Ren pretended to be a cultist. They were fooled. Ren began to kill the others in their sleep, one by one; he would need to finish this phase before it was time for the patrols and watches to switch shifts. It was just after a shift change, at night - Ren had pretended to sleep, and while the defenses had been upped, they forgot that the biggest threats come from within. A cruel, psychotic smile tore across Ren's face, madness evident.
"So-so-so much ex-ex-perience, sleeping un-aware~ They don't, don't realise, this is really my lair~" he whispered with a sing song voice, eyes gleaming. It was obvious that, to him, these weren't people being mind controlled, to him they were crops of experience, sewn, now ready to be harvested.
A knife in his hand began dancing across cultists throats, defenceless, sleeping. They bled and their eyes were incandescent with fear, horror, terror. Preachers were murdered, cultists cut, the unsuspecting things, slaughtered by a mare of the night. One may ask: "How did Ren go insane?" But the truth is, that he was always that-a-way.
He was always different than the others. While some lusted for gold, girls and glory, bronze, boys and beauty, he lusted after power. Desired death of those who stood in his way.
While some r*ped and robbed, he searched and inquired. He asked the dead and spirits. He questioned the questionably knowledgeable. He scanned and surveyed, but the answer eventually came to him. He did not know the name of his Patron. That was fine, it didn't change the agreement. The agreement was what he had been seeking his entire life. Give and give. Take and take. Knowledge for favours. Power for murder. Complete the quests, become the best and win. If there was something that defined Ren, it was that he played the long game. He didn't mind losing, as long as it was eventually he that came out on top. Where did that 24 experience come from, in the first place? Death and murder, obviously. But his Patron was defined by something else. The Being did not win in the end, nor in the beginning. The Being won everything.
No matter the losses, the Being would win. Every. Single. Time.
These thoughts wizzed through Ren and his Patron. But if they had something in common, it would be... Difference. They were different from all others of their kind, seeking what wouldn't normally be sought after. Power. Victory. Opposition. Some may think, But why opposition? But it is quite clear, at least to them.
Without opposition, they would grow stagnant. So why kill all opposition? It's opposition, that's why.
Ren levelled. After a mere few minutes, he had caused a massacre. A distant thought came to his mind, one that did not belong in this world, extraterrestrial inspiration, of a song that never should be. And so, he began humming its time. His Patron recognised the song. He was, after all, the one who planted it into their only disciple's head.
Killed 222 Cultists (Faceless). Gained 7,918 experience. Killed 7 Preachers (Faceless). Gained 1,544 experience. Total experience: 9,462.
Level Up! (X3) You are now Level 6! You have gained +9 Charisma, +9 Willpower, +3 Strength, +3 Agility, +6 Free Attribute Points. You have gained +3 Free Spells. (Warlock). You have gained +3 Charisma, +3 Agility. (Demi Aeth). You have gained +3 Willpower, +3 Free Attribute Point. (Demi Human). 3,883/6,400 experience to next level.
Slaughter finished, Ren began distribution. 3 free points went into Willpower, and 6 into Charisma, leaving him with none. He peered at his spell options, then picked Influence, a spell which was slow working, slowly worming into someone's mind, like a long term suggestion, festering fear or hope, emotions or lack thereof. It wasn't useful at the time, but would be in the future. It was also the only mental spell available.
Stolen novel; please report.
The next spell was Harbinger's Call. It would allow him to create a wave of raw emotion, of any he liked. Fear, sorrow, despair, the whole lot. It had Ren's mind racing at the possibilities. Buffs, debuffs, aiding with hope, crushing with despair.
Finally, he had selected Discombobulate. It was the first aura that Ren had encountered, and was looking good. It would deal mental damage to everyone's mana per tick, which was one second. It would be a great mana drain. Ren was also had a macabre curiosity as to what exactly negative mana would do to a person. Would they merely have headaches? Or would they begin to melt, the energy theoretically holding their bodies together vanishing completely? Or was negative mana impossible? That would be very disappointing for Ren.
Since it had only taken ten minutes or so to kill them in their sleep, Ren made the decision to go out and meet the cultists himself. He began by heading out and sneaking to the preachers watch tower, a hastily built one which rattled with the weakest of breezes. It would draw the rest of the cultists, sure, but Ren was okay with the consequences of what he was about to do. For some, obscure reason, they had made the shoddy tower exceedingly high. It seemed the distinctive trait of the cultists was stupidity.
He grabbed one of the posts of the oversized watchtower and shook. He shook it again, harder. One more, and there was a long, drawn out creak as the tower began, slowly but surely, tipping over. A large crash resounded through the area as it collapsed onto the earth.
Killed Preacher (Lvl4) (Faceless). Gained 198 experience. 4,081/6,400 experience to next level.
The experience alteration had been Ren's fault. He decided that if he could configure when it appeared, he could alter what appeared. Unsurprisingly, he was right. I'm kind of surprised that the sleeping cultists haven't been woken up by th- Ohh, oh yeah, I killed them. That's why... Nonplussed, Ren decided to watch the preachers soul head to what lay next. He would have some time before the watchers came to the source of the noise, due to their incredible incompetence. Getting into a comfortable position, he watched the preachers spirit rise up from its crushed body, wildly glancing around, hovering, like madman, confusedly. Ha. Its ethereal eyes locked onto something only it could see. It began to dazedly float over towards it, pausing on its journey ever so often, never seeming to be able to move/fly with purpose.
And then a gigantic spirit arm reached out and clasped it in its fist. The spirit struggled, but could not escape the hand's unflappable grip. Is that what's happened to all the cultists I've killed? I know I never paid attention to them, but I wasn't expecting this. No one would. Ren's eyes traversed up the muscly arm, and it led to a giant six armed faceless freak of a spirit. It's head split open into two and, revealing a smelly looking maw, bits of dead cultist stuck between the teeth. It threw the spirit preacher in there. Recycling at its finest. Wouldn't want to go there, though.
Ren ignored it, just as it ignored him and hurried over to kill the watch. The Faceless would die next. Maybe I should eat spirits too? Sounds tasty. Ren licked his lips, a creepy leer settling onto it. Nom, nom, nom.