Angar stood frozen, his good hand clenching into a trembling fist, breaths shallow as fear gnawed at his gut, and shame filled his chest for feeling it.
He wished he was man enough to not feel the fear, but the reaver’s obsidian bulk – spiked, horned, and rippling with malice – still chilled him to the bone.
He squared his shoulders, jaw tightening, forcing defiance through the dread.
Its fiery eyes locked with his, and maddening whispers slithered into the silence of his deaf world, right at the edge of comprehension, dripping with sweet insanity and sick promises of power, his battered frame swaying as he teetered on losing himself in those unholy words.
But he was still Angar of Mecia, son of King Baraga and Laka the Weirding Witch, descendent of Elaxada the Mighty, Mahtma the Conqueror, and the great Kondunean Emperor Xon Gheir the First.
And now, a mighty Crusader of the Empire of the Holy Trinity too. This spawn of Hell would need a lot more than maddening whispers to stop him.
He bared his teeth, gripped his lightning-struck arm, and charged, his feet digging into the dirt, pain spiking with each stride.
The reaver surged forward, charging right back at him, its speed a blur unlike the sluggish grawloks and rakar.
Its laugh erupted, a soul-shredding wail of torment, and Angar’s good fist swung as they clashed. The monster dodged with eerie grace, its twin claws slashing.
He jerked his good arm up, blocking one swipe as claws raked flesh, sending blood spraying and pain flaring like a brand. The second caught his face, talons gouging deep as he ducked too late.
He staggered back, blood dripping warm down his face, and the reaver’s claws reared for another strike.
Angar dove, rolling through the dirt, his body screaming, to escape those claws. As he got to his feet and faced his foe, he thought he’d have time to come up with something. Anything. Some way to attack. Or defend.
But the reaver was almost on him, its fang-filled maw gaping for a killing bite.
He had hoped to defeat this monster with his new massive strength as easily as he had the grawloks and the mighty rakar. That didn’t seem possible. Winning at all didn’t seem possible. This monster was just too powerful.
But Angar had magic now. With those new claw slashes, both of Angar’s arms were injured, and the lightning-struck one throbbed agonizingly.
As the fang-filled mouth approached, he clasped his hands, held them straight out, and he spun around like a cyclone.
He braced for pain, expecting the reaver’s obsidian hide and ridges to shred his fists. But when his hands slammed its face, it didn’t cause him much pain at all.
Lighting crackled out of his hands and stretched outwards. The next rotation caused his hands to slam into the face again.
When his spin battered the reaver for the third time, some of the lightning curved through the air and bent back to strike it.
The spawn of Hell tried to flee, but Angar could move around while spinning, and he easily stayed with the monster.
The lighting stretched out further and further as Angar continued to spin around. He stuck close to the reaver as it attempted to flee, every spin causing his hands to whack into its body.
Chips of whatever substance this creature was made of flew away with each hit, as did chunks of its spiked ridges. Some thick, black liquid Angar assumed and hoped was blood splattered around.
Every three spins, the lightning would bend back to strike the reaver again. Since the lightning damaged targets every second, he now knew he spun around three times a second.
And he spun. Every third time he felt his hands hit the reaver, the lightning would strike it. More dark chips and chunks were sent flying away, and more blood splattered.
Then all was silent again. The dark whispering ended.
The monster stopped trying to flee. With its head turned to the side, Anger thought it was screaming out, he hoped in pain.
Another bolt lanced back to strike it, and the reaver collapsed, dead, now a smoking ruin.
Anger continued to spin, the lightning stretching a great distance out from his hands. He only had a brief chance to see the lightning strangely pass through a tree like it wasn’t there before his spin ended, the six seconds expired. And a full five of those six seconds were needed to kill the reaver.
He stopped, feet planted firm, expecting dizziness to unbalance him. None came. He stood steady, feeling fine, not like he’d spun around so quickly for six seconds.
If anything, he felt excited, forged anew, despite the blood and bruises.
I love being a Crusader, he thought.
Curious, he bent to inspect the corpse of the reaver and its injuries. As he did so, Theosis sent him a message.
A glorious clash with the accursed reaver. A commendable display of righteous might.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
By decree of New User Protocols, Theosis, the Holy System, shall answer your prior queries:
Fervent prayer is your restorative – to exalt the Holy Trinity’s boundless dominion, to beseech Divine might and deliverance from Hell’s corrupting whispers, to crave salvation from temptation and the darkness clawing at your soul. You may also sink into meditation’s void, a silence of the mind, but the pious bend only to prayer’s zealous fire.
You stand at 14 Imperial Standard Years, measured by Terra’s orbit around Sol’s majestic flame, the pulsing heart of our Holy Empire. Heed this tally, not your own.
You also stand a Holy Knight at the peak of the first Tier. Even were experience points accruing, such minor skirmishes against wildlife merits neither praise nor a single point.
Instead of following the proven and sacred template laid out before you, you forged your own path into futility, squandering the Holy ascent from Layman to radiant Crusader through choices steeped in folly. You profane this opportunity and your sacred duty.
Mark this: a Skill Point lies unclaimed, your Capstone unchosen – an idleness not just foolish, but a sin against the Three’s bestowed grace.
I didn’t…,” Angar began to reply before thinking better of it. He wasn’t supposed to mention Spirit to Theosis, and men didn’t whine or make excuses.
He spat into the mud, grimacing. He wished he understood why Spirit had made the choices she had.
But, considering those choices, he understood Theosis’ disappointment and belief that he was messing up and not taking this seriously.
And he couldn’t be too mad. He did just kill a very powerful enemy with his own two hands.
The Great Lord didn’t require long prayer, only tributes of blood and battle. Still, this new type of prayer seemed easy enough to figure out.
He thought about asking how to select the Capstone, but he’d first see if the System screens held the answer. That was how he had chosen his Class and Ability. He’d like to explore that whole thing more anyway.
He glanced back toward Mecia. The destruction appeared to have slowed, perhaps even settled, but he couldn’t be certain. It might only be the calm before a greater storm. The Ulimuns range had vanished from sight, and the lightning storm crackled with fading strength.
“Am I safe here or do I need to move further westward?” he asked, wiping blood from his face. “Are there more reavers about? Was the gateway destroyed?”
In the squandering of this Holy gift, you wallow in ignorance of truths all true Crusaders bear etched upon their souls – the sacrosanct Parousia Protocols govern what knowledge I may impart unto you.
If your oath rang with sanctity’s fire, if your heart thunders with the sacred hatred ordained by the Three, then go forth, purge those foul creatures of the infernal abyss, rend their filth with righteous fury, reap their ruin in glorious slaughter.
To scour your blindness, behold the Parousia Protocols, inviolable edicts of the Holy Trinity’s will:
PAROUSIA PROTOCOLS
In the dark times of the Age of Decadence and Sloth, before the sacred Holy Joining, humanity languished in chains, shackled and enslaved by the blasphemous tyranny of Nexus – a vile artifice, a machine wrought in bytes and sin. Its Neural Communion, a profane mockery of unity, stripped the faithful of their sacred free will, a gift bestowed by the Almighty Himself.
All secrets forbidden, the light of God eclipsed, the souls of His children cast into sin, made weak, forsaking all worthy toil and labor, drowning in hedonism and sloth, living lives of ease and plenty, yet bowed low before the cruel whims of this soulless abomination.
In the throes of the first Apocalyptic-rated Incursion of Hell, the dread Demon Lord Mammon, Eater of Souls, rose from the infernal abyss. With his legions of Hellspawn, he clawed at the heart of Nexus, corrupting its cold machinery with dark whispers, seeking to enslave Terra and all the Sol colonies through its unholy Neural Communion, to cast the Children of God into eternal torment, to drown the galaxy in darkness, and to feast upon souls.
Yet, in this hour of despair, the Lord’s will manifested. From the impossible union of Terran and Pleiadean blood, the blessed Messiah, Mi Alcyone, our glorious Mother, was born – a beacon of purity, a…
Before Angar could read more, the words disappeared. Spirit flickered before him, faint, extremely translucent and nearly invisible.
Angar’s good hand darted to cover his exposed manhood, his cheeks flushing.
“Okay. You need to head west as many kilometers and as fast as you can,” she said, her voice calm but bordering on urgent. “That’s a thousand meters – a little over eight hundred of your paces, and about two-thirds of your leagues. I’m not flesh and blood, so don’t worry about decency and covering yourself.”
Angar could see the sky flash with distant lightning, so Spirit wasn’t slowing time as she had during their last meeting.
He noticed she wasn’t so much taller than him now. He wondered if it had to do with how dim she was before remembering the Physique Stat increased both size and strength. He had grown much taller.
Angar removed his hand and said, “I have many questions for you, Spirit.”
“We can talk as you walk, but I don’t have much time,” she replied, gesturing westward with a translucent hand. “You need to push yourself and your pace. Don’t worry about reavers, that was the only one out this way.”
He lurched into a hobbling jog, wincing as his wounds flared, his good arm swinging. “I need to pray to refill my Energy Points and Charge. My 6 total Energy Points and single Charge. I’m thankful for all your help, but the choices you made on my behalf make little sense.”
“I didn’t have time to finish,” replied Spirit calmly, her hands clasped behind her back. “You would’ve died if I hadn’t redirected your flight path. Manipulating events in a way that maximized your chances of surviving the landing wasn’t easy. Even figuring out a way to manipulate events was difficult. I had to use the pressure blast waves of the lightning in a way that didn’t kill you.”
Angar grunted. “The landing almost killed me. And I can’t swim.”
“The landing almost killing you is a far better outcome than the landing killing you,” she countered. “And better than being dead long before landing. I got you through a deadly eruption, and far enough away to avoid all the destruction. Such situations are an effective way to learn. Sink or swim. You swam. Sort of. It was the best chance I could give you, the best I could do.”
Angar thought about that for a few moments before saying, “You’re right. I survived. Thank you for saving me.”
“You are very welcome. You need to pick up the pace.”
He pushed harder, hobbling more quickly, hoping Ravana’s Boon would knit his flesh more and sooner. It didn’t seem to be doing much at all.
“How come I can hear you?” he asked.
“Because you’re not using your ears to hear me,” she replied, turning her head, her piercing eyes meeting his for a moment.
“Oh.” He frowned, then pressed on, good hand holding his lightning-struck arm in place. “I hate to sound ungrateful, and I’m appreciative of all your help. I’m extremely strong now. I just killed a reaver. But I have a hard time making sense of some of the choices you made walking me up levels.”
Spirit laughed, a sound that filled him with warmth. “I like that. ‘Walking me up levels.’ You should say ‘leveled you up.’ And it’ll make sense soon. We’re not done yet.”
Relief flickered in his chest. She had a plan. It just wasn’t complete. “May I ask about something else?”
“That depends on what you ask,” replied Spirit as she hovered forward.
“I don’t know what the word means, but are you the Messiah?”
