It’s a brisk morning, enough that he can see his own breath, but Oren doesn’t really feel it. The cold barely affects him these days. Sitting there on a stump next to a crackling campfire, he spoons some breakfast stew into his mouth. Not fresh, unfortunately, but still only a day old. In fact, the only reason it’s ‘breakfast stew’ is because of the time of day… after all, it’s the exact same thing he ate for dinner last night.
The stump he’s sitting on is one of many and the clearing he’s sitting in is man-made, with a whole bunch of freshly cut down trees off to the side, ready to be processed. The tentative plan for the day is to start by getting rid of all the stumps in the clearing. Then, he can begin turning the trees into logs and start working on making those logs into an actual livable cabin. Back breaking work, but Oren feels well equipped for hard labor at the very least.
… Admittedly, he’s far less confident in the rest. He has zero skill in construction after all, and barely any idea what he’s doing. But at this point, Oren has all the time in the world to make something work, doesn’t he? Even if his first attempt fails, he’ll just take whatever he learns from it and apply it to the next. And he’ll keep doing that until he succeeds.
Alas, the best laid plans of mice and men… just as Oren is slurping the rest of the stew out of his bowl, he pauses and tips his head to the side as he hears something… or rather multiple somethings, crashing through the underbrush. Eyes narrowing, he sets aside the bowl and rises to his feet, hand coming down to rest on the pommel of the sword sheathed at his waist.
Tensing up, he listens closely, hoping that their trajectory will take them past him without Oren ever having to lay eyes on any of them … but it’s not to be. The sounds get louder until they’re practically right on top of him. Finally, coming out of the trees like she’s being chased by a dozen baying hounds is a woman. A very beautiful, entirely too clean woman.
One might be fooled into mistaking her as nobility at first. Maybe even a Princess. She was, after all, wearing a tiara atop her pristine brow. On top of that, she had dangling gemstone earrings, and a matching gemstone necklace, each of them set with a beautiful blue sapphire that almost seems to glow in the morning light.
The necklace dips towards the valley of her bust, which is in turn clad in a gorgeous white dress that’s frankly out of this world… and certainly ill-suited for traipsing through the woods. But then, the heeled sandals she’s wearing don’t seem like they should have served her much better.
It was probably enough to make most wonder how the hell she had stayed ahead of her pursuers for any length of time, dressed like she is. But Oren knew better. One look at her and he knew her for what she really was. Not a noblewoman. Not a Princess either. But rather… a Goddess. She was too beautiful to be mortal. Too clean to be human. Too… pristine to be anything but divine. And that wasn’t Oren waxing poetic or being hyperbolic with his prose either. She was literally too perfect to be anything else but a deity.
Upon seeing him, her gorgeous blue eyes, the same color as her sapphire jewelry, go wide in hope and relief.
“Please! Sir, p-please! I’m being chased! You have to help me!”
She rushes forward, causing Oren to tense up in anticipation of a trick… but no. He senses no aggression or hostility in her stance. Deception, certainly. But she’s not going to attack him. She doesn’t exactly give off the impression of a fighter in the first place. Nor that of an assassin.
Unfortunately, the sound of multiple people crashing through the woods in his direction has not ceased with the goddess’ arrival. In fact, it’s only gotten louder. Jaw clenching, Oren stands tall, shoulders squared as the goddess takes his silence as permission to get behind him and cower at his back.
Her pursuers arrive a moment later in spectacular fashion. They come out of the woods clad in much more fitting attire for the wilderness, moving forward rather cautiously. Clad in a mixture of leather armor reinforced with metal plates, wielding swords and crossbows and pikes, they pause at the sight of him, but their eyes light up when they see their quarry just over his shoulder. The most equipped of the lot barely hesitates to step forward, spreading his arms wide and smiling smarmily.
“We have no quarrel with you stranger! All we want is the goddess at your back! Been chasing her for weeks now! Killed half of my men in that time, she did. She’s all out of power at this point though. Easy pickings… might even let you share some of the reward if you play nice!”
Silence falls over the clearing, one of anticipation and excitement. The band of men wait for him to step aside and hand her over. The goddess at his back is clearly anticipating him doing the same given he can all but feel her preparing to turn and flee once more.
The leader of the ragtag group in front of Oren is lying though, at least partially. She didn’t kill anyone… Oren can tell she’s not capable of it. But he’s not lying about all of it. She likely did lead them on quite the merry chase… and yes, she is out of power, her divinity feeling faint at best by now. They’d dogged her heels long enough to drain her and kept at it frequently enough that she couldn’t rest to recharge.
God Hunters. That’s what they are, one and all. Not just simple bandits. Not just brigands or even adventurers. Oh, they’ll turn towards banditry or the plundering of ancient ruins at the drop of a hat if the opportunity presents itself, of course. But their primary purpose, their foremost drive… is hunting down gods and goddesses like the one standing behind him.
Oren should just let them have her. He shouldn’t interfere, even if they don’t share the reward with him. And yet… and yet…
“No.”
His response, hotly anticipated by everyone else in the clearing, takes them all by surprise. The smile drops off of the leader’s face and is quickly replaced by a dark sneer.
“No? Don’t tell me you’re still clinging to some misplaced faith in the Gods after all this time. The Age of Gods is over, friend! Now is the Age of Man! And old relics like that pretty thing cowering behind you have no place in this Age. None whatsoever.”
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Oren snorts derisively. Age of Man… not yet. No, while the Age of Gods was indeed over, things didn’t just turn over quite that fast. They were still very much in a transitionary period right now. Perhaps they would reach the Age of Man one day, but given everything Oren had witnessed so far, all the destruction and death and mayhem… it was far more accurate to call this the Age of Chaos than anything else.
He wasn’t going to bother saying all of that to these idiots though. Wasn’t worth the breath. Even delivering a warning was barely worth the breath, though he’d do so anyways. His hand on the pommel of his sword tightens, and with a sharp tug he pulls it an inch out of the sheath, revealing the part of the blade as it glints in the early morning sunlight.
“I’m not a believer, no. Just an irritated man who’s had his breakfast ruined by some miscreants. Consider this your one and only warning. Turn around and leave empty-handed… or I’ll kill you all.”
There’s a pause at that, even as his threatening words hang in the air. Alas, his warning falls on deaf ears. After a moment, the God Hunters break into laughter, starting with their leader and traveling through the entire group.
“Bahahaha! Good one! We’ll be sure to tell the others how confident you were when we regale them with this story at the tavern later tonight! Kill him!”
Oren’s jaw clenches and he tenses up, drawing his sword the rest of the way out of its sheathe even as the God Hunters all begin moving forward as one. He isn’t surprised. Getting involved… this was only ever going to end one way.
Nor is he all that surprised when he hears the shifting feet of the Goddess behind him, the telltale sign that she’s turning to run and use his impending demise to give herself a bit more of a head start on her would-be hunters. Not surprised… but maybe just a little disappointed.
No matter. It is what it is.
-x-X-x-
Sophia isn’t sure what makes her stop. Every thought in her mind screams that she should be running. The man she’d come upon while fleeing her hunters with nothing but the dregs of her divinity left to her was… not much to look at. Handsome, certainly, with the scruffy look of a woodsman to him. And judging by the stumps and the trees stacked high on one side of the man-made clearing, he was a hard worker as well.
But the hides covering his body, while clearly gained through skill and talent, did not make for exceptionally good armor. And the sword, even once he drew it, was nothing special either.
Ultimately, the God Hunters who aimed to take her head and sell it for coin were going to hew right through him. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Sophia should have used the handful of seconds his grisly death would buy her to start running again, for as long as she still could run. She even half-turns to start fleeing again, but winds up taking not a single step.
Instead… instead something makes her freeze up and watch as the first of the God Hunters reaches her would-be protector. Something makes her stop in her tracks and bear witness to what is sure to be a one-sided massacre.
…
Well, it’s certainly a one-sided massacre… just not in the way she’s expecting.
“What?! He killed Edvard in a single blow!”
“Idiots! Take him down together, you think that sword of his is just for show! Clearly he has training!”
“Righ-urk!”
“Gack!”
“Hulghk-!”
Ducking, dodging, and sidestepping attack after attack, the scruffy stranger moves with exactiny precision and a capacity for extreme violence the likes of which Sophia has never seen in a mortal man. His sword might not be anything special, but it’s more than adequate enough for this purpose given how it always seems to find another exploitable weak point in his enemies’ defenses.
Heads fly, bodies crumple, and soon the clearing is filled with corpses and blood… until finally, there’s just the one God Hunter left. The leader, who it seemed was more inclined to lead from the back given he was still hale and whole.
“W-Wait! You don’t have to-urk!”
The sword, covered in red already by this point, goes right through the front of the last standing God Hunter’s throat and out the back. Hissing, the scruffy stranger shakes his head as he yanks it back a moment after delivering the lethal blow.
“Gave you a chance. Warned you.”
No one among her hunters is left to answer him. He’s slew them all. Sophia stands frozen, staring in disbelief, as he looks around himself for a moment before sighing. Then he turns in the direction of his supplies only to pause when he sees her still standing there. His surprise is evident from the hitch in his step and the slight widening of his eyes, but he doesn’t stop moving.
Walking over to his things, he pulls out a piece of cloth and begins wiping down his bloodied blade. Only then does he finally acknowledge her again.
“Thought you’d run. You probably should have while you still had the chance.”
Sophia blushes a little bit at his blunt way of speaking. And she also blushes a little bit because… well, he was right wasn’t he? Still, she wasn’t about to just admit as much. Instead, the Goddess straightens her back and squares her shoulders, letting her gloved hands come together beneath her bust as she tells a little white lie.
“I saw no reason to flee. I know a capable warrior when I see one, and I knew you would have the situation well in hand.”
He gives her a look at that, one that makes Sophia flush all the harder. It’s obvious he sees right through her… and yet, he doesn’t call her out on it. She’s not sure whether that’s a relief or a frustration truth be told. Still, her head is swimming with questions. Most importantly of all…
“You said before you weren’t a believer. If you do not hold faith with the Gods, why did you defend me?”
The man pauses in his cleaning at that question, looking up at her for a long moment assessingly. When he finally responds, however, his words are no answer at all. In fact, he answers her question with another question.
“I’m sick and tired of calling you ‘that goddess’ in my head so let’s get introductions out of the way now. The name’s Oren. You are?”
Sophia blinks and then tries not to wilt a little at the mortal failing to recognize her. But then to be fair… she was only a minor goddess, so it wasn’t that surprising. Still…
“O-Of course. Introductions… I am Lady Sophia, Minor Goddess of Wisdom and Equity. Daughter of Law, King of the Gods and God of Justice and Righteousness.”
And then, because she feels a desperate need to impress this man at least a little bit, Sophia draws herself up even further.
“I witnessed the God Killer rampage through the Heavens firsthand. I spat in his eye to escape his thirsty blade as he made his way to fight my father. I and I alone survive where all others have fallen. You stand before the last Goddess of Heaven, mortal. And you have done me a great boon this day, one worthy of significant reward.”
There, that should add some gravitas to the situation, right? And the emphasis she’d put on ‘significant reward’ would surely catch his attention. Indeed, the mortal was already looking appropriately gobsmacked and in awe of her! Finally, progress!
-x-X-x-
Oren stares at Sophia blankly, unable to muster a response in the face of what she’s just said. Not because he’s in awe of her or anything like that… but rather because he doesn’t quite remember events happening the way she claimed. And he should be able to. He really, really should. After all, he was there that day, in the Heavens, when the God Killer stormed the place.
He was there when Law died, the King of the Gods slain at the hands of the God Killer. He watched it happen… no, truth be told, he MADE it happen.
Oren should know whether Sophia’s version of events was accurate or not. Whether she actually faced down the God Killer and spat in his eye before escaping his ‘thirsty’ blade.
After all… Oren WAS the God Killer.