Death: Genesis

Zeke left the manor on a mission to test his latest skill, but to accomplish that goal, he needed enemies. Rather than use an untested skill in a battle where his people might have to pay the costs of his lacking experience, he chose to do in a more quarantined environment. That meant heading out into the wilderness.

Ideally, he would have gone into the dungeon arena where he’d once ground out a few levels, but that wasn’t feasible for a couple of reasons. First, he would’ve had to travel for at least a few days through the labyrinth before he reached the dungeon. And he couldn’t afford to be away that long.

Still, the second reason was more of an issue. The Radiant Host had created a blockade, quarantining the fortresses that guarded that dungeon and cutting them off from the rest of his force. So, unless he wanted to go the long way around, he wouldn’t be able to reach the dungeon without defeating the Radiant Host. And given that they’d been fighting that war for months, it didn’t seem feasible to end it in a day.

“You could, you know.”

“I’m not doing that,” Zeke said inwardly as he strode toward the teleportation pad. “We’ve talked about it.”

“And I think it’s silly that you won’t use your most powerful skill,” she said. “You’d rather your people die than –”

“I can’t do it, Eveline. Last time, I almost killed myself. I did kill millions of innocents. Do you know what that feels like? Do you know –”

“You feel guilty because you think that’s how you should feel,” Eveline said. “You don’t really care about all those undead.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Oh, I suppose you care,” she replied, putting emphasis on the last word. “But not in any way that matters. It’s more like if you saw an overturned anthill. Or a few dead fish. You can acknowledge that their lives mattered, but to you, their deaths weren’t that impactful. And before you argue, remember that I can see your thoughts. I know your emotions better even than you do because I don’t have to wade through a blanket of self-loathing to get at the real feelings.”

As Zeke stepped upon the dais that played host to the teleportation pad and selected the Entry Hall, he had to acknowledge that Eveline was probably right. He wanted to be saddened and horrified by the sheer volume of death he’d caused, but he’d grown desensitized to it in a way that should have been troubling. He could kill thousands without blinking an eye, and he wouldn’t even feel bad afterwards. He’d done so more than once, and those deaths failed to trouble him.

So, what made the people of El’kireth different?

The simple answer was that they weren’t. Sure, they were innocent, but it wasn’t as if he’d set out to kill them. They were collateral damage, which was unavoidable in any war. And the reality of the situation was that, by destroying the undead kingdom – inadvertently or not – had saved more lives than it had cost.

Still, Zeke knew that looking at numbers of deaths like they were lines on a ledger was morally wrong. He just didn’t feel it in the same way that he was certain other people probably did.

But he wanted to.

“You’re not evil,” Eveline said.

Zeke responded, “Coming from a former demon, I’m not sure how much weight I can give that statement.”

“You’ve just been desensitized to violence and death,” she said. “But the fact that you’re aware of it and want to be better is good evidence that you’re not the horrible person you see yourself as. And the fact that I am a demon – or that I used to be – should lend credence to that claim. I know evil, Ezekiel. I’ve seen it. I have lived it. And what you’ve done is…evil-adjacent at best.”

Zeke didn’t exactly adhere to her logic. Sure, her experiences in Hell – and presumably, in her previous life – gave her a certain perspective on evil. However, they also wildly skewed her perception of morality in such a way that she couldn’t recognize that small evils were, by their very nature, still evil. Zeke’s judgement was not so afflicted, and he knew that knowingly killing even one innocent person qualified as immoral.

But sometimes good people had to go down that road, to sacrifice their own morality for the greater good.

“You don’t have to be a martyr.”

“Who else is going to do it?” he asked as he crossed the Entry Hall. It was a hive of activity, with kobolds running to and fro on various errands. There were legionnaires and centurions, wearing the new armor crafted by the non-combatants on the Artisan’s Terrace. They each carried huge, rectangular shields, spears, and swords.

But they were not alone.

There were beastkin within their ranks as well. A couple of humans and other races, too. Interspersed throughout were the hulking centaurs, many of whom had been forced to take refuge within the tower, now that the Radiant Host had turned their attention on the Muk’ti Plains. Fortunately, there was plenty of space, but it was clear that the centaurs craved the open sky.

Zeke nodded at people he recognized – he was getting better at distinguishing between the individual kobolds – though he didn’t slow himself. He had a mission, and he wouldn’t allow himself to get bogged down in the minutiae of running his city. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how many had come to live within the tower.

“Last count was half a million,” Eveline supplied.

“That’s bigger than my home town,” he muttered. “How do you know that?”

“It was in one of the reports you didn’t listen to,” she answered. “You really should pay more attention in those meetings. This city of yours is a marvel, and your people have made tremendous strides in self-sustainability. When was the last time you visited the Artisan’s Terrace?”

“We really need to rename that. It’s more about farming than crafting.”

“Most of the space is,” Eveline said. “But your community of artisans has grown significantly, and they don’t just make instruments of war, either. There’s a school there, too. An academy for magic run by your favorite piglet.”

“I told you not to refer to Sasha like that.”

Eveline gave a mental sigh, adding, “Judged by my thoughts. What is this world coming to?”

After that, their conversation petered out, and Zeke reached the gate. It looked no different than ever – just a freestanding doorway made of the same red-and-white stone that was so pervasive within the Crimson Tower – though it seemed to have grown a little larger. Probably to accommodate the size of the legionnaires as well as the centaurs, Zeke reasoned.

In any case, he stepped through to find himself in the army’s forward camp. There weren’t dozens of tents as one might expect from a normal temporary base. Instead, it was more of a marshalling ground where they’d built some rudimentary defenses. The gate itself – and by extension, the tower – was not in any danger from enemy forces. Even Zeke thought he’d struggle to even scratch it. Instead, the fortifications were there to protect anyone leaving the tower. Otherwise, they were at risk of being picked off during the short period of disconcertion that followed being teleported out of the tower.

In any case, there were a couple of thousand kobolds stationed there, and they all seemed to notice Zeke’s arrival. In his natural form, he wasn’t nearly as recognizable as he would’ve been if he’d used [Titan], but still, the kobolds knew him by sight. Perhaps even by feel, after he’d used [Prosperity].

“If you didn’t want to be worshipped like a god, then you shouldn’t have taken that skill,” Eveline said.

That certainly hadn’t been his goal. Instead, he’d simply wanted to elevate his chosen people, increasing their leveling speed and path comprehension. And it had worked, too. With every passing battle, his kobold subjects grew stronger. By the end of the war, they would doubtless be more powerful – individual as well as collectively – than the Radiant Host. In addition, his crafters and other support personnel had seen benefits as well – which was evident in the strides they’d taken toward self-sustainability and creating powerful equipment for the army.

But it went further than that.

Divinity wasn’t like mana. Indeed, it made mana look positively mundane, and using it came with unintended side effects. The most obvious was that his people looked at him like a god. Or a particularly charismatic leader, at the very least. And given Zeke’s personality, he knew it wasn’t due to anything he’d done. He wasn’t a good speaker. He didn’t inspire loyalty, save by leading the way in battle. Instead, the divinity infused in his skill affected the way the kobolds saw him.

“That’s not entirely true. They practically worshipped you before you used [Prosperity],” Eveline countered. “The skill just pushed them over the edge.”

Zeke wanted to argue, but it was true. He’d been endorsed by their mother – the wyrm who’d ushered them to the brink of sapience – and that had put him on an entirely different level, at least in their eyes. And as Eveline had put it, [Prosperity] had simply pushed them over the edge. However, unlike the mind spirit, Zeke worried about where the kobolds would end up, about how they would come to see him in the future.

“You should be more worried about what you might become,” she said. “Power goes both ways, after all.”

“I didn’t take the skill that would let me drain them,” he responded, striding through the camp.

“Doesn’t matter. The way they look at you will only support the growth of that spark of divinity. And eventually, you will become a god in truth,” she said.

Zeke didn’t know what to think about that, what with coming from a monotheistic culture. He wasn’t sure how Earth’s religions fit into everything that had happened since his death, but he did know that being referred to as a potential god made him incredibly uncomfortable.

“You’ll get used to it,” Eveline said.

After that, Zeke made his way out of the area, heading in the opposite direction of the Radiant Host. Fortunately, the enemy wasn’t intent on hiding. They had scouts out and about, but they’d made no attempts at concealing their movements. For better or worse, they intended to meet their enemies head-on and without subterfuge. One of the prisoners they’d interrogated had characterized it with one phrase, “The sun’s light was not meant to be hidden.”

It was a silly statement, but it made their philosophy very clear.

By comparison, Zeke’s own philosophy was just as simple. He would do whatever it took, even if it meant eventually bringing the terrible might of [Wrath of Annihilation] to bear. Just because it wasn’t his first strategy didn’t mean he would shy away from it if it proved necessary.

Regardless, the Radiant Host’s philosophy meant that Zeke didn’t have to worry about running into an enemy army. So, he set off across the plains at a jog that, in the old world, would have rivaled highway speeds. Mile after mile melted before his stride until, at last, he found his destination.

It was a nest of creatures the centaurs referred to as gribbles. The little monsters were more nuisance than anything else, but if they were left alone, they would grow into a truly dangerous force that would sweep across the plains destroying everything in their path. The nest – which was more like a termite mound – had already been earmarked for extermination, and, because it was a perfect opportunity to test his new skill, Zeke had volunteered to take care of it himself.

The creatures themselves were small, furry, and circular, with stubby legs and mouths that looked like they split the monsters in two. Those mouths, in turn, were filled with razor sharp teeth that could cut through stone.

Zeke stepped toward the mound, embracing [Titan] and transforming in the space of a few moments. So, by the time the monsters noticed him, he’d become a thirty foot tall mass of shining metallic flesh. However, the consequences of his previous actions were obvious, and his once-flawless form was marred by a molten spiderweb of deep groves that covered his neck, shoulders, and much of his torso. From those scars came glowing red fire and demonic corruption. Yet, there was more, too. A flavor of mana with which he’d become intimately aware.

It was death.

The new attunement he’d picked up after his experiences within Darukar. Or more appropriately, after his time in the abyss between his death and the afterlife. But rather than weaken him, it worked with his other attunements to strengthen the titanic form. It wasn’t quantified on his status – other than listing the attunement itself – but it was there all the same. More, it hinted at the future of his skill. The more attunements he managed to nurture, the more powerful it would become.

But Zeke wasn’t interested in testing out [Titan]. It was only there to protect him from taking too much damage. So, without further ado, he got down to the business at hand, using [Flames of Reprisal]. The moment the skill took hold, the molten web of cracks in his titanic flesh erupted into an angry conflagration, coating his entire body in red-and-black flames.

When the first wave of gribbles hit him, he felt their razor-sharp teeth latch onto his legs, cutting into him like organic chainsaws. Even his metallic flesh was no match for their jaws, and he felt earth mana spinning all around the creatures. That explained how they managed to do so much damage.

And they did, cutting into him with ease.

Normally, the centaurs would have killed the things via ranged attacks. They weren’t terribly durable, after all. But Zeke wasn’t interested in that. Instead, he just stood there, letting them cut into him.

Then, [Flames of Reprisal] took full effect. At first, it didn’t seem to do anything, save for whipping the fires into a frenzy. However, after only a few seconds, the smell of scorched fur filled the air. A moment after that, high-pitched screams of agony joined the bitter odor. The stupid creatures didn’t know how to retreat, so they simply doubled down on their attacks, sealing their doom.

In seconds, the first wave had been burned to ashes. The second wave soon followed. And the third after that. Before long, Zeke was surrounded by the charred remains of the nest of gribbles, teaching him two things about his new skill. First, [Flames of Reprisal] did precisely what its description claimed, burning anyone who attacked him. It was exactly what he’d intended. After all, he was incredibly durable. He could take all sorts of hits and keep going. On top of that, he had [Touch of Divinity] to heal him. So, he’d decided to lean into that, creating a skill that would reflect damage back on any attackers.

And it had worked like a charm.

The second thing he’d learned was that the skill was incredibly strong, and he could make it even more powerful by channeling his Will through it. Though doing so would be quite painful, which just seemed like normal operating procedure for his skills.

“I think we’ll call this a success,” Eveline said. “Ready to move on to the next one?”

“Yeah,” Zeke said, surveying the site of the extermination. For others, it might’ve been a battle, but for him, it only required that he remain standing in place while the monsters killed themselves on his flames. “I guess it’s time to make a choice, then.”

With that, he turned his attention to his long-ignored notifications. He had three skills available to him, and he needed to make a decision on which one he wanted to choose.