Deus Necros

Father Pedri sighed. ”You worry too much.”

”I have survived long enough to appreciate what small mistakes cost.”

Hoyo understood the warning, even if he disliked the delivery.

Grafting was familiar work. Skin and bone remained where he placed them once the procedure was complete. An identity required habits he had never needed to develop. He never had done so much grafting on himself that he needed to change identity.

He glanced at the interface one final time.

[Hoyo Drak]

[CLASSIFICATION: HERO]

[ETERNAL OBLIGATION: SLAY THE DEMON KING]

”Vask, then,” he said.

The werewolf opened the door and stepped aside.

Pedri who was still impressed with the new look that Vask had given him looked at him and said, ”You should know, they’re not our allies.”

”Our?” Vask said.

Pedri snorted, ”Right, you get what I mean, don’t trust anyone, not even me. When it comes to power, you’ll need to do everything you can to get it.”

”You’re saying even if it meant stepping on you if need be.”

”If need be, use, and be used. You saw the value that the powerful gods have given to that waste of air. And now you have that same value in your own hands. Use it, abuse it, make it yours, and you’ll soon be known as the greatest.”

”You know my goal is the destruction of the Holy Church, right?”

”For such a powerful ability you’ve gotten, you have little dreams,” Pedri said.

”What do you mean?”

”Think about it, who gave you this power?”

”I got it myself.”

”You’re missing my point.”

”No, I got your point, but I did this myself, I took it myself, and can use it.”

”Yes, but that doesn’t mean it cannot be taken away from you. If you wage war against the Holy Order, how long do you think you can last before they take it from you?”

”The gods you mean?”

”Yes, they’ll reclaim it, and they’ll wait for the perfect time to do so, all they need to do is designate a new hero, and there goes your qualification and Eternal Obligation. Imagine if it happens in the middle of the Sacrosanctum when you’re surrounded with enemies from all side. That would be a sight, now wouldn’t it.”

”You’re trying to stop me form getting what’s rightfully mine.”

”I’m trying to let you use your heard. Sometimes you have to sleep with the snake for the comfort of the warm cave.”

Vask thought for a second and said, ”Then what do you want me to do then?”

”Me? Nothing, but you can get your revenge without antagonizing the church. Once you make a name for yourself that is, once you’re a hero, and once the people recognize you, I’ll show you the world where the pen can beat the sword.”

=======

Several days later, Vask and Father Pedri walked north beneath the afternoon sun.

They had no carriage or escort. The Imperial gate network could have reduced their journey to hours, but a poor village priest and an orphan carrying a rusty sword could not afford such conveniences.

Reaching Solania on foot would take months.

Father Pedri wore pale traveling robes beneath a worn brown cloak. A wooden holy symbol rested against his chest, and he carried a walking staff. Vask’s plain clothes, travel boots, and small pack made him look even less remarkable.

Only the sword occasionally betrayed him. When his hand lingered on the grip, Holy energy stirred beneath its weathered surface.

Their road carried them through Lotostra. Lufondal, the heartland of the Empire and seat of Imperial power, lay nearby. Along another border stretched Lamar, where the marshlands around Bastos made the roads increasingly difficult. Farther northwest stood Astoria, the Imperial territory nearest the Kingdom of Sands.

Their destination lay beyond those familiar names. They would cross from Lotostra into Letonia and continue toward the northern mountains of Solania, following roads that rarely offered a direct route anywhere.

By the fourth day, Father Pedri had begun objecting to the arrangement.

”We could have taken a gate for part of the journey,” he said, shifting his staff to the other hand.

”We discussed why we couldn’t. You are supposed to be a poor priest who has lost everything.”

”An old priest is allowed to complain. I consider it part of maintaining the identity.”

”You were good at it before you had the new face.”

Father Pedri smiled and continued walking.

The first days passed without incident. That began to trouble Vask more than an attack would have. The Treacherous Fanged Wolf had promised opportunities, and neither traveler believed the Council intended to leave their success entirely to chance.

They passed merchants, farmers carrying produce, and other travelers moving between villages. An Imperial patrol stopped them once to examine their papers. After recognizing the name of Father Pedri’s ruined church, one of the soldiers offered condolences and wished them a safe journey.

Vask said little.

Nobody appeared to find that unusual. An orphan traveling beside the priest who had taken him in was not expected to be particularly talkative.

The documents held, and so did the faces.

Several more days passed before Father Pedri stopped in the road and lifted his head.

Vask caught the smell a moment later.

Smoke lingered on the breeze, stale and cold. Somewhere ahead, a fire had already finished most of its work.

The road curved between low hills before descending toward a town named on the weathered sign they had passed that morning. It was one of the last substantial settlements in northern Lotostra before the route continued toward the Letonian border.

They climbed the rise.

Collapsed roofs and blackened walls filled the hollow below. Several buildings had burned down to their frames, and the wooden palisade had been torn open near the southern entrance.

No wagons moved along the main road. No smoke rose from a chimney, and nobody came out to meet them.

Father Pedri rested both hands on his staff.

”Did they mention this one to you?”

”I was about to ask you the same thing.”

They descended toward the broken gate. The smell of charred wood thickened, with old blood beneath it.

One gate stood open. The other hung from a single hinge.

Vask placed his hand on the sword’s grip, feeling Holy power stir as they entered.

There were no bodies.

He looked along the road, then toward the burned carts and the spaces between the houses. An attack severe enough to destroy so much of the town should have left something behind. People, animals, or even remains buried in the ash.

The streets were empty.

A well had collapsed inward near one of the houses. Farther along, a building that might have been an inn had lost its second floor, leaving charred beams exposed above the entrance.

Father Pedri slowed beside a ruined cart.

”There should be scavengers.”

Vask listened. He heard neither wings overhead nor movement among the wreckage.

”No crows,” he said. ”No dogs or rats either.”

They continued toward the center of town. Ash shifted beneath their boots, but nothing else disturbed the silence.

A small shrine stood near the square, half its roof burned away. Someone had smashed the holy symbol above its doorway.

Vask studied the nearby buildings.

”This looks prepared.”

”By the Council?” Father Pedri asked.

”Perhaps. I expected something less obvious.”

”You are assuming they burned the town themselves. They did say some of the opportunities already existed.”

Vask glanced at him.

”Do you find that reassuring?”

”Not particularly,” Father Pedri admitted.

Vask laughed quietly, then stopped as he noticed the marks crossing the square.

Several broad grooves had been dragged through the ash. They began near a ruined house and disappeared into the narrow space between two buildings.

He crouched beside one and touched the ground at its base. Beneath the dry surface, it remained damp.

These marks were recent.

Father Pedri watched him straighten.

”Something has been here since the fire.”

”Something may still be here.”

Vask’s hand tightened around the sword. He checked the blue interface, but it offered no new quest or explanation. The obligation to kill the Demon King remained where it had been, indifferent to the ruined town around him.

Apparently, he would have to discover this problem himself.

Father Pedri looked toward the northern street, then back at the broken shrine.

”This is probably one of the gifts they promised you.”

”They could have wrapped it,” Vask said.

”I suspect whatever is waiting inside would object.” Father Pedri stepped around the grooves and lifted his staff. ”Let’s find out what happened before we continue to Letonia.”

Vask looked at the empty windows surrounding the square.

A young Hero stood in a destroyed town with a priest beside him and something dangerous waiting out of sight. Whether the Council had created the situation or merely arranged for them to find it, the scene suited the story they wanted told.

He drew the rusty sword. Faint Holy light ran along its weathered edge as he followed Father Pedri farther into the town.