An Unwavering Craftsman

Damien ambled away from Thale, turning every now and again in response to a particularly loud crash or bright flash. Multiple plumes of thick, black smoke rose above the city, which was somewhat interesting in itself; none of the demons Damien saw had seemed aspected to fire. How had chunks of the town caught alight? One of life's trivial little mysteries.

Unable to think of any reason to wait, his destination was the island's capital; the city of Hrellisti built near its centre. Thanks to [Foresight], he could even take the main road, able to simply step off it and hide long before any potential patrol happened to come into view.

After Valerie's attack, [Foresight] was something he was keeping a constant eye on. Without having Fleta's enhanced senses to fall back on, he was seriously concerned about another fireball dropping out of the sky.

There was the occasional party of refugees, too, but they'd grown somewhat sparser since the demons had blockaded the gates. A few ships had left port, but as far as Damien could see, they didn't seem to be going anywhere. He assumed the flying insect-type demons had paid them a visit.

Sparse didn't mean non-existent, though. Some people had escaped early, but lingered, hoping for others to join them. Others ignored the gates and climbed the walls from the inside. A small group rushed up behind Damien, a few adults at a slow jog—presumably whatever could be maintained by their class-enhanced stamina for long enough to reach another settlement—carrying younger children.

"Hey. Are you okay? Do you need any..." started one of them before Damien drove [Bloodwave] through his skull.

The people of Thale were supposed to die obediently, not escape.

The others in the group backed away in shock, the kids bawling as blood and brain matter splattered them.

"Aww. Upsetting to have your dad murdered, isn't it?" mocked Damien, before whipping a tendril of blood through the air and decapitating the full group. None of them had the strength to resist.

"Wow. That was kinda cruel," came another voice, catching Damien by surprise. He'd not seen anyone else with [Foresight], and was in the middle of a flat field. No-one should have been able to approach unnoticed. He instinctively whipped [Bloodwave] at the speaker.

"Whoops. Careful there," came the voice again, as Damien finally faced it, finding a shabbily dressed older man, dirty and unshaven. "Almost took my head clean off."

Damien frowned; at the speed he'd attacked, it would have taken someone fairly high level to dodge, but the speaker didn't look high level.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

"Just someone who likes travelling to exotic places, although I have to say Thale seems to have become rather too exotic recently, even for my tastes."

"That's not what I meant," snapped Damien, forming his usual array of bloody spears.

"It's the truth, though. And the places I've visited include the domains of the Five," he said, slinging the pack off his back and throwing it down.

A familiar head rolled out, and Damien's summoned blood froze in the air.

"What?" he asked, utterly stupefied. Even if he'd only seen it in statue form before, there was no way he could fail to recognise who it belonged to.

"I suppose I should thank you for distracting her so magnificently, despite things not going even close to plan," grinned the stranger.

"Are you ever going to explain?" snapped Damien.

"Yeah, sure. It's not that complicated. The bowl isn't real; it's a warped fragment of reality stolen and sealed away by the Five, the real aggressors in the War of the Rifts. Originally, they acted honourably, to protect humanity, but then they all got so drunk on power that they didn't want to relinquish it. Grungle eventually saw sense, or so he claims, and hatched a plot to do away with the other four, but you kinda spoilt it when you accepted the offer of the Other. As you might imagine, the Other is rather cross at having a chunk of his planet stolen, and Grungle would quite like to return it with the minimum possible casualty count."

"... What?" repeated Damien. Yes, he'd had his suspicions about the identity of his patron, but it was something else entirely to hear it spoken so casually. "Start again and explain properly, preferably without the flippancy," he demanded, invoking [Truthseeker].

The stranger just smiled. "I'm afraid that's not going to work on me. Being level one hundred has some benefits, even if I'm not tier ten like some people happen to be."

"... One hundred?" asked an incredulous Damien.

"Yes, but that isn't important. The name's Grant. I'm a tier one [Tourist], and I've come to very politely ask if you would be so kind as to not commit genocide. What happened to Thale was unfortunate, but it's on Murill's head, if you'll excuse the pun. She's paid already. There's no reason to involve other innocents. Rather, you should be worrying about the other members of the Five. You've already met Valerie Spiratine, and lost badly, and she isn't their only agent."

Damien frowned, the extent to which he was caught up in events he didn't understand made clear. "So the Five aren't as united as they pretend?" he asked.

Grant shrugged. "My only direct source of information is Grungle, and he's not exactly unbiased. He claims the others will terminate any threat to their power with extreme prejudice, and Murill certainly seems to have lived up to that expectation. Meanwhile, Grungle feels that it is in the interests of both himself and humanity as a whole to capitulate to the Other."

Damien snorted with derision. "Sounds like he's just scared."

"Oh, hell yes. He's scared alright. I don't believe for a second that he's any different from what he claims of the others, in that his actions are driven by a desire to keep his own powers and his life. He just seems to have a different idea of what his best option for survival is."

Damien pondered. The Other had granted his power. Had it also granted power to the Five? Were they tier tens, originally humans, just like him? The Other called them thieves and betrayers. Had they used the power it gave them to steal a part of another world to make the bowl? It was a theory that matched the available information, but the available information was all hearsay. He had nothing whatsoever to back up any claims anyone had made.

... Although there was perhaps one way he could find out. After all, the tears flowed easily in recent days. All he need do was remember the sight of the hill outside of Thale.

Drops of salty water fell to the ground around the severed head, blossoming into blue light as Damien knelt and touched it, activating [Tears of the Forgotten]. Untrusting of Grant, he kept watch with [Foresight], at least until his fingers brushed the forehead of the slain goddess and all his attention was stolen by her raw emotion.

Fear. That was all she knew, and her every thought and action became utterly bent on it. From the moment Damien experienced [Mindscape] for the first time, she became aware of his existence. Aware that the influence of the Other had infested the bowl. She desired the destruction of Damien and anyone touched by his power, believing herself to be safe if only he was dead. He saw her give orders for his assassination, speaking into the dreams of her oracles. It confirmed she was responsible for dispatching Valerie, someone so dependent on her goddess that she'd become little more than a puppet.

Damien smiled a little at that. She was immortal, but the death of her goddess was a far greater punishment than the death of herself.

And then there came fear of a different sort. A burst of pain as Murill awoke, shock as she saw the dagger through her heart, alarm as her powers failed her. The certainty of betrayal as she realised that such a dagger could only have been forged by Grungle. And so she died, comprehending far too late the trap she'd fallen into, her fear of one threat blinding her to the one far closer.

It also showed that everything Grant had said had been truth. Murill had warned the other four about Damien. Whatever Grungle's plans, the other three knew, so chances were good that they'd come for him.

Were he to face Valerie, or another like her, he knew he wouldn't stand a chance. Grant was right, albeit not for his claimed reasons; Damien couldn't spend time going temple to temple, slaughtering priests. They wouldn't give enough experience. He needed stronger and more numerous targets if he was to grow quickly enough, but as tempted as he was to start destroying cities, he had to admit that not everyone deserved to die. Doubtless plenty did, but he didn't yet have the strength to bring judgement to the entire bowl.

Damien looked up at the walls of the bowl. The Holy Theocracy of Jurelli was there in its centre, mocking him, but a visit there would be premature. If the champions of the Five would defend anywhere, then that was surely where he would meet them. But where else? Gi'klet'o was tempting, but facing the orcs on their home island would be far different from defending against one of their invasions. They would have their own high-tier fighters, and Damien wasn't yet strong enough to deal with them.

There was one other obvious option. Damien squinted at the far side of the bowl, at an island shrouded in a dense fog.

"Fine," he declared. "Looks like levelling is more important than revenge right now."

"Glad you're a reasonable chap," nodded Grant. "Then let me give you one more piece of advice; once you're ready, head to the Thief's Wastes."

He pointed at a particular peninsula. "Right there, beneath that mountain, is the town of Sanctuary. Look for Ariana. She'll help you pick out perks and feats without the need for prayers or priests."

Damien nodded, then turned [Bloodwave] inward, looping tendrils throughout his clothing and lifting the blood into the air, himself with it.

"Wish I could fly," complained Grant, watching the speck of red disappearing into the distance, before he stepped off in a direction somewhat orthogonal to the usual set, leaving Hrellflan completely.

A ship glided gracefully through the seas of the bowl, not away from Thale, but rather towards it.

"I don't like this. We should have sent scouts ahead," opined the [Mythril Fist], staring at the plumes of smoke in the distance.

"You heard Arial. There wasn't time," answered Kari.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Boss! We have incoming!" came a yell from the front of the ship. With the inverted curvature of the bowl, crows' nests lost a lot of their scouting utility. "Looks like a swarm of giant, flying ants?"

"First ranged brigade!" he called, and a couple of dozen of his men formed up three ranks deep at the ship's bow. They held small stones or nails, rather than bows; the immortal legion operated without conventional weaponry and armour, leaning only on what could be found on the field of battle. Some magically conjured ammo of their own, anything from clods of earth to balls of fire. One plucked out a couple of his own teeth, safe in the knowledge Kari could effortlessly regenerate them.

"Fire!" he shouted, and the makeshift ammo was launched across the sea. Chunks of the swarm dropped from the air, splashing into the water beneath.

"I know Arial warned us, but seeing it with our own eyes really knocks it home," sighed Kari. "Monsters in Thale..."

"Not monsters," responded the leader of the dedicated fighting force that had been built around her powers. "Demons. They are intelligent. Before long, they will learn that you are the linchpin of our group, and will act accordingly. Beware."

Kari nodded nervously. "Why aren't there any more coming?" she asked.

"Over water, they're sitting ducks. They can't hide or defend themselves. Now that they've seen our ranged capability, they'll try to ambush us within the city instead."

"Good job we're not travelling through the city, then," sighed Kari, eyeing the burning buildings warily as she imagined a hundred demons hiding behind each one. "Let's just find these four people I'm supposed to resurrect and get out of here."