Faith is Earned 1, page 1
Faith is Earned
Book 1
Nemo Blanc
Copyright © 2025 Nemo Blanc
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Art Painter
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
For all those who once held hope.
And for those who chase it still.
“I came and I saw and My sight brought Me despair.
A world of Filth, ruled by Filth, kept in Filth.
Let this corrupted Creation be made more equal. Let them have a chance.
Let them know My Name.”
-inscribed on the base of a ████ tower, date of inscription circa █████.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Acknowledgement
Prologue
The crunch of stone against bone was the first sound on the wind.
A man screamed, cut short by the thud of something massive and fast. Dust and shattered earth exploded into the air, as one of the boulder-things had just flattened a man mid-swing, his blade spinning away as his body collapsed like a ragdoll down the slope.
"Hold the line! Hold the—"
Another voice, silenced by the roar of momentum. The creatures came rolling in from above and the sides, stone bodies tucked and spinning, stubby arms tucked like charging battering rams. Each one the size of a full-grown hound, made of veined, dirty granite, with moss crawling over their ridged backs like armor.
And they were fast as well, unnaturally so.
"Watch the flank!"
Too late.
Three of the monsters barreled through the left side of the formation, and a woman cried out as one struck her legs and she went flying, sword first, landing headfirst against a sharp outcrop. She didn’t move.
An archer loosed an arrow, then another, [Piercing Shot] lighting up the air and one of the stone beasts staggered as a shaft drove into its eye-socket-like divot. It screeched, a sound like two rocks grinding together, then burst forward in a final suicidal roll that crushed both the archer and the monster beneath a tumbling avalanche of flesh and stone.
"Too many! Back, back!"
But there was no back, only the incline of the mountain behind them, steep and slick with churned dirt and blood. They were perhaps seven-tenths of the way to the top. Just a little more and maybe they'd find a better place to fight, maybe the creatures wouldn’t follow. Maybe.
"Break their legs! Go for the limbs!"
It was easier said than done, considering that the monsters rolled too fast to target their stubby limbs and that even when one was caught mid-rebound, when its momentum slowed just enough for a blade to strike, the sword would often glance off, sparks flying as steel scraped stone.
One fighter, Ned, managed to slide under an incoming roll and rise with a furious [Bisecting Slash]. The Skill connected and a line appeared across the monster’s body, glowing briefly before it split into two halves, sliding apart like broken crockery.
Cheers didn’t come. It would have been impressive at any other time, but not when one was fighting for their own survival. Another monster bowled into a pair of retreating warriors. One was crushed instantly, the other rolled down the incline, screaming and broken.
"Push forward! If they pin us here, we’re dead!”
The survivors surged upward, boots scrambling on loose gravel. Blades flashed, as one man leapt and spun in mid-air, using [Whirlwind Strike] to hammer at a monster mid-charge. The impact shattered one of the beast’s limbs, sending it tumbling end over end.
Then a second creature rolled over him before he could recover.
An archer knelt near the rear, breathing hard. Blood streaming from a gash across her thigh, she lined up a shot, exhaled and loosed a glowing [Pinning Arrow]. The projectile punched into a monster’s body and stuck, embedding with a pulse of light. The creature wobbled mid-roll and skidded to a halt and a pair of melee fighters rushed in.
"[Twin Fang Cut]!"
"[Crushing Leap]!"
The Skills hit home. One sliced deep into a crack in the stone, as the other landed with both boots, shattering the creature’s face. It didn’t move again.
Still, the battle was not even in numbers yet, not by far. They were being worn down, picked apart. Every victory cost too much.
A young fighter, barely more than a boy, lunged forward, blade lifted for a heavy [Overhead Slash]. A monster darted beneath his guard and struck his gut, causing him to fold inward and another beast rolled in from the side to finish him off.
One more, down for the count. Then two more, their screams echoing off the slope and into the wind.
But the plateau, it was closer now. The air thinned and the sunlight, for the first time, broke through the clouds and shone down on the incline above. The sight was just barely visible past a ring of sharp, jagged rocks.
If they could reach it, they could reach hope.
"Form up! Last push, come on you weaklings!"
Only nine of them remained.
They ran, without formations, without ranks, simple survivors trying to outpace the monsters and carve their way uphill. Another [Piercing Shot] rang out, punching through two beasts who’d aligned mid-roll. A melee fighter vaulted over a fallen comrade and landed with a brutal [Hammering Blow], smashing into a creature’s head hard enough to make it split open.
"They're slowing. Gods, they’re slowing."
It was true. The creatures rolled slower here, perhaps because the incline worked against them or because they were tiring. The group pushed through a narrow pass between two boulders and a waiting monster lunged from the shadows, but it was intercepted mid-air by a roaring man who met it with [Shoulder Charge], driving the beast into the rock wall with a thunderous crack.
It didn’t walk away from that one.
On the far side of the pass, the plateau opened up and the final few monsters stood waiting wobbling, cracked and pulsing with gushing gray blood.
Six fighters now. None hesitated.
"[Rapid Thrust]."
"[Sweeping Slash]."
"[Quick Arrows]."
The last wave of Skills tore through the wounded creatures. One by one, they shattered under the assault, cracking, tumbling, skidding backward into the dust. And then… nothing.
Only silence.
Six figures stood panting on the bloodstained plateau, surrounded by shattered stones, corpses and the distant sounds of wind. Dust skittered across broken blades and shattered bodies, as the six who remained stood in silence, backs to each other, staring out across the blood-soaked flatland. For a moment, they didn’t speak, the only sound heard being breathing, harsh and ragged.
Then Wulfthen broke the stillness.
“We’re close. Two hours maybe, three if we limp it.”
The slope ahead twisted up into fog and gold light, the peak hidden beyond a spine of jagged ridges. The sky above was pale and clouded, but it did seem brighter than before.
Luke adjusted his grip on his bow, the string hanging loose at his side. He hadn’t used many arrows, but it was always safer to keep a steady supply.
They began to move.
A slow shuffle toward the base of the ridge. A step, then another, then more and they could feel the ground trembling. Not like before when the smaller ones rolled, though. This was deeper, a dull pulse beneath their boots, measured and heavy.
They stopped suddenly and Luke tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
“That’s not over.”
Wulfthen fingers tightened around his sword.
Another tremor, then a shadow shifted across the far end of the plateau. It didn’t look fast, but then again, it didn’t need to be. The creature rolled into view with the slow certainty of something that had never once needed to rush, a round mass of veined granite and black-streaked stone, glistening with moisture and crusted blood. It was shaped like a perfect boulder, almost beautiful, if one didn’t account for the face.
The face or its equivalent, was sunken deep into the rock. A circular indent that hadn’t been carved, but formed, natural, yet wrong, at the same time. Two flat black eyes peered from beneath a crust of shale and a mouth like a crack in a cliffside split across the front.
It stopped moving, unfolding thick stubby limbs.
“Oh.”
“That’s… that’s not the same kind… right?”
Wulfthen raised his sword and Luke could see his blade shaking in his hand.
“She’s a mother. That, right there, is a Granite Matron.”
The name tasted like ash in the mouth and the others tensed, feeling like the Gods were laughing at them.
Then she moved, the Matron starting to roll.
She didn’t so much accelerate as launch. Her bulk picked up speed in two rotations and became a blur of crushing weight, the wind shrieking as she passed through the place they’d stood seconds before. Stone exploded.
“Split!”
The Matron curved through the air, bounced once, twice and slammed to a stop at the far edge of the plateau, dust pluming behind her. It didn’t stop her for long, because she turned with a lurch and began rolling once more.
The survivors scattered again, boots skidding on loose gravel. The Matron’s rolling form was relentless now, carving a line through shattered stone and spilled blood and every time she stopped, the air thickened with tension.
“Hit her now!”
A fighter with a jagged scar down one cheek broke from cover, his mace humming faintly in his hand. He darted forward, timing his steps, taking his aim.
“[Staggering Blow]!”
The strike landed squarely on the Matron’s flank as he slowed. It rang out like a bell, but did little more than leave a scuff.
“She’s too thick, the bitch!”
The scarred man stumbled back and another fighter joined him, sword flashing.
“[Flicker Cut]!”
The Skill burst with speed, three slashes in a breath. The last one caught the Matron just below the eye and the stone actually cracked. It only made her roar.
One limb smashed downward in retaliation. The scarred fighter lunged the other aside, too slow. The limb came down and caught him full in the chest and he folded with a gasp and didn’t rise again.
The remaining fighter skidded to a stop.
“I’m… I’m low on Skills. Only two left… three, maybe.”
Luke moved in a half-circle along the outer edge of the fight, another arrow already nocked, listening as Wulfthen’s voice cut across the chaos.
“Don’t fucking waste them, then. Make ‘em count!”
The Matron had slowed, coiling at the far edge. They could see the hairline cracks spreading through her hide now, not that many, but hopefully enough.
“She’s bleeding, she is. Slowing.”
“She’s not dead, though.”
One of the survivors darted forward, Nessa, her dark hair flickering as she gripped her blade in both hands. Her mouth moved but no sound came, only the glow of [Twin Fang Cut]. She struck low then high, as sparks danced and rock chipped. The Matron shuddered slightly then spun in place.
The fighter dodged, only barely. The limb caught her shoulder and sent her tumbling and she went rolling twice, before she came up to her feet, panting hard.
“Not enough.”
Another ran past her, a younger man, his armor split along one side. Blood soaked the leather beneath, though he didn’t seem to care or maybe just didn't notice.
“[Crushing Leap].”
The Skill activated mid-air, as he brought his axe down full-force toward the exposed patch the woman had opened. The Matron rolled forward instead of dodging and the axe connected, biting deep. But her full weight still hit him like a landslide, momentum forcing it forward.
His body crumpled under the blow, joining the rest of the dead.
A second survivor charged from the right, no brave words on his lips, with just a [Hammering Blow] delivered to the limb joint as she passed. The arm buckled, slightly and it was a good hit, a deadly one on any lesser monster. The Matron was no such monster. She spun, mid-recovery and caught him with a limb-backhand that lifted him from the ground and hurled him across the plateau.
He too didn’t move after landing.
“Use Skills, damn it! Aim for the cracks!”
Wulfthen was already moving. He feinted left, causing the Matron to turn, before switching, going right.
“[Sweeping Slash]!”
The blade screamed as it struck her cheek and a split appeared across the embedded mineral streak, bleeding gray. Her shriek could have shattered glass.
Luke stepped up from the rear, nocked, and drew.
“[Piercing Shot].”
The arrow sank into her side.
“[Quick Arrows]”
Three shots this time, one embedded in the cracked arm, as the other two bounced off harmlessly.
The Matron shifted again, rolling up, toward the highest point of the plateau, getting altitude, until her form could no longer get traction on the ground. Then she came down, in a straight path, a full-speed descent.
Wulfthen braced, his sword coming up. There was no way to dodge that one.
Yet, in the last moment, he saw a blur cut across the side, one of the last fighters throwing herself into the roll’s edge. A scream erupted and all could see her shoulder shattering under the impact, flesh before stone.
Yet it tilted the Matron just enough.
She crashed beside Wulfthen instead of into him, causing dust to surge and he stumbled, coughing.
“Where’s—”
He caught sight of her. She was crawling away, one arm limp, eyes glazed. The Matron turned toward her, too slow not to have noticed.
“[Stone Shatter]!”
The voice was raw as it sounded off and the man who shouted that collapsed, not being able to witness what followed his last act, blood dripping from his eyes and ears. The ground beneath the Matron cracked violently, stone splitting in jagged lines, as her footing failed.
She rolled to catch her balance, though not fast enough.
Wulfthen ran, either desperation or bravery guiding his steps, his boots skidding on the broken stone, as his sword swung up.
“[Focused Thrust]!”
The blade slid into the open fissure between shoulder and face. It stuck deep and he screamed as he felt the Matron start to convulse. She rose, the monster did, too strong to die so easily.
Her limb swung wildly, but Wulfthen ducked, held on.
“Luke! … LUKE!”
A whistle of the wind was his answer.
“[Pinning Arrow].”
The shot struck just beneath the Matron’s eye, making her head jerk back. She reared and the limb caught Wulfthen this time. It flung him and he rolled, stopping in a cloud of dust and pain.
The Matron was finally too hurt to follow, shuddering and wobbling. She turned toward Luke and he didn’t retreat, simply backed up one step, nocking another arrow.
The Matron started to roll, slower this time, more awkwardly.
He fired, saw his arrow catch the lip of her brow and glance off, as she surged closer. Another shot, low this time and he struck gold, her limb collapsing under her for a moment, but enough to stop her rolling advance.
Wulfthen rose.
His body screamed at him to stop, yet he didn’t. His sword was gone so he picked up a shard of it from the ground, the broken steel still glowed faintly.
He ran.
Luke threw his bow deliberately and the Matron reacted, twisting a bit, then tried to recenter, but she was wounded, far too slow. Wulfthen leapt and planted a foot on her back, climbing up. He dodged her stubby limbs, reached the top of her face, finding the crack, her eye and drove the broken blade into it with both hands.
She screamed once more a proper agonizing roar this time and stopped.
Wulfthen slid down her face and fell to his knees. He was far too tired to move, so he just took in all the carnage around him. Dozens of slain monsters, the biggest one right in front of him. The broken sword jutted from the crater in her head, blood the color of iron dust running down the grooves in her stone skin.
