That last minute addition of the tenth article, that was just to distract us from the real trap, wasn’t it? I feel like such an idiot.”
“Everyone is an idiot. Some just happen to be more clever within certain topics.”
“How?” Luna demanded, pressing her knife harder against the smug bastard’s throat. “Why?”
She resisted the urge to stab him right then. If she drew blood, her [Time Stop] would end, and Aolyn would teleport away. With only one shot to cause him harm, she could certainly hurt him, maybe even kill him if she were lucky, but first she had to know.
“I’ll have to ask you to be a tad more specific.”
“You know damn well what I’m asking!” she yelled. “How did you instantaneously alter your beliefs on such a fundamental level? And why betray your fellow gods so thoroughly? Why curse us all, yourself included, to mortality while that bearded freak keeps her godhood? We murdered you once, Aolyn, but you damned well deserved it! I’ve never known you to be so vindictive. Did your time away change you so much?”
“How and why?” Aolyn mused, as if Luna weren’t threatening his life. “I suppose the answer to both would be the same. You see, Luna, I’ve become a cultural atheist.”
Luna just stared, dumbstruck. She tried to figure out how to respond to such a blasé statement, but couldn’t. Her mouth worked in the vague shape of words, but no sound came out. She was completely gobsmacked. After those few moments of bafflement passed, she realized she could only find the sense to respond after she stopped trying to make sense of his words.
“Goodbye, Aolyn. I’ll do my best to kill you now.”
“Can’t say I blame you, but it is my sincere hope that you fail.”
“[Eldritch Annihilation]!”
Time resumed the instant her spell took shape. The tip of her dagger cut through the neck of the betrayer Daemon even as he disappeared, slicing a void into space itself. It was a void not of emptiness, but infinitely filled with the unknowable mysteries beyond existence. Shapes, geometries, ideas, colors, and horrors beyond the comprehension of even the former gods invaded the world through the cut of Luna’s dagger. Even Luna’s own mind couldn’t comprehend what lay there, beyond the thin shell of Terra’s reality.
Aolyn disappeared in a flash of light, but not before Luna’s dagger split him from neck to navel.
His blood splashed all over her. She’d left a nasty wound, she was sure, but she couldn’t guarantee he would die from it. Though no longer a god, he would now be a [Tier S] [Liege] just as she was, after all.
Chaos erupted as the world returned to motion. Former gods of all shapes and sizes went mad as the power they’d become so accustomed to fled them. Many lost control of their now purely physical forms. Luna’s own brother fell through the ground, melting everything below him due to the fact he was made of pure plasma.
Luna let out a heavy sigh and wiped some blood off her face. The otherworldly screams created by her spell faded away, but disconcertingly, she hadn’t noticed they were there until they’d gone.
She took a look around herself, at the panicking herd of former deities. “I’m the one who has to fix this, aren’t I?”
----------------------------------------
On the winter morning of the day that would later be called the [Divine Apocalypse], Brother Percival was feeling good. Unaware that today would retroactively be designated as day one, year zero of a new age, he treated the day like any other.
As always, he’d awoken before dawn to cook for the Abbey’s orphans. He was no [Chef], but the food he prepared was more than edible. He put together some simple grains and salt for a porridge, making sure to remove different amounts from the big pot at different times so that every child could have their preferred texture.
He cut up the dry, tough, preserved meat into thin strips that were easier to chew. The day-old bread donated from the bakery two doors down, he wrapped in lightly damp cloth and put by the fire to warm and soften. His use of cloth would mean more laundry for him to do later, but it was worth it for the children to better enjoy their meal.
He cut and juiced a few of the precious citrus fruits and diluted the liquid with boiled water so that every child could have some protection from the gum rot. The nutritious but less delectable rinds, he set aside to later dry and grind into powder.
Altogether, the meal was nothing fancy, but it was the best fare he could provide with what he was given.
By the time the he’d finished, Brother Percival reckoned that dawn couldn’t be more than a dozen minutes away. It would soon be time to rouse the children, but not quite yet. He grabbed the firmest heel of bread and the toughest ends of meat for his own breakfast, and stepped toward the kitchen’s exterior door.
Right on time, there came a knock at the door, and Brother Percival opened it to be greeted by the sight of a decrepit old man dressed in layers of soiled rags. He ignored the old man’s smell and flashed him a smile. The monk was missing more than a few teeth — a vestige of his own bout with the gum rot when he’d been a child at the very abbey where he now labored — but smiled brightly nonetheless.
“Old man! It is a blessing every time I see you.”
“For the last time, no need to give someone like me so much respect, young man. I’ve come to beg again, and deserve no such kindness.”
“Please, sit with me, and have a meal as we watch the day begin. I insist.”
“Very well, so long as we do so outside.”
Percival brought out a pair of stools, and the two sat out in the predawn chill of the alley. “I believe I already know your answer, but I must ask you regardless. Will you not come in and join me as a Brother? It is a meager life, but you’ll have clothing, food, and a roof. Best of all, you might find a greater purpose here.”
“I can’t fault you for asking, but as I’ve said, I swore to never again enter a place of his worship, and I won’t break that oath now. If I lose my pride, I’ll have nothing left.”
As the two began to eat, they spoke the words of a conversation they’d had a thousand times, strolling through the words like the woods of a familiar forest trail. Though the words themselves were old, the sincerity with which each man spoke was evergreen.
The minutes passed as the two ate and enjoyed each other’s company. They shared a meager breakfast barely fit for a single man, but neither attempted to eat more than their share. In fact, the older man more than once reprimanded the younger for not eating enough, and an equal number of times the young man insisted that the older have his fill.
Dawn was just beginning to break when the old man rose to take his leave, but he hissed with the effort.
“Are you alright, old man? If you come inside, I can ask a priest to take a look at your hip.”
“No, it’s nothing.”
“I can forgive much, but I won’t forgive a lie.”
“Fine.” The old man hissed again as he fully straightened himself into a standing position. “It does hurt, but I won’t have one of his priests look at it. Besides, I’m old. It’s my lot in life to feel pain.”
Percival frowned. “No one deserves pain for what they can’t control. If you won’t come inside, at least allow me to bring a priest out here.”
“Ha! Allow this old man to save you some time. Their answer will be ‘no,’ and there’s no need to pretend otherwise. You likely know that better than I, don’t you?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Percival’s frowned deepened, but rather than give into his negative emotions, he took a deep breath. “Bleak odds are no excuse not to try.” Rather than force a smile onto his face, he searched for a reason he might genuinely grin. When he found it, the hopeful expression came naturally. “There’s always the chance one of the Fathers will have a change of heart. Perhaps a humble request on behalf of an old man is all the push they need.”
The monk stood from his stool. “Even if they reject me again, that’s one less rejection before they one day agree. Please wait here, old man.”
“Hold a moment, if you will,” the old man requested, holding up a hand. “Rather than beseech them, I’d rather you try your hand at a spell.”
Percival chortled. “Very funny.”
“I’m being serious.”
To that, Percival could only raise an eyebrow. “I’m called Brother Percival, not Father. I’m no priest. And even if I became a priest of Sol, I wouldn’t become a [Priest of Sol], if you understand what I’m trying to say. I’ve never had the gift.”
“But there are stories of the gift coming late, are there not?”
“Perhaps one in a million, if that. Who knows if any of those stories are even real?”
“As a kind hearted but occasionally pretentious young man once told me, bleak odds are no excuse not to try. You wouldn’t ignore such wise words, would you?”
Percival smiled ruefully, snared by his own sentiments. Looking at the sky, dawn would soon break, and it would be time for him to rouse the children. Hopefully the porridge would be cool enough for them by then. “Very well, old man. I’ll give it a try if you agree to let me plead your case to the Fathers.”
The old man wrinkled his nose, but agreed. “Alright then. Give it your best shot.”
“Okay, here goes nothing…” Brother Percival, a lowly monk at the Fourth Abbey of Sol, closed his eyes, held out his hands, and prayed for a miracle.
He did as he’d been taught to do. He reached out, trying to imagine the warmth of Sol’s light upon his skin. He silently begged for but a single cast of the meager [Tier I] spell [Ease Pain]. He concentrated harder and harder, doing his best to reach out and touch the barest corner of his god’s divinity….
But nothing happened.
“Sorry, old man,” Percival apologized, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. “It seems I’m still not worthy.”
Just then, dawn broke over the horizon. The day’s first rays of sun embraced the pair standing outside the abbey’s kitchen door, and Percival sighed.
“Time flew by faster than expected. Please wait just a little longer, old man. I need to rouse the children, but after that I’ll…?“
The old man stopped his words with a raise of his hand, but said nothing himself. Instead, he sniffed the air, a puzzled expression on his face.
“What is it, old man? Is everything—?”
“Percival,” the old man interrupted, and that shut the monk right up. The old man never used Percival’s name, just as he’d asked Percival never to ask him his.
Before Percival could process his shock, the old man continued speaking. “If you’d indulge this old man, please try again. This time, however, I ask that you focus not on your god, but on the goodness within your own heart.”
“That’s blasphemy. It’s ridiculous. Impossible,” Percival spluttered. “There’s no way I could—“
“Percival, if you have ever felt an iota of warmth, care, or even pity for this old man, all I ask is that you try.” With a groan of effort, the old man lowered himself to his knees.
“Old man, please don’t—“
“Listen to me! I said I came here to beg, and beg I shall! Please, for all that is holy and good, try one more time. Seek the gift not from without, but from within! Just once! I beg you. Please, Percival. Please!”
Percival was lost for words, flabbergasted by the old man’s behaviour. “Fine. I’ll try, but you must get off the floor and wait for me to fetch one of the others after I fail. I fear something has come over you, old man.”
The old man nodded enthusiastically, and Percival raised his hands, hoping to finish this newest attempt quickly so that he could go inside and find some real help.
“Here goes…”
Out of habit, he tried to cast [Ease Pain] the same way he always tried. He reached out to Sol, but then he remembered the old man’s request. Percival reached not outward, but inward, and felt something… different.
There, in his heart, he felt a connection to… he didn’t know what. The world? Life? The very idea of goodness itself? Whatever it was, it just felt right, and he soon realized it was the same feeling he felt whenever he prepared food for others, or read to the children, or visited the sick, or any of the other thousand things he’d done for no reason other than that it was the right thing to do.
Whatever it was that gave off that feeling, he realized it was all around him, suffusing the air itself. He wondered what it was, and the name came to his mind unbidden, eager to reveal itself to him.
Divinity.
What he did next, he did on instinct. Easy as breathing, he moved the divinity in his heart and spoke the words of his truest desire.
Percival looked to the feeble form of the pained old man still kneeling on the floor before him. “Make this man well,” he humbly asked, and the divinity in the air answered his call.
Vines of golden light grew from Percival’s hands and wrapped around the old man, lifting him into the air like the embrace of a mother. Within seconds, he became whole. The grey clouds over his eyes disappeared, revealing brilliant orbs of sky blue. Color returned to his pallid flesh as blood flowed heartily through his veins. His yellowed teeth brightened. His grey tangle of twisted, split, and greasy hair was smoothed into a silver mane. His skin was cleared of grime, his faded scars disappearing completely.
The vines of light began to fade and Percival knew his spell was about to end, but he sensed that his work was not yet done. It was nothing physical, but he had an inkling that there was something there that shouldn’t be, something alien clinging to the man’s soul, holding him down like a weight.
“Make this man well,” Percival commanded, putting more of himself behind the words. “Free his soul!”
Again, the divinity answered. A spear of light shot from Percival’s palm, impaling the old man through the heart. For an instant, Percival wondered if he’d made a grave mistake, but then he noticed that the spear drew no blood. Rather than pained, the old man appeared invigorated by the spear in his chest.
The weight on the man’s soul shattered beneath the power of the spear, and the man was free.
The old man landed lightly on the floor, set down gently by the fading golden light. Percival hadn’t noticed when it happened, but the old man’s rags were rags no more. Their stains removed, their tears mended, the grey-brown rags had transformed into an archaic set of a warrior’s cloth armor.
Such armor hadn’t been widely used for millennia, but Brother Percival recognized the garb immediately. It was the same armor commonly worn by warriors of the church, but only in those innumerable pieces of religious art that depicted the early centuries of the Solarian’s eternal struggle against the Daemons.
…So why was the old man wearing them?
“AAAAAAH!”
Before Percival could ponder further, his concentration was broken by a chorus of old men’s screams coming from within the abbey. He tried to throw open the door and rush in to see what was the matter, but the renewed old man held him back with a hand on the shoulder.
“What are you doing? I need to see what’s wrong. Someone could be hurt!”
“There’s nothing you can do. Extend your senses, as I have done, and you’ll see the truth of my words for yourself.”
The screaming continued, and Percival tried to pull free of the old man’s grasp, but his grip was iron.
“Please let go! I need to go inside and—“
“SEE!” The old man commanded, and the word reverberated within the monk’s very soul. Percival’s eyes went wide, and for an instant, he could see everything around him for miles. It wasn’t a bird’s eye view, but an omniscient flood of information. Bakers, fishers, husbands, wives, children, stray animals, rats, clouds, grains of dust… He was everywhere, a thousand times a thousand points of view revealing every single detail of—
“SEE!” The old man commanded once more, and Percival’s vision narrowed to include only himself and the abbey. He saw the children rising blearily from bed, frightened by the screams. He saw his fellow Brothers trying to calm the children down. He saw himself, and realized he’d forgotten to breathe.
Most notably, he saw the Abbey’s priests — consisting of the Fathers and even the Abbess himself — all clawing at their eyes and letting loose bloodcurdling screams of torment. Worst of all, he saw why they were pained.
Divinity bled from their hearts, exploding out from them like animals freed from their cages. Some of the newer [Priests of Sol] were unconscious, their meager divinity already bled dry. The voids left behind in their hearts made Percival’s face twist in disgust, for he knew intuitively from the shape of those voids that the divinity they once held had been forced there. Whatever monster had stuffed the divinity into the Fathers’ hearts had done so carelessly, shoving the untamable power where it did not belong, and now, the Fathers were paying the price.
There was nothing Percival could do to help the Fathers short of forcing the divinity back in, but even the thought of doing so disgusted him beyond all reason. The divinity felt alive. To coerce it into obeying one to whom it did not love was anathema. It would be slavery.
Then Percival paled, for he knew exactly what monster had done this. He knew which slaver was responsible for the Fathers’ current pain. He knew who the villain was, and the knowledge pained him, for the villain was his god.
“Sol did this…” Percival whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. “My whole life has been a lie.”
“It has not,” the old man said. “Only your god was a lie. The rest of your kindness, it was all true. If you seek proof for my words, simply ask the freed divinity that has found its home in your heart.”
“Who are you?” Percival demanded, throwing the old man’s hand off his shoulder. He turned to face him dead in the eye. “Did you do this?”
“Percival, I think the more relevant question to ask would be, ‘Who are you?’ You are no longer a simple monk.”
“Answer me first, old man!”
In response to Percival’s fiery words, the old man smiled. “Very well then. Allow me to answer.”He squared his shoulders, as if preparing to recite a well rehearsed speech.
“I am an old man. I was cursed by Sol to forever walk the earth, immortal and suffering, incapable of sharing the horrible truth of the sun god’s hypocrisy… But the fact that I now speak of my curse proves to me that by your hand, I am cursed no longer.
“I am a traitor. I was once a sworn brother to a Daemon, and no less than a [Daemon Autarch] at that! When presented with the choice of following the blinding radiance of my god or following the ideals with which that god claimed to rule, I chose the ideals, and was labeled a heretic.
“I am a lie. Though I was excommunicated — cursed as a traitor, incapable of even speaking my own name — I was called a paragon of the church. I was forced to stay silent as my own name — that very name which I could not speak — was used to praise the god I hated. Though I was apostate, I was called apostle.
“I am a legend. Of the four fundamental trees of power available to us mortals, I was master of two and initiate to a third. A wielder of life and soul, I was a [Liege] that led from the front, charging bravely into any fray, the souls of my men weighing heavily on my own. A novice of divinity, I was a paladin that imbued the light of the sun into my blade.
“And once again, I tell you that I am an old man. Fifty-eight hundred years I have roamed Terra, and I am tired. I’d like to visit my oldest friend, Thanatos the First, wherever in the afterlife he lies. First, however, I need to make sure the world doesn’t go to shit now that I have the power to do something about it.”
Here, the old man paused in his words, shooting the dumbstruck Percival a meaningful look. “Better yet, I could train a young man of pure heart to guide the world while I retire.
“Who am I, young Percival? I am nothing but a pompous old fogey who’s rehearsed this speech in his head for thousands of years, dreaming of the day he could finally speak the words! As for my name…”
The old man swept into a bow, his ancient robes billowing out behind him heroically. He raised himself, standing straight, and met Percival’s eyes with his own. He seemed taller now, somehow.
“I am Gregory Kingsblood II, first and former [Champion of Sol]… But to you, young Percival, I am [Kingmaker], for I shall make you [King]!”