Faith is Earned 2, page 23
“I don’t care if the plan failed. I don’t care if my God failed. I won’t.”
The wind shifted. The aura-cloud flickered, like a beast twitching in amusement.
“My soul is pure, my cause is just and that will have to be enough.”
The silence that followed was immediate and immense. Then the Mind God laughed. A howl, so undignified coming from a God, but it came all the same, without means of stopping. The laughter poured out of Elarie’s mouth like a rupture in reality, tearing through the calm with such ferocity that blood came with it. Her lips split, her teeth went red, but still, the laughter didn’t stop.
“By all the blind stars, th- that is… oh me, this is so classic! And here I thought you broke free of the mold. Listen, little Lucian, if just causes won wars, [Peasants] would be [Heroes]!”
He cackled again, curling forward in mid-air, clutching Elarie’s sides, as if the stolen body felt joy in proportion to his disgust. Luke could feel thousands of eyes on him, but he didn’t turn his view from the Mind God. He had to do this.
“And even [Heroes], my gullible sweet idiot, are regulated by the divine. Did no one teach you that part? No? Did your great and oh-so-benevolent God forget to mention that little detail?”
Another gasp of broken mirth.
“And your soul? Ha-ha! I—I can’t breathe—your soul? Pure? What a strategy! I have a God in service that could use [Tacticians] like you… to wipe his ass with. Ha! Powers above and below, if your plan was to kill me with sincerity, it might actually work!”
Luke took a step forward and started walking, though the laughter continued.
“Though I’d still bet on my Faith, in the end. Even now, you see, Faith is returning to me, my colleagues not so quick to abandon sense. Perhaps Faith has stopped feeding them, but they have not stopped feeding me. An act of service I will reward, once I get this city back in order.”
The aura-cloud brightened slightly, just a flicker, enough for Luke to recognize the truth, that the Mind God had recovered a bit. It wasn’t to the same level as he had been before, he wasn’t even close to fully restored, but no longer vulnerable either. The servant Gods had sent a portion of their power to him, however hesitantly and that meant one thing.
“You should never have stopped your offensive, little Lucian. Even if you land a lucky blow, boy, even if this body breaks… it will hold long enough to cut you down. This rebellion will die screaming and the world… the long game? It will still be mine.”
Luke took another step forward, then another. The aura curled around him, thin trails of red light coiling up his legs like threads of silk dipped in venom and he felt the pressure, the tangle of divine thought pressing into him, even as it failed to breach the core of who he was.
Luke inhaled. He was inside the cloud now, close enough to touch her.
“I am not here for battle. I am here to cleanse you.”
The Mind God’s head tilted.
“Elarie is pure. I am pure. The resonance between us will cleanse this world of you, of the other Gods, of everything broken.”
Alhmzoum stared at him, seemingly lost for words.
“I will do it with the mantra of Xelreth, sung like- like a song, for the world to hear and all who hear it will rejoice. Through the power of friendship and niceness, I will mend all wounds. That is all I need.”
For the first time in all of it, the Mind God faltered, then laughed again, albeit a bit more self-consciously.
“…it feels a bit like I’m kicking a cripple here. Listen, Lucian, I truly appreciate you offering yourself to be killed like this, I take joy in it, but are you sure you don’t want to renounce your God and take yourself somewhere more fitting? Say, perhaps, like a mental asylum?”
“Witness the glory of my God’s mantra, foul thing!”
“Alright, enough of that. And just so you know, all the mantras of all the Gods wouldn’t scratch me, that’s not how it works… You know what, little Lucian? Never mind, go right ahead. Do it. Please. Do it! I want you to know that you failed before you die.”
Luke raised his hand and placed it on Elarie’s trembling forehead. The moment rippled, a pulse moving through the aura, like a string plucked in the heart of a great instrument.
“Listen now to Xelreth’s mantra… Get fucked, bastard! [(Grand Miracle of Xelreth) –“
◆◆◆
You will not be able to hurt him as you are.
The moment of miracle was yet to happen and Luke’s hand had not yet touched Elarie’s brow. The laughter was still gurgling in the Mind God’s throat. Luke was in Xelreth’s mindspace, their conversation continuing. Before the world returned, before the system resumed its crawl, there were only them and their voices.
They stood alone now in that crumbling realm of divine memory, the brightness having faded and the mindspace once filled with Gods and defiance now trembled on the edge of ending, Faith running out. Yet Luke stood and Xelreth stood with him.
There are two problems we face and both could be solved with the same act. The same sacrifice, Luke.
Luke nodded once, slowly.
The first is the System. You know this already, in part. It is blind, as I said, it assigns power based not on intent, nor purity or need, but on consensus, averages, the data it takes from the world at large. It watches what the world has become and calls it truth and it adapts to the environment, draws from common experience, and replicates what is seen most often.
Luke’s hand curled slightly.
“That’s why it doesn’t give us what we need, doesn’t it? That’s why when we ask for strength, we get refinements… when we need change, we get balance.”
Yes. But more than that, much more. The world has been shaped by the divine, Alhmzoum above all in this part of the world, but others too and their fear is old. They could not command the System directly, so they shaped the world around it, suppressing certain paths, cultivating others. They made it impossible for the System to see what you might become.
“So even if I reach the right Level…”
The Class you would be given would be one already known, a predictable one. One powerless against the divine. You see, Luke, the kinds of Skills that once scarred Gods are now so rare, they no longer factor into the System’s consensus. They are not unknown, but they are forgotten, rare and the System takes that rarity into account when distributing them, normalcy even more so. That is what Alhmzoum and his ilk have achieved, by manipulating the world and the odds through it.
Luke looked away, then back again and saw Xelreth hesitating.
“When did this start?”
It began… long ago. But the true break, the moment the System stopped seeing the divine as defeatable and stopped handing out such Classes, came after the War of the Faithless.
Luke turned his head sharply.
“What was that?”
There was silence for a long moment. Xelreth refrained from answering right away and when He did speak, it was quietly.
Not yet. Please, trust me, Luke. Such truths are… dangerous. Even knowing why is a danger in and of itself.
Luke’s jaw moved, contemplating the response and after a moment, he nodded.
The second problem is simpler to name, but no easier to solve. You need power, enough not to wound him, but to shatter his leash on Faith and Gods.
“A Skill?”
A Miracle and at least a Greater one at that …possibly more. But I do not have the Faith to spare, not for that and for everything else I am holding in place. Not unless we… take it from elsewhere. From a sacrifice.
“What do you mean by sacrifice?”
A silence again, then Xelreth spoke, voice weary, so different than how Luke had seen Him before.
You are close to Level 20 in both of your Classes. When two Classes reach parity or a high enough Level or sometimes just a hidden set of requirements, a fusion becomes possible. Most mortals will never reach such a moment and fewer still understand its consequence, yet this is known to mortals, though not as many as to be common knowledge. The Classes can be fused into something greater, sometimes merely hybridized, other times evolved. Occasionally… transformed entirely.
“I’ve heard of that… a little. But I know it’s uncommon.”
It is, yet it happens quite regularly. But there is more, Luke. What even fewer mortals know, few enough that such information is guarded, not distributed openly, is that when that transformation is great, when the resulting new Class is powerful, the price is often steep and the new Class will often drop in Level. Sometimes slightly, yet sometimes drastically.
“I see.”
It is because the System tries to keep things safe. Predictable, efficient, as even fusion follows the expected line. But there are things I don’t believe many know, secrets I have kept long and one I suspect no mortal alive now knows.
He paused, as if to steady Himself.
A God can shape that moment, Luke. Not to raise the new Level, but to decrease it. To drag it down further than the System would dare and to take what was gained and burn it in offering.
Luke stared.
“Why?”
Two reasons. The first is that the deeper the fall, the greater the rise. The lower I can pull your new Level, the more exceptional the fused Class must be to compensate, as the System demands balance in all things. If it is forced to reduce you to ashes, it must rebuild you with fire.
“And the second?”
The gap… the discrepancy. The void between what you earned and what remains can be converted by me. The System does not understand sacrifice as we do, but it records all experience and if I take it, reframe it, not as wasted energy, but as Faith… I can turn it into power.
Luke closed his eyes, thinking of what that would mean.
“How much?”
…I do not know. And it might require more than just the Levels. The [Boon of Panitheos] must be consumed, I think, what is left of it and Ibesha’s [I Finished the Fight] will be taken as well. Your healing, if it happens, will not come after you leave this place, not from me, but from what we can tear from the System in that final moment.
“I understand.”
You should take a moment to—
“No. Do it.”
Luke’s eyes burned steadily.
“We’ve come too far, you and me. And… I trust you, at least more than any other God I’ve known or heard about. If this hurts Him, even a little, if it changes this world even a bit for the long run, then burn it. Take it all, I’ll earn it back. Effort never scared me.”
The realm was silent, then, softly, almost like it pained him, Xelreth laughed.
Yes. So much like him. So much it hurts to see.
“…like who?”
You’ll know. In time.
“We don’t have enough time for you to say who, yet we have enough for you to do the cryptic bullshit?”
Other Gods usually receive more respect from their Faithful.
“Other Gods are cunts.”
And this is my Chosen.
“What can I say, Xelreth, we deserve each other.”
A tired chuckle rang out.
One more thing, before you depart. How do you plan on getting close enough? The Mind God is wounded, yes, but not stupid. He knows how you fight and he will expect something now, no matter your martial prowess.
Luke’s grin came slowly and easily.
“He won’t. He won’t expect anything.”
Now who’s being cryptic? Explain?
“He values intelligence above all. That’s how he sees the world, right? In terms of manipulation, calculation and control.”
Correct, yes.
“And he looks down on anyone who acts from principle, from ideals or cause. To him, that’s idiocy.”
Also true.
“That means Alhmzoum is so confident in his intelligence, he won’t expect a plan to deceive him to pass him by, because his way of viewing the world and himself does not permit the acknowledgement of someone capable of outplanning him. Or, at least, not someone that does it from a place of emotion.”
This is all very true, but what do you hope to achieve?
Luke shrugged.
“Just a bit of acting. After all, am I not a [Knight] in shining armor?”
He turned to face the world, the final edge of the realm crumbling before him, and the last thing he felt from Xelreth was his God’s incredulity.
◆◆◆
“–Interdiction: False Faith Breaketh]
Creation cracked.
Chapter 28
[Votary of Xelreth – Level 20]
[Anointed Fighter – Level 20]
[Class Merger Initiated]
[Error]
[Error]
[Err—WORK, DAMN YOU]
[Divine Override: Xelreth]
[Divine Influence – Panitheos: Removed]
[Divine Influence – Ibesha: Removed]
[Total XP: Converted]
[Merged Class: Paladin of the Sacrament – Level 10]
[New Skill: Justicar’s Aura]
It struck like a chime struck inside the soul, with weight, but a lack of clarity. Luke heard every line of it with more than his ears alone, he heard them in his very blood, each word echoing as if inside the ribs. Ten Levels gone, no… twenty burned to ten and in return, a new Class and a single Skill. The System never offered grief, nor did he ask it to. There wasn’t any time for mourning what was lost or for grasping what had been given. Not now, when the thing in front of him had begun to break.
Elarie’s body seized.
The aura-cloud warped, convulsed, twisted like a beast caught in a trap it hadn’t seen coming and the red-gold lines streaking through it pulsed jaggedly, no longer a divine harmony, but a feedback scream. Alhmzoum was inside it still, trying to reassert pattern, trying to rewrite the wound with will alone. Luke didn’t need to guess, he felt it, through the Miracle still coursing in his blood, through the ghost-light that hadn’t yet faded from his vision. Through the way reality had bent, then failed to bend back. The Miracle was working, yet solidifying now, exerting its last shape on Creation.
He didn’t know the full details of it yet, yet he could feel its shape, could intuit that the faith that had poured into Alhmzoum from his subservient Gods, that undignified pantheon that suckled his glory, was gone. The channel wasn’t merely closed, it was gone, snipped, burned, rerouted. Their trickles of Faith had dried like rivers robbed of rain and the few droplets still seeking Him turned back on contact.
More than that, the mortal Faith, the devotion of followers and zealots and terrified converts was gone too, at least almost all. It wasn’t stopped at the source yet, but rerouted by the Miracle’s blade, separated by purpose, refined by will. Fear-born Faith could no longer find its master and obedience, submission and self-flagellation were all useless now. Only love still flowed, that rarest thread, that unforced offering and rare as it was for Alhmzoum, it was crucially far from enough.
And seeing as how the Mind God convulsed and twisted, the Miracle had another effect. It was hurting Alhmzoum, perhaps too little to be a death blow, but every second was agony. Useless Faith. Luke had no idea what the physical range of this Miracle was, if it even had one, but he could tell, barely, that it did have a time limit. Two weeks, perhaps up to a month, the awareness of it flickering in his mind.
The cloud buckled again and a sound came from Elarie’s throat, a scream, the kind of sound flesh made when something inside it tried to twist wrong. Luke took one step, felt his knee shift and his balance return. He looked down and realized he was healed. He flexed his fingers, watched the scars vanish even as he moved, saw his side, once broken, now whole. The shallow cuts beneath his eyes were gone and his armor was mending too, its dents smoothing, threads restitching with every breath. That last part was from [Attire of the Faithful], but the rest, the healing, was most likely the last touch of Faith, Xelreth’s mercy, filtered through sacrifice. The world had been cruel, but some acts were still answered.
Luke stepped forward, reached through the shuddering field and placed his hand upon Elarie’s head, feeling her hair damp with sweat and ash. Her skin felt too hot and too cold all at once and beneath his touch, the Mind God cursed him, his words cracking with desperation, yet still filled with razors and rage.
“Child of a foreign God, what have you done?! You’ve- you’ve mutilated yourself and for what? Do you think this changes anything?”
Luke only peered at the monster before him.
“Answer me, insect! You worthless interloper, how can you not see the order of the world?”
“Silence.”
Luke spared no more attention for the ramblings of the defeated and opened himself instead. He reached inward, using his new Skill and what he found was judgment. The aura bloomed around him, like sunrise seen from inside the flame. It didn’t feel like violence, it felt like breath finally drawn clean and the Justicar’s Aura unfolded unlike an act of will, it did so as confirmation.
Luke had named Alhmzoum unjust and so the Skill answered.
Luke had deemed him worthy of judgment, and so judgment came.
The Mind God burned under his gaze, too weak to protect Himself, as Elarie’s form recoiled. The divine energy Alhmzoum’s desperate last push channeled recoiled with her, struck back from her flesh like lightning redirected. He could no longer push his power through her, could no longer command her limbs or mask his weakness through her mouth. Her body had failed him or more truthfully, he had failed her.
And Luke didn’t hesitate.
He raised his sword, the blade feeling heavier, fuller, almost humming with something beyond metal. He invoked the Skill and when [Holy Strike] answered it didn’t feel like a combat move so much as it felt like an answer. He swung with precision, with truth and watched the blade pass through Elarie’s neck. And in the moment it did, it shone like a collapsed star, the light exploding outward and inward, a singularity of sanctity. When it ended, her head was in his hand, eyes ever so thankfully closed.
