Faith is Earned 1, page 17
A [Bandit] with a shaved head and a crooked grin barreled into a knot of [Monks], shouting at the top of his lungs.
"[Desperate Momentum]!"
His body glowed faintly and he smashed into the line of robed figures like a thrown hammer, sending two of them sprawling.
He didn't pause.
"[Double Swing]!"
A pair of brutal knives flashed in his hands, carving shallow, tearing wounds across the arms and shoulders of the stunned faithful. Blood splattered the stone tiles in arcs.
The [Bandit] laughed as he ducked low under a wild swing, his whole body moving with a manic, almost joyous rhythm. Behind him, another [Bandit] threw down a small glass sphere and it burst into a thick, blinding smoke, a trick rather than a Skill, but just as effective.
A [Monk] lunged at Luke, hands alight with the soft shimmer of some divine energy. Luke grabbed the nearest chair and swung it wide, channeling [Holy Strike] through it. The chair glowed with burning intensity, each impact resonating with holy force.
He smashed it once against the [Monk]'s ribs — a crack.
Twice against the [Monk]'s arm — a snap.
A third time, over the [Monk]'s skull — the chair shattered into splinters and the [Monk] dropped like a boneless sack, a smear of red already spreading across the polished stone.
Corinne barked a wild laugh as she stabbed a [Cleric] in the thigh with her dagger.
"Death by Divine furniture! Love it!"
One of Corinne’s women, a slender [Scout] with mismatched armor, danced around a pair of furious [Priests], moving like a thread weaving through a loom.
"[Slip Through]"
Her figure blurred for a heartbeat as she slipped between two strikes that should have pinned her. She retaliated with quick, savage jabs of her daggers, leaving shallow cuts that sapped her enemies' strength faster than any single mortal wound.
One of the [Priests] snarled and unleashed a Miracle, a flash of binding light, but she was already past him.
"[Quick Escape]"
A ripple of gray light snapped the binding threads before they could latch onto her and with a feral grin, she kicked the [Priest] squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling onto his back with a grunt of air forced from his lungs.
The fighting thickened.
Luke barely had time to catch his breath before another faithful charged him, this one brandishing a mace. Luke ducked low, rolled under the swing and yanked a sword from one of Corinne’s boys as he passed. It was poorly balanced, but it would do.
The faithful swung again. Luke met it head-on, his blade glowing as he activated [Holy Strike]. The collision sent a shockwave of force outward and the [Priest] staggered back, bleeding from a deep cut across his torso.
"Oooh, pretty boy, no more slaps from you?"
Corinne was chatting as she fought, elbowing a [Novice] hard enough to send him sprawling.
"Will you focus on the fight?!"
"Only if you promise to keep the slapping for me!"
"Deal!"
A blast of radiant light tore through a corner of the hall, sending stone splinters raining down. Luke glimpsed the [Bishop], his robes swirling with gathered Faith, casting wide, sweeping Curses toward them.
Luke felt the tug of them once or twice, a slippery, oily pressure against his mind, but they slid off. The Curses needed submission, defenselessness and Luke was giving them neither.
Corinne’s group fought like wolves, reckless but clever, exploiting the gaps left by the slower [Monks] and [Priests]. But more [Guards] poured into the hall, hulking figures in quilted armor, swinging heavy cudgels and swords and the tide began to shift.
Luke gritted his teeth, calling [Shield of Faith] again to batter aside a blast of force that would have flattened two of Corinne’s crew. Step by step, they carved a bloody path toward the great double doors.
A pair of [Bandits] cornered a hulking [Guard] against one of the broken tables, their movements swift and practiced.
"[Pin Down]”
The [Guard] stumbled as if invisible hands clutched at his boots.
"[Crippling Slash]!"
The other [Bandit]’s blade sang low as it tore across the [Guard]'s thigh, hamstringing him. The big man roared in pain, swinging wildly, but they were already gone, darting backward, grinning like wolves.
From the upper balcony, a [Cleric] tried to intervene, raising a staff crowned with silver, but one of Corinne’s boys hurled a thrown axe upward with deadly force.
"[Precision Throw]"
The spinning axe caught the [Cleric] in the ribs, sending him sprawling backward into the shadows. The two [Bandits] exchanged a brief fist bump before throwing themselves back into the fray, their momentum undimmed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw the [Abbot] focus on Corinne, lunging towards her, his hand crackling with red-tinged energy.
"[Bindings of the Sinner]!"
Glowing ropes whipped through the air toward her. Luke moved without thinking, thrusting his shield into their path. [Shield of Faith] blazed like a sunrise, intercepting the ropes and dissolving them into harmless light.
The [Abbot] didn’t even notice, he was already turning. His face split into a triumphant grin.
"[Bishop], I got her, I got—"
Corinne rose from one knee in front of him, dagger already dripping.
"[Flash Cut]"
A single, perfect stroke. From groin to navel, the [Abbot]'s robe split along with his flesh. His intestines spilled wetly onto the stones as he toppled forward, mouth working soundlessly.
"You had that a long time coming, bitchboy!"
The hall seemed to hold its breath. Blood, smoke and the thick, metallic tang of spilled Faith clung to the air.
Von Meirz stepped forward, no longer lounging, no longer amused. His face was a thundercloud and his hands curled into fists.
The ground itself seemed to tremble with the fury rolling off him.
Von Meirz advanced with the authority of a mountain about to crush the earth beneath it. He lifted his right hand, palm open and steady, aimed directly at Corinne.
Luke moved instantly, throwing himself in front of her, his shield flaring to life with a brilliant pulse of golden light.
"[Stored Conviction], [Faith: I Paid the Price], [Greater Curse: Mind Detonation]!"
The words rolled across the hall like a drumbeat. Luke braced himself, expecting a visible blast, a crackling arc of energy, a rush of force.
Nothing came.
For a moment, he thought it was a trick. A bluff.
Then he heard it, a sick, wet squelch behind him.
He turned, slow, unwilling. He saw—
He saw... he saw... dripping from her nose, her eyes, down her chin. It was dripping from her in silent rivers, staining the front of her shirt.
"Corinne."
He caught her as she fell, her legs giving out all at once. They hit the floor hard, but Luke cradled her head against his chest, frantically brushing the blood away from her face.
"Corinne? No. No, please. [Lesser Heal (Mental)]. [Lesser Heal (Mental)], [LESSER HEAL (MENTAL)]! Please, I beg you!"
The light of the Skills flickered around her, sank into her skin, but there was no Miracle, no sudden restoration. No saving.
He was crying openly now, because what else could you do when the world was ending?
A weak hand, trembling, touched the side of his face.
He opened his eyes to find hers, still open, still somehow smiling, though the light behind them was already fading.
"Hi... there... pretty boy...."
And then even that little spark was gone.
The light fled her eyes, fled her soul, fled the space between them.
Something broke inside Luke. Something final.
After that, his memories blurred. Neither from any Mind Miracle, nor from any manipulation. Just from the raw, howling emptiness that swallowed everything sane and careful in him.
He fought.
He fought like something that had torn free of its leash, like something that had been promised mercy and found betrayal instead.
He fought with sword and shield, with the ferocity of a soul whose only anchor had been ripped away, with his damned few combat Skills.
Every blow he struck was fueled by the echo of her last smile. Every blade he turned aside was another heartbeat stolen from the men who had stolen her.
[Holy Strike]
[Shield of Faith]
[Holy Strike]
The Skills burned through him, one after another, leaving his muscles screaming and his Faith reserves bottoming out, but he didn’t care.
He cut down a [Priest] who tried to speak words of surrender. He shattered the skull of a [Monk] with a shield bash that cracked bone like dry wood. He drove a stolen sword through the gut of a [Guard] twice his size without even blinking.
Blood splattered him, soaked him and he let it. He welcomed it.
The faithful began to falter, their righteous fury giving way to uncertainty. Then fear.
Even Von Meirz, towering and terrible, pulled back a step, his face tightening in something dangerously close to alarm.
Luke roared, a sound that had nothing holy in it, as Corinne’s crew, what was left of them, dragged him bodily toward the doors.
He barely noticed the basic, few healing potions that they had, forced between his teeth, the desperate hands that tried to patch his bleeding wounds. He cared for none of it.
All he cared about was the faces of the ones still standing against him. The sinners. The murderers. The ones who would pay.
He would pay them back.
He fought until even rage couldn’t carry him further, until they hauled him through the broken gates of the monastery, still swinging, still bleeding, still roaring curses into the dark.
He turned as they dragged him away, the vision of the crumbling stone and golden banners seared into his mind forever.
And he screamed his horror into the night, every word burning his throat raw.
"I will come back! I will kill you! I will kill every one of you and scourge your entire vile Monastery out of Creation!"
[Vow Declared: In Her Name: Retribution]
[Vow Accepted]
Chapter 18
Luke awoke to a world that didn’t quite make sense.
Light leaked into the room in weak, watery shafts and for a long moment he simply lay there, blinking up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, unsure where or even who he was supposed to be.
Fragments came to him slowly, jagged shards of memory too sharp to hold for long.
Stealing horses and carriages, the [Bandits] riding like demons, Luke screaming, weeping, raging as they tore through the night. The taste of blood and grief thick in his mouth. The others riding beside him, hollow-eyed and broken, clutching wounds that were deeper than flesh.
The town, at last.
The wild stumble into the first building that looked like it might offer shelter, the collapse into the first room he saw, his body giving out before his mind had a chance to catch up.
Other memories stirred too. Cold, mechanical ones.
[Objective Failed: Claim the Hill]
[Bonus Objective Failed: Kill the [Bishop]]
Luke shut his eyes briefly against the words.
Of course.
He should have known. That place, perched on a hill, thick with old power, had been a challenge all along. A climb, a claim. The system never missed a chance to turn suffering into structure.
One last shard surfaced, half-buried in a haze of rage.
[Class Assigned: Warrior - Level 8]
[Class Assignment: Error]
[Class Assigned: Warr—
[Class Assignment: Error]
[Partial Override Detected: Error]
[Analyzing Error: Divine Interference]
[Analyzing Source of ‘Divine Interference’: Error]
[Analyzing Error: Error]
[Analyzing Error: Error]
[Analyzing E—
[Redundant Analysis Suspended. Integrating into Background Queries]
[Class Removed: Warrior]
Luke stared at nothing, his heart thudding dully in his chest.
Of course. Couldn't even let me have that.
He was about to say more, was about to curse the sky and everything beyond it, when a soft knock came at the door. A young man stepped in hesitantly, one of Corinne’s crew. His face looked drawn, gray with exhaustion and something heavier.
"We’re downstairs. We’re... we’re eating. You should come, we need to talk."
Luke nodded or thought he did. It was hard to tell, his body feeling disconnected from itself.
He took a few minutes to gather what little of himself he could, then stumbled downstairs.
The inn was familiar. It took him a few moments to realize it was the same one they'd used before, when they'd first come to the town. It felt like it had been another lifetime ago.
The [Bandits] were there, gathered around a scarred table, not many of them left now. They looked up when he entered. No one spoke at first.
Luke braced himself for blame, for anger. For the reckoning he knew he deserved.
But that wasn't what he found. They didn’t elect a leader, instead they spoke all at once, overlapping and clumsy, but the message was the same.
They were sorry.
Sorry for not saving her.
Sorry for not being strong enough.
Sorry for letting it happen.
Luke shook his head, trying to cut them off. He told them it wasn’t their fault, that it was his. He was the one who had stayed too long, who had drawn Corinne into this. They could have left and they should have.
They argued back, voices thick with grief. Round and round it went, guilt chasing guilt, until at last the truth settled between them like a heavy stone: they were all sorry.
And none of them were to blame. Only the bastards in that Monastery, only them.
After a while, they told him they were leaving town and that they didn’t know where they would go, only that they couldn’t stay. Luke understood. He nodded, silent and rose to see them off.
At the stables, they saddled battered horses and checked worn gear.
One of them, a skinny lad with a shock of red hair, led an extra horse toward him, reins held out awkwardly.
"Was Ferne’s. She... she didn’t make it."
Luke took the reins without speaking. The others gathered around him, shifting their weight, casting glances at each other like they were steeling themselves for something.
At last, one of them, an older girl with a long scar across her brow, cleared her throat.
"Luke. Your God. The one you follow. Can we...?"
She trailed off, but the meaning was clear.
Luke looked at them, these battered souls who had fought and bled and lost alongside him and for once, he answered without hesitation.
"I don’t know its name. I just know it’s the God of Vows and of righting wrongs. Of amending what’s been broken."
A few of them chuckled quietly.
"Don’t know much about doing right, seeing what we are. But vows... vows we can do."
They exchanged nods, a silent agreement passing between them. One by one, they dismounted and knelt there in the muddy yard.
They spoke together, voices rough but clear and asked him to witness their Vow.
"If we stick together... if we live long enough... we swear it. We'll take your faith, whatever it’s called. We'll take vows seriously. And if there’s a way for folk like us to right wrongs... we’ll do that too."
Luke closed his eyes for a moment, feeling something hot and painful well in his chest.
When he opened them again, he spoke the words as he always had.
"I, Luke, [Votary] of my faith, witness your Vows. May you be rewarded for upholding them and punished for breaking them. So mote it be."
The air shifted slightly, a subtle ripple.
[Vow Witnessed: So We Swear]
[Vow Accepted]
Some of them startled at the soundless voice of the system, heads jerking up in surprise. Others just nodded, grim and satisfied.
They mounted again, one by one, and offered Luke quiet farewells. Then they rode out into the misty morning, fading away into the horizon like ghosts.
And with them went the last living piece of Corinne still tethered to him.
Luke simply stood there, aimless. Before a voice spoke, cutting through the haze.
We need to talk.
Luke floated in a space of nothingness. Or perhaps he lay still, it was impossible to tell. The world he knew had receded into a pale gray mist and for a time he drifted in it, weightless, thoughtless, a soul unmoored from anything that could be called real.
The mist peeled away, dissolving into white, luminous brilliance. Luke found himself once again in that strange place, that endless expanse of light without texture or edge. But it was not quite the same as before.
There was a substance to it now, a gravity. A density that hummed in his bones, as if the space itself was thicker, heavier, more awake.
He turned or thought he turned, since motion had little meaning here.
And he saw it.
The God.
It didn’t have a body, not in any way Luke could name. It was like a piece of the void was brighter than the rest, a concentration of light so intense it seemed to sing without sound. A flame within the formless, burning with a steady, patient will.
Luke bowed his head instinctively. His knees found no purchase on the intangible ground, but he pressed his hands together in fervent prayer all the same.
"God."
Luke. I see you have reached Level 10.
Tears pricked at his eyes and he barely listened to the words. He was already speaking, pleading, his voice cracking under the weight of grief.
"Please. Bring her back. Corinne. Please, I'm begging you. Other Gods have done it. I know they have, I’ve heard about it. Please, I beg you, bring her back."
The light pulsed once, heavily, as if weighed down by sorrow.
Why Corinne?
Why not the others who died? Did their lives mean less to you?
