An Unwavering Craftsman

Damien's eyes flickered open, but it took him a moment to remember where he was. Unlike Valerie, he had no experience of personal resurrection, and the process left him heavily disconcerted.

As he looked around the former battlefield, he realised it had also left him tardy. [Eternal Flesh] was, after all, only level one. His recovery had taken a considerable amount more time than that of Valerie's equivalent, with the sun almost set from the sky. All around him was silent.

"Mum? Dad?" he called, but there was no response.

Damien swore, looking around wildly. There was no sign of his parents or their attacker, but the extent of the damage to the landscape showed the fight had continued on long after he'd been taken out. [Foresight] had shown him that he had a future after being stabbed, but the following images were so broken and fractured that he'd had no prewarning of what that future was.

Combining [Bloodwave], [Itinerant Eyes] and [Foresight] to conduct a search showed him unmoved from his previous location, although the crater he was in the centre of hadn't been there before he was knocked out. He considered himself lucky his body hadn't been burnt up completely.

... Although, from the way he was completely naked, he couldn't discount the possibility that he had burnt up completely.

And then [Foresight] showed the hill outside of Thale, where the number of poles had doubled, and the cause of his personalised crater and lack of clothing instantly fled from his mind.

Something within Damien snapped, and he suddenly found himself utterly uncaring exactly who within Thale was involved. After all, even those not directly responsible for the murders had still let this happen, despite [Tears of the Forgotten]. No-one was out there protesting. None had taken down the corpses and buried them with respect. All were guilty.

He activated [Bloodwave], forming not his armour, but a simple hooded robe, and set off resolutely towards Thale. Of course, trying to march through the town gate with his features hidden by a deep hood wouldn't fly with the guards even had the hood and robe not been woven from rippling red liquid.

"Who the hell are..." started a guard, before Damien looked him straight in the eye. He had just enough time for a sharp intake of breath, the beginnings of recognition spreading across his face, before Damien Spoke.

"I̵̱̒ ̸̻̓a̸̺̽m̸̩͐ ̷̼̿ń̵̙o̷̼͛-̴̨͒ȏ̷͜n̵̢̈́e̴̗͂.̷͙͋ ̵̭̚Ŷ̶̗o̸̱̅ū̶̩ ̴͎̄ḧ̵̭ą̸̛v̸͉̎e̴͕͝ ̸̺̅s̵̼̆e̵̛̟ȇ̷͎ṉ̵̈ ̷͕̓n̵̥͛o̴̥͛ẗ̸̳́h̶̭͘i̸͎͝ṋ̵͌g̶̨̊.̷̮̓ ̷̱̓Y̷̤͠o̶̻̓ȗ̷̜ ̷͖̒h̴̭́a̶̝̋v̷̼̈e̶̮̒ ̸̦͗h̸̻̒e̵͓͊ȃ̵̺r̸̞͆d̸̰͘ ̵̤͐n̷̞͌ỏ̵̻t̸̮͠h̵͓̐i̷̼̾n̵̬̚g̷̟̽.̶̣̂"

The guard's features relaxed. Everyone else in earshot looked around in confusion, their sight somehow skipping entirely over Damien, who walked not into the town, but into the guard station. By the time he left, he'd traded his conspicuous robes for the armour and uniform of a guard, the helmet hiding enough of his face to render him unrecognisable from a distance.

However angry he was, however much he desired to burn Thale to the ground along with everyone in it, the cold flame of logic burnt at the back of his mind. Beating an ancient dragon was sure to be worth levels, almost certainly enough to push his class level high enough for another perk and feat. Opportunities to pick that feat would be limited. Why not make use of the priests of the Five before he slaughtered them?

And so he walked towards the temple of Murill, marvelling the whole while at how normal the town was. How ordinary. His life had been turned upside-down, his family murdered, and these people just got to go on with their lives as if nothing had changed? Market sellers hawked the last of their wares, trying to clear their tables to go home for the night. Citizens wandered in and out of dwellings. Just like any other day.

Not for much longer, if he had any say in the matter.

Damien entered the temple and, for the first time since entering the town, something seemed amiss. Priests and priestesses huddled together, communicating in hushed whispers. Frowns were apparently in season, with not a single smile in view.

"I'm sorry, but we're closed for today. Please come back tomorrow," said a priestess standing in the entranceway, blocking his passage into the main hall.

"Closed?" questioned Damien, flexing [Truthseeker]. The temples didn't close. They didn't even have proper doors!

"Murill is missing," responded the priestess, before realising what she'd said and slapping her hand across her mouth, eyes wide.

"Missing? How? When?"

"I don't know," answered the priestess in a strangled voice, the words fighting their way out through her unwilling throat as she failed to counteract [Truthseeker].

"What's going on over there?" asked a more senior priest, taking notice of the disturbance.

"Ǹ̴̖ọ̷̇t̵̯͠h̵̪͠i̸̬͐n̵̬͠g̶͉͘."

The priestess blanked, but the priest frowned, his higher level offering him some resistance, so Damien backed off before he was able to shake off the whisper. "C̷͕̓ǫ̶͛m̷̺͌e̶̳̎," he added to the priestess, so she followed him down the steps of the temple, her expression still blank. He quickly squeezed himself down the side of the structure, finding a spot that wasn't overlooked and sitting down, back against the temple wall. "P̸̯͠e̸̲͠r̶̳̀f̵̱̎o̷̓ͅř̶͖m̶̪̾ ̸̰̍[̷̛͕M̶̗͆ȋ̸͕n̷̼͒d̸̹̀s̷̪̐c̴̫͛a̷̪͘p̷̘̋ę̸́]̸̖̀,̴̺̈́ ̶͓̑t̵̻̿h̵͎́e̷̖͝n̵̛̫ ̶̞͗r̷̯͛e̴̗͊ẗ̴̝́ū̶͇r̵͒ͅn̶̠͗ ̸̭̉ţ̷͝ơ̷̝ ̵̢̋y̶̠̅ó̶̯u̸͚͊r̶̾͜ ̸̢̈́p̷̤̋ȏ̵̰s̷̙̐t̵̳͋,̸̪͂ ̶̺̈́à̶̖n̷͉̓d̷̤̏ ̴͎͐r̶̩͌e̴͇͋m̸̧̅è̴͍m̴̦̈́b̸̠̏ë̴͙́r̶͙̎ ̵̘̈́n̶͈͝ǫ̸̅t̸̰̑h̴̙̍i̴̧͋n̴̠͋ğ̸̞,̵̱̅" he ordered.

A minute later, he was dreaming.

Just like the first time, he found himself in a field of green grass, perfectly visible despite the black sky. Mostly black, anyway; a writhing mass of tentacles and eyes occupied a full third of it. More of the eyes than were comfortable focused themselves on Damien. It was sufficiently horrifying that he was able to overlook the fact that the bowl was missing, and the world just... ended, in every direction. Still, it was only a dream; it wasn't supposed to make sense.

A dream he needed to hurry and wake up from, so he rushed towards the field's only feature; a leafless tree, burnt almost to charcoal, crumbling to his touch. And yet, since his last visit, it had grown. Thirteen branches, one holding a pair of unopened buds and another a pair of black flowers.

Urgency—the fact he was unconscious in the real world—left him unable to reason methodically about his choices, but he knew what he wanted before he'd even arrived. Here inside his mind, he intuitively knew what the options meant, and there was an option he'd seen on his last visit that would be perfect for his current goals. The [Portal] feat would permit [Gate] to become self sustaining. Permanent holes in reality. After all, he still believed in poetic justice. Since the Five seemed to want to punish him for being a demon summoner, why not respond by summoning demons?

As for his perk, he went for [Silent Whispers]. While [Foresight] was powerful, [Whispers of the Void] had proven its utility for manipulating his enemies. A perk that lowered the suspicions of those under its effects would make it even more useful. Perhaps he wouldn't even have needed to run from the priest.

Seconds later, he was opening his eyes in the real world, his sleeping body thankfully undiscovered. He had toppled over sideways, but it wasn't as if the dirtied clothes were his own. He simply brushed himself off and marched back up the temple stairs, the same priestess still on duty and not showing him a shred of recognition.

At least until he removed his helmet.

"Damien?!" she gasped. "But you're... you're..."

"Dead?" he filled in for her, activating [Bloodwave] and forming an array of spears behind himself, blocking the temple's main entrance. "No. But my family is. Our housekeeper is. An innocent girl I helped completely by chance and have never even spoken to is. All on your orders, apparently."

"N... No... It wasn't me! I mean, us! It came from headquarters, from Murill herself!"

Damien grinned, his sanity flickering, as other occupants of the hall turned towards him, gasping. He kept enough wits about him to maintain a strand of attention on [Foresight] in case anyone tried anything, but there was no way he was going to simply kill these people. That would be too nice. They needed to see their deaths coming and, more importantly, to know why.

"Yeah, funny thing that. I hear she's not doing so well. But that can't be, right? After all, she's so infallible that you'd murder anyone from a young girl only just come of age right up to the island's most famous adventurers on her say so, so there's no way she could just vanish on you."

He took a step forward. The assembled priesthood took a step back.

"You're just proving her right, you heretic!" shouted one of the higher level priests from the back.

A tendril of blood whipped out and wrapped around his neck, lifting him from the floor. Some of the others turned to run, bolting like rabbits out of whatever side doors the temple may have, and Damien let them. They were welcome to sow panic elsewhere. It wasn't as if they'd escape.

"You're confusing cause and effect," declared Damien, calmly walking forward, towards the statue of Murill at the end of the hall, as his prisoner choked, hanging in the air. "Yes, you could truthfully call me a heretic. After all, one of the Five, one of the deities who was supposed to protect this world, is instead responsible for the deaths of everyone I held dear. Do you honestly expect me to continue believing in her after that? Do you expect me not to seek revenge? Yes, a heretic I am, because you made me so."

He reached the front of the hall. A bell was sounding somewhere above, doubtless a priest trying to call for help. Some of those who had run off would surely fetch guards, too. It didn't matter. [Foresight] showed they wouldn't make it in time, and even if they did, the town guards generally weren't high level. The town was too safe; they lacked the opportunities for levelling their combat skills that adventurers and more proactive members of society had.

"There was a time when I would have given my life for this town. A time I considered it beautiful. No more. Behold the monster you have created," he finished, touching the statue and activating [Touch of Madness] for added dramatic effect.

The lighting in the temple flickered, despite the green skies outside remaining steady. Shadows were cast across the walls and ceiling, despite having no discernable source. Incomprehensible whispers came from beneath benches, behind decorations, outside the windows. Rivulets of blood ran from Murill's eyes as the stone groaned and creaked.

"[Gate]," stated Damien.

The statue shattered. Tendrils of flesh rather than blood burst from it, grabbing the closest spectators and squeezing. A person put under sufficient pressure bursts, and blood and flesh splashed around the temple's hall, splattering the remaining watchers. The portion of the priesthood that remained finally turned and fled, screaming.

Damien just laughed. He continued to laugh as things that looked like monsters poured through the hole he'd torn in space. Skinless dogs and insects the size of people poured through the rift, flowing around him. But however much they looked like monsters, he knew that they weren't. The light of intelligence gleamed in their eyes, and they hunted not out of instinct or necessity, but for sport. Demons, unleashed upon the unsuspecting town of Thale.

His job done, he calmly left the hall, ignored by the demons, walking down the steps of the temple, relishing in the shouts and screams that surrounded him. No longer was the town of Thale pretending all was normal. No more did the citizens calmly walk its streets, peacefully going about their day. Demons poured out of Murill's temple by the hundred. Alarm bells rang throughout the town, and clangs of steel and flashes of magic indicated at least some were fighting back. Had the town's most powerful adventurers not been murdered, perhaps the fight could even have been successful. But they had, and now none remained capable of victory over the demonic tide.

Damien relished in the havoc for a few minutes, but the satisfaction was short-lived. After all, even if Thale had paid their debt, the instructions to murder his family had originally come from elsewhere. There were other temples of Murill, and it would be remiss of him to not bestow his judgement upon them all. He stepped into an outfitters, ignoring the proprietor spread across his desk, entrails spilling onto the floor, and picked up a few changes of clothes that suited him. Other stores offered up other equipment and travel supplies.

The other temples would be, if anything, even easier to deal with. After all, his face was commonly known in Thale. But outside of it? He was practically unknown, and the island's king had done his best to keep things that way. He could walk unchallenged through the gates of any town or city on the island.

Far from Damien, in the cathedral of Gaia within the Holy Theocracy of Jurelli, Arial the [Oracle of Gaia] sat in a meeting room, waiting impatiently. Thankfully, it wasn't long before Kari the [Chosen of Gaia] was brought in to join her, along with the leader of the immortals, the [Mythril Fist].

"You have a mission," declared Arial, without preamble. "And Gaia has informed me in no uncertain terms that the entire fate of humanity rests upon its success."

Kari's mouth opened in a perfect o.

"Where are we headed?" asked the [Mythril Fist], not needing Arial's declaration of doom to act seriously. The immortal legion was never summoned for trivialities.

"The kingdom of Hrellflan, to a town called Thale."

"Hrellflan?" asked Kari, eyebrows creasing in confusion. "But that island is peaceful, isn't it?"

"It was, yes. Alas, the past tense is important; as of half an hour ago, I'm afraid your information became rather seriously outdated."