The Four Levels of Godhood

by Zen'Aku Lati

Four individuals' lives are thrown together when an Evil Being decides to play God. Now they must choose between good and evil when they are forced to live up to a destiny they didn't choose.

5. Chapter 4: Circumstance

Author's note: I apologize for the long delay. I have plenty of reasons, but no excuses. Please don't think for a hot second that that gap was me being one of those stubborn writers who refuse to update unless they get X amount of reviews. Personally, I think that it is of poor taste, and is disrespectful to the readers. But alas, I'm "painfully slow," as my friend Jareth so lovingly put it, and in a way that too is disrespectful. Sigh…

I do appreciate those that hit my story, and rest assured, I'll only stop writing if I'm done, or terminally ill.

Thanks again and enjoy, Zen'Aku Lati.

P.S.: Two snaps to whoever can figure out who Keledean and Demorden are.

The Destiny Trilogy.

Book One: The Four Levels of Godhood.

Part I: Inteurn.

Chapter 4: Circumstance.

Despite the fact that night was well upon the city, and many of the shops were closed, the taverns were still very populated. In fact in many cities, the taverns were the last thing to close. The Joir had closed his pharmacy for the night and found himself at the tavern even though he was in no real mind to drink.

The Joir looked up from the Perfection fruit ale he'd been nursing, to see a familiar face weaving his way through the tables of people laughing and talking and drunkards, to make his way to where the Joir was sitting at the bar.

"I see that after all these years you still prefer the sweeter brew, teacher," The bald man joked, smiling down at the Joir before taking a seat himself. "And I see that after all these years, you still refuse to grow out your hair, Demorden." The Joir replied with a smile and clapped his old friend on the back. "It's good to see you, old friend," the Joir continued, basking in the opportunity to look at his friend for the first time in what must've been decades. "The feeling's mutual, old man." Demorden replied with a smile.

"Surely I don't look that old!" the Joir replied, feigning offense even though he knew that since the last time he and Demorden saw one another he had aged some. And here Demorden was, ageless as the day they met. But those days were long gone, and now the Teacher aged like any other mortal. "Why'd you ever leave our ranks?" Demorden asked, still bearing a friendly smile, but the playfulness had left his voice. "You were one of the best…" "I couldn't stay. You know that," the Joir rebutted, cutting him off and smiling patiently. The Teacher didn't regret leaving. The only thing he regretted was all the things he did in the name of duty. "It's always business with you, Demorden," the Joir continued, shaking his head. "That's why they put me in the Red!" The bald man joked.

"So, what business brings you to me?" the Joir enquired, knowing that this was not a casual meeting even if he would've liked it to be. "News of your two protégés," Demorden replied, deciding on a more serious tone. "You know that my colleagues are after the one called the Key, and you know that I can't interfere with their mission. But because it's not my mission, there's nothing stopping me from informing you," said Demorden, even though he knew that he very well could be calling down the wrath of the Ancients upon his head. But this was the chance he was willing to take for a friend.

"I know all about the price on Inteurn's head," the Joir replied getting anxious. "Then I'll tell you that your protégé has survived my colleagues' first attempt, and both are being evaluated for their wounds." "Wounds…" the Joir repeated, far off in his own thoughts. Finally coming to himself, he replied, "Thank you, Demorden," but when he looked up, his old friend was gone. Raising his mug of ale, the Joir gave a solemn toast, "Here's to several more decades."

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Magarsic knew that he would recover quickly enough; that was the least of his concerns. Instead, what ruled his thoughts was the fact that they had failed in taking out the Key. He could care less about the wound on his thigh. I mustn't fail, Magarsic thought to himself mournfully, and then raised his eyes to the two moons. Why do you continue to punish me? Have I not suffered enough? He asked. Indeed, he was more vulnerable than he would ever let show. But he must exude confidence. Perhaps then he could regain the Great Ones' favor. Magarsic was so caught up in his own thoughts that he failed to hear when Freideron's soft voice told him that Adulne received an alert.

"Hm?" Magarsic replied in acknowledgement to Freideron's gentle shake. "I said that Adulne had just received an alert from Demorden, love," she reinforced. Freideron knew the look Magarsic often wore very well--even in the dark, but it still bothered her. And what bothered her just as much was the fact that Magarsic never confided his thoughts to her. How many ways can she show him that she was willing? That she should be the one he turns to? "He wants us to meet him and Keledean in Feuric for a briefing." Adulne elaborated.

His bald ass should've been here, Magarsic thought to himself bitterly, not fully understanding how one team could have two different paths. To Magarsic, a team meant that each member had the same goal in mind. He would never understand the Ancients' reasoning for making Demorden leader. "Hey, watch it!" Adulne bellowed, offended. Adulne had had enough of Magarsic taking all his failures out on everyone. True, he could've been a great leader, but he was so much of an asshole that she had to wonder what magic Freideron possessed to be able to stand him!

"Stay out of my head, you fowl! Just because you spread your wings for him, doesn't mean that I can't be put off with him!" Magarsic spat, his eyes glowing in the darkness of the night. "This is not his mission and you know it, you mutt! And I resent your reference to our relationship!" Adulne retorted as she leapt down from her perch atop a high rock. "What relationship? You're a swinging door! You can't make up your mind!" He responded hotly, and at the last part of the statement he stole an almost sorrowful glance at Freideron.

His statement stung Adulne, for even though those words were harshly said, they were still true. She took comfort in the casual relationship she shared with Demorden, and she knew that Magarsic loved Freideron, but she couldn't deny the hold Freideron seemed to have on her. Gods damn it!

Freideron fought back the blush that was threatening to stain her cheeks, all at once thankful for the limited light, and sought to reclaim the peace they had mere moments ago. "Adulne, sweetie, you know it's wrong to peek into someone's mind uninvited, and Magarsic is entitled to his opinions." Adulne smiled at the beautiful blonde diplomat in pleasant surrender. How could she ever refuse Freideron? Then Freideron turned her attention to Magarsic and continued, "And Magarsic, my love, we still have a duty to uphold, so we must go and meet Demorden. After all, he is still our leader."

Magarsic knew she was right, so he momentarily put aside his resentment and declared, "To Feuric, then."

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"How could you let this happen?" Darpa demanded angrily as he punched Gradice in the shoulder. "I didn't let anything happen!" Gradice shot back, furious that this kid that barely knew either of them had the nerve to take that accusatory tone with him. Though secretly, Gradice was thinking the same thing.

The infirmary milled with life as the medics made a fuss over Inteurn, and out of the chaos came a voice declaring that they were out of a specific herb that could save Inteurn's life. Gradice would've panicked if he hadn't been so outraged. How do you run such a "grand institution" and not have everything you need? "Well, then let's strap him to a wagon and get him to a real hospital!" Gradice reasoned. It was the most obvious conclusion, yet he got looks as if he had sprouted a second head.

"Use sense, boy!" One of the medics scolded. "We can't very well have him going off to a hospital in Feuric, because there'd be a lot of explaining to do. This ain't exactly listed!" The stern man concluded, waving his hand around to indicate the Camp, then, already forgetting Gradice, the medic started barking out orders for someone to ride into Feuric and get the missing medicine. Gradice couldn't believe his ears! Did he just hear the man suggest that they should send someone out to take that four-hour ride into Feuric and another four hours back, versus making one trip of it and take Inteurn somewhere where could get better medical attention? You have got to be joking!

"I'll go!" Gradice volunteered. "Will you even know what to look for?" The medic enquired, annoyance present on his face. "I've spent most of my days in a pharmacy. I should think so," Gradice shot back, quite annoyed himself. "Well then I'll accompany you, just in case you decide you wanna alert the authorities," the medic replied, not even bothering to mask the menace in his voice, and in what felt like minutes later, Gradice and the medic had saddled their horses and were on their way to the city of Feuric.

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Darpa watched as Gradice sped away and pleaded for him to hurry, then returned his attention to Inteurn. Darpa felt helpless as he looked upon Inteurn's still form in the lamplight, for he felt as though his chance for escape was slipping away right along with Inteurn. He had put his faith in the handsome, silver-haired youth. But now it seemed like all hope was thrashed.

At that moment Darpa felt entitled to a little selfishness. All his life he had put others' needs before his own, and it had only succeeded in getting him trampled on. But alas, he was being unfair to poor Inteurn, for Darpa had seen nothing but sincerity of conviction in Inteurn, and there was nothing that should make him believe that Inteurn would leave him hanging. But that blood-stained bandage upon Inteurn's neck didn't exactly fill Darpa with confidence.

Darpa resigned to hanging his head, "Please be okay."

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Thaddeus found the sight before him amusing: the blue-haired youth fretting over the silver-haired boy who laid unconscious. Thaddeus could spot the signs a mile off, and all he could do was shake his head. "I'm sure he'll pull through. He has a resilient spirit." Thaddeus reassured, startling the blue-haired youth, Darpa. Thaddeus meant every word. There was something about Inteurn that promised such great things.

As Thaddeus walked out of the infirmary and into the night air, he began to think of how he could incorporated the promising youth into his plans. Inteurn had caught his attention from the moment he met him, now Thaddeus needed to see Inteurn in action. So he'd wait for Inteurn to recover. It was only a matter of time.

But until then, the Camp must continue its activities. Life goes on. Thaddeus went back to his tent located in the direct center of the Camp. He needed to call a meeting for the senior district leaders.

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Leila sat in silence at the vanity, watching the servant brush her long, golden hair in the mirror. One hundred strokes for good luck, the servant said. She was unaccustomed to having someone else do for her what she would normally do for herself, but she was bloody and dirty from her ordeal with the evacuation and her short and unpleasant stay in the cell, and she was emotionally and physically too exhausted from her battle to keep up a strong front. So she let the servant bathe her, and dress her, and brush her hair, with no resistance; she was in no mood to fight.

The servant had dressed her in a lovely baby blue lacy nightgown, and for a split second she allowed herself to marvel at herself in the mirror, for she had never worn anything so rich in all her life.

"You clean up well." Came the voice she'd come to associate with her "savior". Leila was snapped back to the present as she turned to face the man who was looking upon her with obvious approval. The servant stopped brushing and excused herself from the room. "Come, my Lady, you must be famished," he ventured, offering his arm. As much as she wanted to protest being called "his Lady", she had to admit that she could stand to eat something. And as if on cue, her stomach gave an audible growl. The man smirked and led her to the grand dining hall.

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They all rematerialized at their usual meeting place, the Arena. It always had an almost oppressive feel to it, especially now that it was devoid of patrons. In the still of the night one could almost hear the roar of the spectators. Magarsic would normally bask in such an environment, but he knew full well what he was there for.

Here in this dark solitude, the three were greeted by a lone figure in blue. His garments were almost a metallic blue with silver trim, and upon his shaven head he sported a tattoo of intricate swirls, which, at first glance, looked like an exposed brain.

"Keledean, where's Demorden?" Magarsic demanded. "Why, it's good to see you too, Magarsic! Oh, me? I'm fine. Thanks for asking." Keledean retorted sarcastically. But seeing that Magarsic's expression didn't change, he took on a more serious tone. "He'll be along shortly."

As if on cue, Demorden appeared in a red beam of light. "Did someone call my name?" He asked, jokingly, and then was nearly knocked over by Adulne as she flung her arms around him and kissed him fiercely on the lips. He had missed Adulne as much and she had missed him, but while sneaking a peak over Adulne's shoulder, he noticed the irate look on Magarsic's face, and so reluctantly, he pulled away from Adulne's longing embrace. "Right. On to business then."

The pale-faced bald man cleared his throat, straightened his deep red shirt and began, "It's good to see you all again and in one piece," Demorden stole an apologetic glance in Adulne's direction and continued, "Now, apparently, you're not the only ones trying to get the Key; another creature has been sent, and he and the Minions are attacking Veusig as we speak. He is called Kovah. He's an earthquake all on his own, and his voice can shake the largest of structures to the ground. Unfortunately, I am unable to tell you of his full weapons array. But I can provide you with a visual description of his features." Demorden then sent a mental image to his four teammates.

"Alright, then. It's time for the call!" Magarsic commanded, about to call upon his totem, when he remembered his place, then amended as he looked upon Demorden's amused expression, "Is that not so, Demorden?" "Of coarse, Magarsic." Demorden replied, smiling and shaking his bald head, then he began.

"Demi-Dragon!" Demorden commanded.

"Demi-Owl!" Called Adulne, in the same fashion.

"Demi-Lioness!" Freideron summoned.

"Demi-Wolf!" Magarsic commanded.

"Demi-Tiger!" Keledean called, ending the role call. And off to Veusig they went, in beams of colorful light.

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The air had cooled down considerably around them. It had been so for hours, but the anticipation of battle made them aware of it.

A night fight. It's been a while since the last time Demorden had one. A shiver of anticipation went down his spine. Demorden listened to the night, trying to pick out anything out of the ordinary. Just then, the wind kicked up, rustling the leaves of the trees, and along with it came a horrid smell that his helmet unfortunately couldn't shield him from. "Minions," he breathed, barely above a whisper. And as if responding to his acknowledgement, they made their presence known.

Hundreds of maggots started snaking their way down the trunk of the tree nearest him, then finally settled into a writhing heap at the base of the tree. Demorden took a few steps back in disgust, only to bump into Magarsic, who also was recoiling from a similar scene before him. Freideron put a hand to the mouthpiece of her helmet and lurched as if she were about to hurl.

Adulne was the first to find her voice, "Glah! Let's do away with these things before I bring up my breakfast!" The Minions' horrid smell was only surpassed by their grotesque appearance; decomposing flesh dripped from rotting muscle. It was a miracle they could stand at all! Correction: it was no miracle.

Suddenly the forest became deathly quiet; not even a single creak of a cricket. Demorden would never get used to that.

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Once seated the servants came out with trays of food, and even as the servants ladled the heavenly-smelling food into the empty plate before her, Leila could scarcely concentrate on the food, for she could feel the man's intent stare and it made her uncomfortable.

"Was I wrong to assume you were hungry, my Lady?" he asked of her finally. "I am not your lady!" she snapped with a glare, finally finding her voice. "Yet," the man amended, moving his gaze off of Leila and onto his plate, where he began digging into the meal with his knife and fork. "But after the commitment ceremony, you will be."

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Freideron leapt up into a tree and looked down at the Minions. She was highly disturbed by them. Not only by their appearance, but by the dark magic used to get them that way. She had a deep respect for the dead, and to know that they were violated this way shook her to the core. But she knew she had to fight these creatures to move on to the real threat. It has always been this way.

With a low, throaty growl, Freideron leapt from her perch in the tree onto the nearest Minion and tackled it to the ground. And with the claws she unsheathed through her gloves, she began slashing at the Minion's putrid face until it ceased to move. "Phew!" Keledean whistled. "Remind me never to get on Freideron's bad side!" He joked.

Freideron stood up and looked at her gloved hands and the front of her suit, observing the bits of flesh and globs of congealed blood that managed to stick onto her formerly clean purple suit. Her hands shot to her stomach as it gave a violent twist. She might hurl after all.

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"Fight it, Freideron!" came Adulne's concerned but commanding voice. "If you take off your helmet, you'll leave yourself vulnerable!" She finished. This was true. So Freideron straightened up and found her voice just in time to yell, "Adulne! Behind you!" "I heard them!" Adulne reassured, and whizzed around to kick the oncoming Minion in the solar plexus--just to have her foot get stuck in its ribs!

"Dammit!" Adulne cursed. Then she quickly whipped out her other foot to connect with the side of the Minion's head. Landing on that foot and on her hands, she braced herself on her hands and used that foot to back kick the Minion, dislodging her other foot, and used that momentum to tumble forward.

She got back to her feet to see that the Minion that now sported a gaping hole through its chest cavity, was still coming at her! She stood still. Her visor shown with a silvery-white glow, which stunned the Minion into stillness. Then she walked up to him, drew her sword and lopped off its head. "Daaaaamn! You girls are vicious!" Keledean exclaimed with approval. Sheathing her sword Adulne replied, "You don't know the half."

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Leila looked down, focusing on her fork. She knew that what this man said about a commitment ceremony was the truth. She also knew that there was nothing she could do to change it. She hated how powerless she was at the moment. But maybe she still had some control.

She picked up her fork and clutched it tightly as she envisioned taking it and thrusting it through the man's throat…but instead she stuck the fork into her meal and began to eat.

After an uncomfortable silence, Leila asked, not bothering to lift her head form her plate, "Who are you?" The man began to laugh, for indeed he had not formally introduced himself. "I am Bacchus Canon. I own half of the dacnirvos (casinoes) in this city," he finished, beaming with obvious pride.

Leila began shaking her head, which wiped the smile off his face. Then finally she looked from her plate and said, "What in the Nether is wrong with you? Why do you feel the need to steal an already-married woman and force her to be your bride? I mean, that makes no sense! Why can't you just meet a woman the old fashioned way like a normal person? You know, you meet a woman you like halfway, and if she actually likes you then maybe you can ask her hand in marriage! I wonder if you even realize how backwards this is!" Leila ranted, not bothering to stifle her disgust.

Bacchus sat flabbergasted. He honestly didn't know how he was to reply, but after some thought he finally came up with something. "Ask all the questions you'd like, for that won't change the fact that I will wed you," then smiled at his cleverness. "Then you must truly be desperate to resort to such lengths to hold down a woman," Leila retorted and looked back down at her plate. Once again Bacchus' smile fell. Dinner, for him, was officially spoiled.

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Keledean sensed the undead presence of the Minion behind him and back flipped over its head. The Minion spun around, swinging its arm in hopes of connecting with Keledean's head, bit Keledean saw this coming and ducked. The Minion followed through with another attempt.

Keledean blocked the Minion's forearm and sent his free fist into the Minion's decrepit face, then twisted its arm to the back and pushed its back down, and with a decisive pop the arm came off in Keledean's hand. With it Keledean beat the Minion over the head until it stopped moving. "I dare say, you're enjoying this!" Came Magarsic's disapproving voice. "Yeah, I am!" Keledean chuckled, tossing the arm aside.

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Magarsic could only shake his helmeted head. He had more pressing things to think about, and there was no way in the Nether he was about to let those putrid creatures get the first move on him, so he picked a target and began his pre-emptive attack. Magarsic grabbed hold of the Minion at the waist and turned it upside down, so that the Minion's head was pointing downward, and he held the Minion's waist in a bear hug. Still holding the Minion in this position, Magarsic jumped and landed on his backside, forcing the Minion's head into the ground. "My, Magarsic! Are you certain you weren't meant to be an arena wrestler?" Demorden chuckled, impressed. Magarsic said nothing. "What do you call that move?" He asked. "The 'sit-out pile driver,'" Magarsic answered matter-of-factly.

Magarsic then threw the Minion against a tree where it collided with a sickening crunch and then crumpled at the base of the tree in a disgusting heap. In moments, in place of the heap of rotting flesh, was a mound of squirming maggots and worms, which retreated into the ground.

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As amused as Demorden was at Magarsic's display of aggression, Demorden had to admit that Magarsic was onto something, because it was growing darker by the minute and they were on a mission. The sooner they did away with these Minions and got out of this dark forest, the better. So Demorden contributed to the fray with his own preemptive attack on the Minion unfortunate enough to be closest to him. And the plan was simple enough: Aim for the Z...just kidding. Aim for the head.

Demorden aimed his spinning-heal kick at the walking dead thing's head, and watched as the head spun back almost 180 degrees. Then watched in repulsion as the thing gripped its head with both hands and turned it back to its original forward position. "Glah! You have got to be joking," Demorden muttered, but recovered quickly enough to follow through with a back flip mere inches away from the Minion, resulting in the Minion getting Demorden's booted feet to its chin. The Minion's head literally snapped back.

The Minion stalled for a moment, and then fell backwards. Wasting no time, Demorden lifted the limp Minion up by its neck and then hoisted the thing above his head with both hands, then brought the living corps down to connect with his upraised knee. The Minion's spine bent in a direction no humanoid should ever bend in. Then Demorden released the Minion, allowing it to fall where it may. The Minion then reverted back to its original state of maggots and worms, to be reabsorbed by the earth. "And what do you call that one?" Magarsic asked, only marginally amused. "The 'spine buster,'" Demorden answered happily, grinning under his helmet.

Demorden was glad to be done with the Minions, for the Minions, being corpses, and unnaturally brought back to life, disrupted nature's natural flow. Now with the Minions subdued, life in these woods of Veusig could go back to normal. But his smile soon fell, for something had just occurred to him: life in the forest failed to normalize, for all the nocturnal creatures remained eerily still. They weren't finished.

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"Comrades! I think it's time to switch to night vision. This may take a while." Came Demorden's authoritative voice through the darkness. This may prove to be a blessing in disguise though, for the Minions' night vision was questionable. Demorden was satisfied that his team could handle these Minions. Certainly they'd be down for the count in round two.

Suddenly the ground around the five Demigods opened up in cracks and bubbling through them came those creepy crawly creatures that feasted off of death, forming into mounds that once again became the Minions, and they stood as before. But something was different. The Minions began walking into each other, the worms and maggots that were their being separating to assimilate the second being, and the result was more monstrous than the original. Suddenly they were surrounded by half the amount of Minions, but these Minions were larger and more solid; instead of looking like flesh that couldn't hold itself together, their flesh looked like leather, and their muscular mass doubled. The Minions had merged, and what stood before the five Demigods in all their horrid glory were the result: The Minion Hybrid.

Gone was Demorden's certainty of getting this over with quickly and without injury. And if there was any doubt about the Hybrids' ability to see in the dark, their eyes glowed green meaning they possessed night vision. Shit, was the collective thought.

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Fine fucking timing! How in the Nether did they expect to find a pharmacy that was open at this time of night? Gradice thought as he and the medic trotted around the sleeping city. "Would you stop fretting! Gods, you would think you were a girl!" the medic scolded in response to Gradice's constant fidgeting. "All we have to do is look for a temple. They never close." "Well, lead the way," Gradice said in mock surrender.

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Quick as lightning, a Minion Hybrid flew at Demorden and mercilessly showered blow after blow to his helmeted head, cracking it some. Then the Hybrid grabbed hold of Demorden's neck in a deadly hold and squeezed.

Demorden's vision began to blur and he couldn't breathe. But before he blacked out, he found the strength to execute one desperate move. Demorden's visor glowed a sinister red of liquid fire, then concentrated a steady beam at the Hybrid's head, hurling the Minion Hybrid some yards away to crash through a tree. Demorden took this opportunity to catch his breath.

The Hybrid recovered quickly enough, despite the fact that its head was now ablaze, and launched out its whip of human leather towards Demorden's neck, only to be blocked by Demorden's forearm. The whip wrapped around his wrist a couple of times.

Demorden quickly closed the distance between them and sent his free fist into the Hybrid's leathery jaw. He ignored the horrid stench of burning flesh emitting from the Hybrid's still-blazing head. Then he wretched the whip from out of the Hybrid's grasp and wrapped it around its neck.

The Minion Hybrid quickly unraveled its neck from the whip and swept Demorden's feet from under him and reclaimed its weapon. Without wasting another moment, the Hybrid pinned Demorden down with its foot at his throat, and from its elbow the Hybrid procured a sinister-looking sword of bone. Eyeing the sword with apprehension, Demorden thought, oh shit…

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Magarsic transformed his mouthpiece into a fully functional snout, complete with ominous-looking teeth and a snarl, and launched himself at the Minion Hybrid that now had Demorden pinned, barking all the way. They tumbled end over end, which snuffed out the flames that consumed the Hybrid's head. They finally came to a stop with Magarsic on top. Magarsic paused to snarl at the charred Minion Hybrid before digging into it with teeth and claws, which was no easy feat with the upgrade the Minions had just undergone.

"Daaamn! No wonder you and Freideron hooked up: the both of you are crazy! Keledean chided in good nature. But before he could fully laugh outright, another Hybrid attacks him from behind, confining him in a sleeper hold.

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Ah, sweet mercy! Gradice winced as he dismounted his horse. The stupid slash on his back was acting up. Why now? And Gradice wasn't certain if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but the pain seemed to increase the closer they got to the temple.

Oil lamps illuminated the entranceway and seemed to beckon them, and Gradice looked up to observe the sun symbol above the door. The Temple of Light, he assessed, yet somehow he already knew that. Gradice and the medic tied their horses to nearby poles and strode up to the door. The medic seemed to pause before pushing open the tall, heavy wooden doors. Gradice didn't blame him, for Gradice was in awe; the combination of beauty and serenity the lobby alone gave off was enough to catch Gradice's breath.

"How may I help you fine gentlemen this evening?" a monk in white robes of home-spun cloth with gold trim offered, surveying the two wearily, but maintaining a pleasant smile. Gradice didn't even realize that someone else had entered the room!

"Good evening, Brother," the medic began with a formal salutation, speaking for the both of them. "Would it be too much to ask some medicine of you?" the medic continued. His polite speech surprised and baffled Gradice. If he didn't know any better, he would say the medic was almost...gentleman-like!

"But of course," the monk yielded. Even though the monk was speaking to the medic, he was looking at Gradice. Gradice noticed this, but felt too at home to find that odd. "Follow me to the storeroom and you can take your pick of whatever you need."

Gradice and the medic followed the monk down a hall and down some winding stairs until they arrived at a locked door. The monk procured the keys from a hidden pocket within his robes and unlocked the door, and Gradice and the medic proceeded to take from the storeroom what they needed--and a little extra, but not too much to offend the temple's generosity.

They got as far as the front of the temple to untie their horses before the pain in Gradice's lower back became unbearable. What is this? I was fine mere hours ago! he wondered painfully to himself. "Young sir, you seem to be in great pain. Do I dare ask what could be the matter?" the monk asked. "It's nothing," Gradice assured through clenched teeth. He may be in pain at the moment, but he knew of someone who might be dead by morning! "Pardon my saying, young sir, but I do not think it's nothing, for alas, you are bleeding."

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Struggling only further secured the hold. Keledean's eyes began to flutter and he began to slip out of consciousness. But what brought him back to awareness was the unmistakable sound of maggots crawling; eating their way through his helmet! He'll be damned if he let them get through to his brain! Correction: he'd be brain-dead.

In a last-ditch attempt to save his precious brain, he reached his hand back and grabbed where he figured the Hybrid's balls should be--can a Minion even be considered male?--and squeezed for dear life, and then commanded ice to form at his palm, causing ice to spread throughout the Hybrid's groin area, thighs and torso. The Hybrid, literally frozen, had loosened its hold; the maggots ceased their assault on Keledean's helmet. Then Keledean sent his elbow into the Hybrid's frozen torso, and watched as it stumbled back comically because of the lack of mobility in its legs. Now Keledean could laugh outright!

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Adulne stood stupefied at the sight of Keledean doubled over in laughter. Keledean could find the humor in almost anything. Sometimes she wondered about his mental state. But Adulne had to give him credit for one thing: Keledean knew the meaning of friendship, for once he had his fill of whatever he found so funny, he rushed over to Demorden's side to see how he was.

Magarsic was finished ripping the Hybrid he just saved Demorden from to leather ribbons and was about to walk away when Demorden's "thank you" halted him. Adulne could tell that Magarsic wasn't expecting to be thanked (the momentary bewildered look on his face was a dead giveaway). Adulne allowed herself to smile at the awkward, touching scene--and was taken completely off guard by the sword of bone that ran her through from behind.

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For Adulne time seemed to come to a screeching halt. Breathing was difficult, and what breath did come was accompanied by blood. How could she let his happen? How…She couldn't think. Then a fresh pain rocked her core as the Minion Hybrid gave the crude sword of bone a sharp twist. "Gods!" she gasped. Then the walking dead creature violently withdrew its sword. How…she thought, as the ground rose to meet her, but the black took her before she even made contact.

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"Noooo!" Freideron cried as she saw Adulne hit the ground. She ran with all the speed her totem would allow her, drew her sword and slashed into the Hybrid that now sported Adulne's blood on its sword. Freideron saw red and cut the Hybrid to pieces with uncharacteristic fury, then fell to her knees beside Adulne's lifeless, demorphed form. Red stained Adulne's white garments.

Freideron had no idea when Demorden had made it to her side, all she knew was that Demorden now cradled Adulne in his arms. Freideron never saw him so broken. Then he brought himself back into the role of leader and commanded, "Freideron, take her to an infirmary. We'll handle the Minions and Kovah!" Freideron didn't need to be told twice. In the next moment she and Adulne were gone in two streaks of purple light.

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Gradice quickly brought a hand to his lower back to find that he indeed was bleeding. "I can handle that when we get back," the medic promised, now a little anxious. "Pardon me, Bizhedo, but it looks as though you have a long ride ahead of you. Allow me to see to him. I insist." the monk contended, less humble and more demanding, and before the medic could protest any further, the monk was shooing Gradice back into the temple.

The monk ushered the blonde boy into a small prayer room with an alter adorned with lit candles and a small bowl of water for ablutions. It was pointless to fight, for Gradice was bleeding, and Gods dammit did it hurt!

"Have a seat," the monk indicated one of the few small benches arranged in a circle in the center of the room. "May I ask your name, young sir?" said the monk as he reached under the skirt of the alter and puller out a bowl of water not unlike the bowl atop the alter, and some towels. "Gradice. Gradice Yugesoji," the blonde boy offered. The monk gave a slight start but continued.

"Yugesoji. What an interesting name. Where is your family from?" The monk asked, as he carefully removed Gradice's bloody shirt. "I...I don't know," he admitted. He never really thought about his lineage before. He never had to. He was perfectly satisfied with his life in Lijog, and the Joir was close enough to a father; he never once wondered where his name came from.

"Well, that's a shame," the monk said with a sympathetic smile before cleaning the blood with a wet towel. "What is it like...being a monk?" Gradice asked absently as the monk began numbing the skin to prep it for re-stitching. Are you considering going for confirmation?" the monk asked pleasantly, beginning to sew. "Not really," Gradice admitted. "But this peace is ideal."

Why is this place so familiar to me? Gradice wondered to himself. "It's ideal, but it's not the reality for you," the monk said with such a certainty that startled Gradice back into the present. "All done, Yugesoji-son," the monk announced with a pleasant smile. Gradice was given a new shirt and sent on his way.

As Gradice and the medic sped off back in the direction of the camp, a strange purple light streaked across the sky and ended at the temple they just left. Gradice had much to think about. Meanwhile, back in one of the prayer rooms, the monk confided to one of his fellow Brothers of the Robe, "Our little Kirudeta has returned to us--and it appears his journey has only just begun."

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Dammit, I should've been there! Demorden scolded himself. Tears stung his eyes and he was thankful for his helmet. But he was leader and right now his team needed a strong leader; he had no time for regret. He stood up and took a deep breath, allowing the cold night air to cut into his lungs, then dusted himself off as best he could. Demorden slowing drew his sword and commanded it to ignite. "This ends now."

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Freideron and Adulne rematerialized in the lobby of the Temple of Light. "Please! I need help!" she shouted to the empty hall, her voice echoing off the walls. Moments later a monk in white robes with gold trim came scurrying out, then, realizing who she was, bowed deeply. "Esteemed one! It is an honor to receive you! What might this humble creature do to serve you?" "My partner is severely injured…" Freideron began, as she held Adulne closer to her. "Of course, we'll prepare a room for you at once," offered the monk, and in moments Freideron was led to a dimly lit room, sparsely decorated with a single cot and a small table beside it. Atop the table rested everything she'll need.

Freideron gently laid Adulne on the cot, and demorphed. "Adulne, sweetie, you will be fine." Just then monks started filing in and lined themselves against the walls. The monks began to chant in the familiar tongue as Freideron began cutting away the bloody clothing. "Vgoij icoh, taghiyo caj naeg hogkicjh cal jwij jwon wiko hwos jwoug qzis uc naeg cibo." Great ones, forsake not your servants now that they have shed their blood in your name.

Freideron gently cleaned Adulne's skin of the blood with the cloth and water provided, and cleaned the wound with antiseptic liquid. Then reached for the needle and thread, and before putting it to Adulne's wound she prayed, "Gods, steady my hand," then began to sew, all the while with the monks chanting, Great Ones, forsake not your servants now that they have shed their blood in your name. "Forsake not your servants," Freideron repeated tearfully.

Freideron then smeared ointment on the new stitches and gently wrapped Adulne in gauze. "You will live," Freideron promised, resting a hand to Adulne's cool cheek. Freideron closed her eyes and took a deep breath before bringing her face down to meet Adulne's. Freideron could taste the metallic saltiness of the blood that still remained on Adulne's lips. Moments later Freideron could feel the life leave her body and enter into Adulne's, and just before the black completely consumed her, she stretched out on the cot to accompany Adulne in darkness.

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If you had told Thaddeus a decade ago that he'd be doing what he was doing, he would've punched you, for indeed he was doing the exact opposite of what he thought he'd be doing. But all man is is the slave of circumstance, and in order for man to survive he must accept circumstance's mastery even if it means surrendering all you know to be right. Thaddeus was no exception.

He looked upon the Camp, his creation, with a mixture of bitterness and pride. All this was now necessary. With all this he can become the master of his circumstance. Thaddeus shook his head. The time for contemplation was over. It was time to get to work. He made his way to the Information district and marched into the Bookkeeping building.

"Have we gotten any word back on our order of Que metal?" Thaddeus asked of the man busily organizing ledgers and files, and putting them into drawers. Thaddeus knew that he could have someone come to him and report these kind of things to him, but he preferred to go out and gather the information himself, for he led by example.

"Not yet, Bizohedo. Sales is still haggling for a better price. We're coming close to an agreement," said the man, stopping what he was doing to acknowledge the leader. "Thank you," said Thaddeus, and left the building to go to Sales in the Weapons district.

Thaddeus swung the door open to the Sales building and began, "What's the status on the price of the Que?" he asked of the man taking inventory, loading wares into crates and double-checking order forms to go into Zigayoc. "I managed to work the price down form 1,000nir to 850, Bizohedo." "Good work. Contact Feuric and prepare the Inks for transfer," Thaddeus order, pleased with how smoothly things were coming along.

Thaddeus looked up at the sky and smiled at the two moons. You will not get the better of me, he thought, referring to the Gods he knew resided on one of them. Sighing, he continued towards his tent, for he had some major thinking to do.

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The Hybrid swung its crude sword at Demorden's head, but he blocked it with his own sword and then sent a low side kick into the Minion Hybrid's knee, then followed that with a side kick to it's chest, and then an upward slash with his blazing sword. The Hybrid staggered back, now sporting a fiery slash from its chest to the side of its face, but the Hybrid didn't recoil; instead it owned it.

The Hybrid quickly recovered and launched back into action, grabbing hold of Demorden and head butting him. It then took the handle of its sword and cracked Demorden on his helmeted head with it, then followed through with a knee to the chin, which resulted in Demorden sprawled out on his back. Then the Hybrid sought to stomp Demorden's chest in with its big leather-clad foot, but Demorden rolled out of the way and quickly kicked himself back to his feet, holding his blazing sword at ready.

Seeing that its foot missed its mark, the Hybrid quickly lashed out its sword at Demorden's midsection. He leapt back. The Hybrid then followed through with a forward thrust of its crude sword of bone. Demorden parried. Then the Minion Hybrid followed that up with a back-hand using its free hand, which connected, causing Demorden to stumble and spin around, but still managing to remain standing. But the Hybrid wasn't finished. The Hybrid whipped out a spinning-heel kick, which had Demorden completely spinning out in the same direction as before, landing hard on the ground.

His helmet was cracking even further. Neither he nor his helmet could take much more of this. In the next moment, the heavy Hybrid had Demorden pinned, with both hands planted firmly on either side of his helmet. The next thing he heard was the sound of mutated maggots making their way through the cracks of his helmet. Oh, I don't fucking think so! Demorden swore as he blasted the Hybrid off him using a concentrated beam of liquid fire through his visor, then shook his head free of any wayward maggots.

For good measure, Demorden blasted the super sized zombie again. He took advantage of the Hybrid's unsteadiness to take his sword and run the Hybrid through. "This is for Adulne, you ugly son-of-a-nether-realm-whore!" Demorden seethed, then violently withdrew his blazing sword, and brought it down on the top of the Hybrid's head, neatly cutting it in half down to its neck.

But taking out this monster was no consolation for not being there for Adulne. All he could hope to do now was get this battle over with quickly so that he could be by her side. "Alright, fellahs. On to Kovah!"

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Thaddeus sat on his bed and reached for the black box that always sat on the table next to his bed. He opened the box and took out a sheet of the thin, brown, leaf-like paper out of its special compartment. Then pinched up some of the sweet-smelling green herb between his fingers and rolled it up on the paper, licked the paper to seal it, and lit it with a match. Thaddeus closed the black box, stretched out on his bed, and took a long drag.

He did some of his best thinking just like this, and tonight he needed to figure out what his next move about Inteurn should be. Taking another drag, he would eventually come to his conclusion.

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The servant had turned down the covers of the king-sized bed and Bacchus was making himself comfortable. He looked upon Leila with curiosity and amusement as she pounded her pillow into submission and made herself at home on the floor. "Don't be silly, woman. Come to bed," Bacchus said, half laughing at the lovely lady lying on the floor. Keeping her back to him, she declared, "I refuse to lie in the same bad with you. I'd rather sleep on the floor."

"No wife of mine will sleep on the floor!" he commanded, somewhat losing his patience; this game of defiance was getting old. "I am not your wife!" Leila bellowed, springing upright and glaring at the smug Bacchus. "Yet!" he amended and leapt off the bed to meet her on the floor. He lifted her up by the arm only to have her pull away.

Bacchus had officially lost all patience and was motioning to back-hand her when she said, "Are you going to hit me?" Leila snorted, "You'll be shocked to find that I hit back," she challenged, meaning every word. Leila stared him down. As if to test her, he went through with it and smacked her…only to have her make good on her promise and smack him back.

There they both stood in the lavish bedroom, holding their faces and staring each other down. Then Leila made the first move and reclaimed her spot on the floor. And Bacchus returned to the bed and blew out the oil lamp.

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'Complete power corrupts completely', was that how the saying went? Well, Thaddeus knew first hand that this saying was true, and he hoped that this saying would prove to be true for young Inteurn. Thaddeus sensed Inteurn's authoritative energy and knew that Inteurn would have the other boys rallying behind him in no time. And if Inteurn was busy giving orders, his mind wouldn't be on the fact that his life was destroyed. If Thaddeus could get Inteurn to too much enjoy having power, then he'd be less likely to want to give it up--and then Thaddeus would have complete control.

Loyalty. Loyalty was the thing Thaddeus needed. If he didn't have people on his side that were as dedicated to seeing his mission succeed as he was, he'd be doomed to fail. And he will not fail, or his pledge will be broken. That cannot happen.

Inteurn was the key, and it all begins with the offer of power. His best idea yet.

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"You do realize that now we can't form the Mega-Suit, don't you?" Magarsic asked of Demorden. Demorden was still quite numb from what just happened and for Magarsic to make such an insensitive statement made him want to knock his head off. "Well, my green friend, I couldn't very well have Adulne pilot her Suit in the state she was in now could I?" Demorden shot back, hoping that Magarsic could tell that he was shooting him daggers through his helmet. "We'll just have to kick Kovah's ass the hard way," Demorden finished.

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It had been a bitter and bloody battle, and even Keledean was in low spirits. But they were the victors, destroying their adversary until nary but his parts remained.

The sun had finally come up, and in the light of day one could see clearly the aftermath of the battle: burrows in the sand from where Kovah caused the earth to quake; burn marks brought on by the friction of the Demigods' Mechani-Suits skidding across the sands; Kovah's blood stains from when the Demigods in their Mechani-Suits began cutting into the hundred-story creature; and Kovah's dismembered body as the pieces laid haphazardly upon the orange sands.

Demorden, Magarsic and Keledean had been fighting all night, and their bodies screamed for rest, but none would come to them in the deserts west of the Kingdom of Veusig, for there was no rest for the weary of body, mind and soul.

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Leila woke to a crick neck, an aching back and the smell of breakfast, and followed her nose to the grand dining hall where she spotted Bacchus occupying the same seat from the night before, sipping tea and leafing through the morning news bulletins. He noticed her at the entrance and smiled as he mocked, "Slept well?" She sneered at him and without realizing it, took the very seat she occupied the night before.

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Adulne gasped as if emerging from deep waters. "Where am I?" she demanded, then looked over to see Freideron laying beside her. Adulne's sudden start roused Freideron from her fitful slumber. Adulne asked in a shaking voice, "Are we dead?" and took the opportunity to take in her unfamiliar surroundings. Freideron propped herself up on her elbow and assured, "No, we are not."

Calmed by Freideron's gentle voice, Adulne laid back down and rested her hand on her abdomen. She realized her state of undress just then, and took note of the bandages that were wrapped around her core and the strip strategically placed around her bosom to preserve her modesty.

"What happened?" Adulne whispered. "I healed you," Freideron replied in a similar hushed tone. "Thank you," Adulne said gratefully as she turned her head to face Freideron. "Are you alright?" she asked with concern. She would never forgive herself if she found that healing her caused Freideron great pain. "I'll live," Freideron promised with an assuring smile.

"Are you up for taking a walk with me?" Freideron asked. "Of course," Adulne agreed, and after being given a robe and a cloak, and thanking the monks, they were ready to go.

The sun had come up on the city of Feuric and all was still and peaceful. They had been walking in silence, enjoying the peace, when Freideron finally spoke, "Please don't think less of me, but do you ever feel like none of this is worth it? Like everything we do, all that we stand for, is a gross waste?" It shocked Adulne to hear Freideron so unsure. But she had to admit that she herself had been thinking similar thoughts as of late. "Like what we're doing is horribly wrong, and that we are the villains rather than the righteous?" Adulne contributed. "Yes, I know the feeling."