“Where did you find this?,” he asked, looking down at the corpse.

There wasn’t much left of the body. He barely recognized it as elven, not that he had known the elf’s name. But it had been one of his commands, a member of his Clan, and it was now dead. That would not do. That was a stain on Hoskia Silver Bark’s honor. Such a thing could not stand.

The body was dried up, withered, drained of blood, muscle, organs and even some of the bone marrow. It was just skin over frail bones. Even the color was gone from the flesh, the hair thin and falling out.

Hoskia didn’t know what could do such a thing and he would not ask. That was a sign of weakness and he would not show it. Back on Tirna, showing such weakness would be an opening his rivals could exploit. Here on this newly Connected world, Earth as it was called by its weak people, there was no one that was his rival. He was the Elder in charge of the Expedition. No one was ranked higher and no one could question his commands or actions.

There was something freeing about that but Hoskia had lived for centuries in the politics of the main branch of the Silver Bark Clan. It was all he knew and it was not easy to let go.

And it wasn’t like there weren’t spies in his Expedition, put there by his brothers and cousins. They wouldn’t hesitate to report back on his weaknesses when they finally were allowed back home. He had already identified two spies and was working on a way to eliminate them.

“The scouts found it near the Crone Dungeon,” Terrial Barkcrown answered even though he was not the scout that had found the body or the one that the question had been directed at.

With the disgrace of Elora Seedspear, Terrial was the highest Ranked scout in the Expedition. He was trying to increase his status, trying to show his importance. It was a clumsy and obvious attempt. But what else could be expected of someone from such a low ranked family in the Clan?

The Seedspear woman would never have been so clumsy. She knew her place.

Terrial’s words rankled Hoskia. He had to force himself to remain calm. The words reminded Hoskia, and everyone standing around them, of two big failures in the expedition. It was expected that the low Leveled members of the expedition would die. Newly Connected Worlds were dangerous, and not just because of the Level Cap, and securing a foothold on such worlds would require the sacrifice of many of the low Ranked and Leveled Clanmembers.

No one could fault Hoskia for those deaths. No one could really fault him for the death at his feet. That the scout had died from unknown means, that was what people could find fault with Hoskia for. All threats within a day of the Expedition’s camp should have been identified by now. Anything that could be dealt with would have been and anything stronger would be under watch. So what had killed the elf?

An unknown this close to the Camp was a reflection on Hoskia’s leadership. That it had happened by the Crone Dungeon was another reflection, and a bad one. Hoskia had been the one to order the Crone’s out into the wilds. One of them had been lost, somehow turned into a Dungeon. Under Hoskia’s watch.

One of their scouts, an experienced Deep Ranger, had been lost. At first no one had been sure of her status. Had she died or trapped somewhere and couldn’t respond. Those would have been acceptable. But then she had been spotted in the nearby human Clanhold. The same humans she had been tasked with watching. It had been obvious she wasn’t a prisoner. She held a weapon, had been seen fighting alongside them and even showed respect and deference to the human’s leader.

That was unacceptable.

Elora came from a low ranked family and she had not even been at Level Twenty-Five before coming to the newly Connected World. But she had been an experienced Deep Ranger, owner of an Uncommon Class. A lot of time and Resources had been put into her development. It had even been thought she might Advance past the limits of her family and ascend to a higher ranked family.

But she had turned traitor. She had quit the Clan. Something that was unthinkable.

Hoskia cursed, silently, his face still impassive. Nothing in the Expedition had gone right. What should have been simple, something the Silver Bark had done hundreds of times before, was anything but. There were even three other Expeditions on other Connected Worlds occurring at the same time with other members of the Silver Bark main family in command. Expeditions were seen as a chance for promising members of the family to rise up, make a name for themselves, increase their personal power and their leadership skills. It was a chance to gain Resources for the Clan with the end goal of the Expedition becoming a settlement with that family member in charge.

This was his first time leading an Expedition but he had been on multiple ones before at different Levels of leadership and rank in the Expedition. His family name, and that he was a member of the Silver Bark main family, a direct descendent of the current ruling Overjarl, meant that no matter what assignment he’d been given, it had been one of prestige and some level of leadership. He had excelled at everything set before him.

This Expedition was to have been his crowning achievement, the assignment that gave his life direction and meaning. Even after living for hundreds of years, many battles and reaching Level Forty, he was still only one of dozens of Silver Bark main family members. It was hard to truly stand out in a crowd like that. This had been his chance.

And fate seemed to want to take it from him.

Hoskia wanted to unleash his power. Capped at Level Twenty-Five, almost half his true strength, he was severely weakened but still one of the strongest in the Expedition. But he was the leader, a Silver Bark, he couldn’t head off into the wilds and fight beasts.

As much as he wanted to, it just was not done.

“Where is the other scout?,” Hoskia asked, glancing not at Terrial but the other Clanmember, the one that was part of the team that had found the dried up husk that had once been an elf.

“We didn’t not find him Elder,” the man said, bowing his head, not meeting Hoskia’s eyes.

“It is not known if Yoren Cloudstar is alive or dead,” Terrial said, stating the obvious.

Hoskia ignored the man. He turned to look over his shoulder, a quick glance that gave a command. There was a line of people standing about ten feet back. A variety of Classes. Some were Hoskia’s Bannermen, others were high ranking members of the Clan and Expedition. How many of those were spies? Not the Bannermen obviously, as their oaths prevented any form of betrayal. Hoskia knew the men did not follow him because of loyalty. They had taken the oaths out of duty, not choice. A Silver Bark of his standing needed Bannermen and the Clan Elders had chosen them for him.

But the others? There was a spy or two hidden among their ranks. But they would be the obvious spies. There would be others hidden in the lower ranks and commoners of the Expedition. That might be something he could assign Coris Copperbark to. Not a typical Bannerman, who were usually chosen for their martial prowess and strength, Coris was a Rogue. The man lived in the Shadow Realm. Not just an assassin, but a thief and a spy. What better way to root out spies than with another spy?

Hoskia would remember to give that order later, now he had to concentrate on the dead body they had found and what it meant.

The elf that Hoskia had glanced at, given the unspoken command to, stepped forward. Tall and skinny like all elves, this one wore deep brown robes lined with gray runes along the hems. The fabric of the robes was light, not showing any wear and tear from living in the rough camp of the Expedition. It didn’t even move in the constant wind of the newly Connected World. There was a light shine to it as the folds caught the sunlight. The man pulled the hood back, revealing long copper colored hair and skin the color of bark. Bright green eyes moved past Hoskia to the body.

Hoskia knew the man had already been studying the body, as was expected, and had a report ready, as was expected, and was just waiting for Hoskia’s command to give it, as was expected. But before giving that report, he would strive to learn more. Like all others, he lived to serve the Silver Bark and knew that meant going above and beyond what the Elders expected.

Loric Greenspire had a Rare Class, a form of Shaman called Ghostweaver, and was also capped at Level Twenty-Five. Hoskia didn’t know the man’s true Level and it didn’t matter. With Evaluate, Hoskia knew he was still higher Leveled.

Everyone above Level Twenty-Five was capped when they crossed over to the new world, but there were still ways to tell the original strength difference. The scholars measured it in degrees. Slight variations in how Evaluate made strength feel to each other. It was small, but noticeable if one knew what to feel for.

Loric stepped up next to Hoskia, his eyes glowing a faint green. He looked at his leader, who nodded. Loric stepped closer, crouching down next to the corpse. He held a hand over it, palm down, a ring on each finger, a glittering jewel encrusted golden bracelet sliding down his wrist. The hand started to glow green to match the eyes. He moved it slowly over the body. Hoskia could feel Spirit gathering, following the flow of Loric’s hand. Traces of the Spirit were left behind forming a pattern as the Ghostweavers hand moved across the body. The glow disappeared, the traces of Spirit fading, as Loric stood. He turned to face Hoskia.

“There are few traces of Brinit’s soul remaining,” Loric started. Hoskia nodded, now remembering the scout’s name. Brinit Chillgrass. Had he been a Deep Ranger Class or Swift Scout? Not that it mattered anymore. “His soul was forcibly taken. But what remained spoke of a hunger. An unrelenting force that took all that Brinit had. His strength, muscles, bones, blood and even soul. Everything.”

Loric’s body gave a shudder. He closed his eyes, forcing the memory away. It was like that for a Ghostweaver when they communed with a soul. They felt some of what the soul had upon death.

A quiet gasp of surprise went through the crowd gathered around them. Sons and daughters of high ranking Clan families who had paid to have their scions attached to the Expeditions in hopes of gathering Resources but more importantly Prestige for their families. Most of these were useless, had never seen true fighting outside of escorted Dungeon runs. They were all high Leveled but had those Levels practically handed to them.

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Not that Hoskia hadn’t enjoyed some escorted Leveling in his early days.

But these were no Silver Bark. They were on the low end of the High Ranking families, a couple even mid-Rank that had used all their accumulated wealth, as meager as it had been, to buy this opportunity for their scions in hopes of getting something that would elevate them a couple of spots in the ladder. Most would see their dreams dashed, but for those families the only choice was to gamble.

There were few things in the Connection that could do what Loric had described. It was what many, Hoskia included, had already suspected but hadn’t voiced yet. It was the use of the word hunger.

Hoskia turned his glare on the elves around him. The whispering and talking died as quickly as it had started.

“Are you sure?,” he asked Loric.

“Yes Elder,” the other answered, using the honorific. It had nothing to do with age, as Loric was older than Hoskia, but was about rank in the Clan. Before the Expedition, Hoskia had not been an elder, but he was now. As it should be. “There can be no doubt. I have not felt the pull of hunger myself but there are numerous Codex descriptions.”

Hoskia bit back a growl of frustration.

This Expedition was proving to be unlike any others.

First there was the Crone, followed by Elora’s desertion. Even the appearance of those strange creatures created by the Concept of Death. Now this.

The Concept of Hunger had made an unexpected appearance.

There was a Wendigo in the forest.

***

Thor smiled as he drank from the wooden goblet. It was a simple cup, roughly carved, a thin band of metal along the top. Nothing fancy, just like his hall. Even the throne he sat upon was a simple chair of wood draped in furs.

Just the way he was starting to like it. Thor was getting into his role. He was glad that the Norse Pantheon had been chosen for the avatars of the Divine Beings on this new world.

The one standing before him was not as glad.

The Dawnmother, the Concept of Life, now being called Freyja glared at him. In all the avatars that she had, there was always an air of opulence to her. Freyja liked the finer things. She liked surrounding herself with beauty and riches, along with devoted followers. Thor had always wondered why. Had it been an affection from her time before she became a Divine Being? They were Beings that could have anything and be anything, as long as they stayed true to their Concept.

For one newly Connected World, Thor had adopted the form of a tornado. He smiled again, thinking of the destruction and rebirth he’d brought to that world. The Storm was destruction, but it also was rebirth from hardship. The Storm was tempering, forging the weak into the strong to face the adversity of what he brought upon them.

Thor held no worries about who or what he was. He didn’t try to hide it. Which is one reason he liked this new viking persona. He could be completely true to himself.

That was the problem they encountered sometimes when adopting a mythological persona. There was belief that came with those and that could be a powerful thing. There was an influence in belief, the Spirit of the world acting upon that influence. The longer the forms were held, the stronger that belief could become.

He thought of the other avatars he had scattered across the Connection. Over a hundred by this point, all of them having some unique characteristics based on the world. Just like how a storm was varied, so were his avatars. Some were barely him anymore.

Did he even know who he was anymore?

It had been so long since he’d ascended to become a Divine Being.

Thor set the goblet down on the arm of his chair, leaning forward to return Freyja’s glare. This was not the time for idle thoughts, not when he was in a battle with the second strongest Concept in the Connected System. If this was a battle of swords, Thor had no doubt he could hold his own and possibly even win. But this was a battle in Freyja’s arena. One with words, politics, double talk. An arena he was not suited for.

He was the Storm. He was direct, letting nothing stop him.

For beings at their Levels, the ideas of good and evil had no place. They were Concepts, neither good or bad. They just were.

Even Life. Many would think that to be considered Good, but it wasn’t. Life was the ultimate neutrality and in many ways the ultimate expression of selfishness. Wasn’t the point of Life to continue to grow, to hold back death, by any means? The many Adapted of the Connection strived to keep their lives. They fought to hold death back. Sometimes it was for the many, but most times it was for the few. Their loved ones or even themselves. Life fought to continue to be alive. It evolved to grow stronger so it could exist longer.

Every being, no matter how strong, in the entire Universe, not just the Connected Worlds, wanted to live and would fight to live. No one, not even Divine Beings, wanted to die.

Life was not benevolent. Life could be cruel and harsh. It could be as unrelenting as any storm.

The Concept of Life scared the Concept of the Storm.

He didn’t like that.

He didn’t let it show as he glared at her but Thor wondered why he had agreed to this insane scheme with the Trickster. Loki was of course not there. Why would they be? This whole thing had been the Trickster’s idea and of course they were not the ones that would take the blame for it, or the ones that faced Freyja’s wrath.

“You are interfering too much,” Freyja said.

“How so?,” Thor asked, even though he knew the answers.

He had to keep his face calm, to not betray anything. Thor kept reminding himself that he wasn’t directly involved in anything. His hand had been involved in the beginning but now he was not directly interfering. It was a technicality, he knew, but that was what his kind dealt in. They all had plots and plans that broke some of the rules. It was when they got caught that there were issues, which is why all the Divine Beings lived on technicalities. The loopholes that let them bend the rules.

“A Natural Resource of that strength should not have appeared so soon,” Freyja explained. “Not without help.”

“You are spending a lot of time watching my Chosen,” Thor said, leaning back in his chair, taking up the goblet again, using it to block most of his expression.

The drawback of using human bodies, he sighed, was how expressive they were.

Freyja’s glare turned icy.

“You even took his wife to be one of yours,” Thor added. “That seems to be interfering.”

Freyja’s full expression didn’t change, but he saw a tightening around her eyes. Thor thought her avatar to be beautiful, judging by the standards of this world’s people. It had been so long since he’d been Adapted, he wasn’t even sure what his original race had been. Some form of human, maybe even an elf. He couldn’t remember. That was the problem with changing appearances so much through the centuries.

While she was beautiful, there was a harshness to Freyja’s features. The soft glow she emitted was also a bit much. But it all fit the Goddess persona she was cultivating, even if it didn’t truly fit the Freyja of Norse myth.

He was surprised that he’d caught her with a verbal jab. Thor wasn’t the smartest of the Divine Beings. His power was in strength, not wiles. But he knew that Freyja had overstepped and it was time to push back.

Maybe he could even get something out of it.

“Breaking up a family unit by taking the wife? Was she even given a choice on going to the Proving Ground you had set up?,” Thor asked, leaning forward, smiling, keeping his voice calm and conversational. It wouldn’t do to appear too threatening or confrontational. Just two equals talking. “How do any of them get there? Were any of them given a choice?”

Each of the Divine Beings, when they chose to become involved in a newly Connected World, had the opportunity to create a Proving Ground. It was a place where the prospective Chosen would be sent to do just what it was named. They would prove themselves worthy of being a Chosen of the Patrons. They would fight and show their strength.

Not every Divine Being used a Proving Ground. Freyja normally didn’t. And for those that did, it was odd to use one so early in the Connection. Thor knew why she had, and it had to do with the wife of his Chosen. Marking her as a potential Valkyrie, one of Freyja’s Chosen, was the only way to separate her from her family without her dying in the Adaptation and being fed to the Worldcore. And why did Freyja want Kelly Brady? Because of what Thor and Loki had done. She had no proof, or if she did she couldn’t prove it, so she was trying to get Thor to admit it.

He might not have been the smartest Divine Being, but even he wasn’t that dumb.

People thought that the Divine Beings were all intelligent and wise, having grown with the years into geniuses. That wasn’t true. Some of the Divine Beings were little more than animals, feral in their thoughts, following base instincts. Others were geniuses, like the Concept Of Knowledge. But age didn’t breed wisdom. It bred boredom.

And Identity was everything to the Divine Beings. Their outer forms could change but their core remained the same.

Freyja smiled at him. She looked almost proud. She had not expected this of him. Negotiation was not his strength. He preferred to take what he wanted, not use words to compromise. And in this negotiation, they had to dance with their words, not coming right out and saying what both wanted.

“You are right,” she said with a nod. “I may have overstepped but I’m sure there is a way to provide balance.”

Kelly Brady was Freyja’s play to learn more of what had been done. She knew that the Storm and the Trickster, maybe some others, had done something to this newly Connected World and that it was focused on Lochlan Brady. Kelly Brady was her key to learn more, and maybe force her way into their plans. Thor wasn’t sure how she had learned, but he had his suspicions.

Most likely it was the Trickster, playing both sides and hedging their bets. The Trickster had been the one to spur the Concept Of Death into taking an active role in the world and giving Death access to a portal to bring those Gaunts into the world. Lochlan had defeated them in his Clan territory but there were pockets scattered across the world. Had that been something the Trickster had anticipated or something they had lost control of? Thor knew he would never know. The Trickster always had plans within plans and sometimes just did things to watch a world burn.

And it had led to Thor’s Chosen getting a Portal Stone far sooner than should have ever been possible. Thor wondered if that had been the end goal of Loki’s plan for Death’s involvement. Not Death’s plan, but Thor could see it going both ways, being what Loki had wanted and being a bonus from the events with the gaunts.

Those pockets of gaunts would grow to become larger issues in time. Thor wouldn’t do anything about them. They would prove to be a place to temper the steel of his chosen or others on the world. That was how they would grow and Advance. The Storm was relentless, eventually destroying everything in its way. Those that followed the Storm were the same.

Even if they didn’t realize it.

Even Lochlan Brady. The Storm would prod him as he could, temper the man into the steel that would be relentless in his drive to protect those he loved and led. Nothing would stand in the way of those goals.

But like any storm, it would come to an end, leaving destruction in its wake, paving the way for rebirth. For Lochlan Brady, it would not be destruction he left behind but growth and community, a growing Clan that Thor hoped would be equal to any in the wide Connection.

But Lochlan had an advantage that no one in the entire Connected Systems did. Not even the Divine Beings.

Loch was unique. He was Unfettered.