I was quite surprised with how well the first chapter was received. If you all are interested, I've cleaned it up a bit, even added a little extra, and would love if you would give it another look. Also, I changed the stories name to Lord of the Forest from A Northern King. As this is a story based around an eighth Campione, I figured using his eventual epithet as the title of this fic would be appropriate.

You are more than welcome to ask questions and speculate on how he would gain such a title. Though I won't guarantee an answer.

As always, remember to Review after you've read this chapter!

"James" – Regular Speech

'This sucks…!' – Thoughts

"God Slayer" – Heretic God

"Lightning!" – Magic Spell/Authority

Chapter 2: Descent of Destiny

Heather was the type to talk as she walked, James realized. She promised to speak of magic and what she could about his family, but she wouldn't just sit in the mess she'd made as she told her tale. No, she wanted to make sure whatever was down in the basement was secure. Considering James wanted to know what was up with the recently discovered crypt, he agreed.

Of course, he found himself regretting that decision.

"The first thing to understand about magic," she started as they took their first steps into the abyss. "Is that it is real. That may seem obvious, but one cannot even begin to understand magic, let alone practice it, when they have the slightest of doubts on what they are doing. Witches, wizards, sorcerers and mages – they exist, hidden from society, but there all the same."

As they walked down the stairs, past rotten corpses and towards the vermilion hued room that was unusually warm, James could only nod dumbly. Though his anger and confusion from earlier was still there, James kept quiet; listening, not speaking. 'I need to know what the hell is going on before I let it out.'

"I am a part of an organization of magic users known as the Sorcerous Sacrilege Investigation. Weird name, I know." She said, just as James opened his mouth. He smartly closed it. "They're the ones that sent me out here; I was to look for any mages that weren't a part of the Investigation and ensure that they weren't dangerous. A few weeks ago, some crazy independents almost blew up a city, so you can understand the need for it. I hadn't found anything aside from boredom, until I entered your house."

Her voice, which was already shaky, then began to grow weary.

"Your home… It is filled with some of the most potent magic I'd ever felt," Heather said in a hauntingly low tone, her southern accent spilling forth unconsciously. "I don't have any particular sense for foreign magic, so the fact that I could feel it so strongly was worrisome. I did what I thought was best, thinking you were an independent mage and that you were hiding something, so I investigated. And, of course, I was in way over my head and found more than I'd ever intended. It wasn't mortal magic that was in your house, it was the magic of a God."

"Gods exist?!" It was already quite difficult for him to believe in magic, but a God? That was hard to grasp. He'd been an Agnostic for as long as he could remember, barely ever going to church for anything outside of Christmas and Easter and the occasional wedding or funeral. "Wait- there's a God down here?!"

"They do, and no, there isn't." Heather both confirmed and denied, looking James dead in the eye. Brown met green, and James found himself breaking from her intense stare, looking down past her shoulder. They were nearing the bottom, he could see. The bodies weren't as numerous as he'd once thought, though there were still far too many. "Our definition of a god is quite different from what you might think. To a magic user, a god is any being of legend, any person or thing that has a tale about them. They do not need to hold the title of god traditionally meant for gods, they could be heroes and heroines, saints and priests, angels and demons and all of the above, as well as all of the below. They don't even need to be humanoid, there are plenty of beasts of legend and nature spirits that hold the title of god. A god is a being of note, something that should not exist but does. Worship gives them life, and the written and oral stories passed down through time give them power."

James could hardly wrap his head around that. He could hardly wrap his head around anything that was happening right now in any case, crazy as it all was.

"Could you-" he paused his speech to step over a particularly large body, just before the bottom of the stair. "Could you give me an example?"

Heather hummed in thought, stepping down onto the floor. It was made of uneven stone, the gaps lightened in that green tint. She maneuvered past another pile of bodies, making her was towards the symbol made of skulls on the ground. There were a pair of pillars on to the left and right of the rune, where a pair of angry red spheres were perched. "Do you know any mythologies well?"

Scratching his head, James could only think of one thing. "I played God of War when I was younger, once." Nobody could consider James a gamer, but the friends he grew up with in New Orleans craved that title. His playing video games was more to be social with them than it was out of love for the activity.

She scrunched up her nose. "A violent game and a mockery of the Greek pantheon, but at least it gives a general idea towards their mythos. Using them, the best example I could give would be in recent history. Eight years ago, the Minotaur descended from legend unto the world."

"What!?" And really, what else could he ask to that? "I thought you said they exist, not that they come down here!"

"It is a rare event," she agreed, her voice quivering as she walked towards the back of the room. The middle prong of the runic symbol ended just before the wall of the room, where spiraled carvings akin to crop circles decorated it like a canvas. "When a god descends to the mortal plane, they do so primarily because they find the legends and myths they were formed around to have become burdensome, and they rebel against them. Changes in society and mistranslated texts could change a benevolent god into a tyrant, as an example, and the reverse is also possible. Or, a god could find modern society to spit on what they represent, such as when the Fallen Angel Ramiel descended twelve years ago when a church using his name was desecrated. On the topic of the Minotaur, it descended in anger due to its legend and origin being distorted and misrepresented."

She stopped suddenly, turning around to face James fully.

"You have to understand something about the gods. When they descend they bring about nothing but chaos and destruction. Due to this, as well as the fact that their existence is inherently wrong, they are known as Heretic Gods. Using the Minotaur as an example, it was responsible for the deaths of thousands of people the instant it spawned."

"That doesn't make sense!" James stated, incredulously, "Wait- why hasn't this been on the news anywhere?"

"Because only those with magic can see Heretic Gods. To most people, they appear to be natural disasters."

"But- But how do you stop that? Did you make magic to fight gods?"

"No," she shook her head rapidly, hair flying side to side. "Mortal magic cannot harm gods; it's an imitation at the best of times. Only a gods magic can harm another god. There is only one exception to this rule, and they are existences even more impossible than the gods themselves; Campione."

"Camp Ioney?"

Heather stared at him blankly, followed by a slow blink that made James feel foolish for his butchering of the word. "Campione," repeated Heather, annunciating each syllable of the word as if she were speaking to a toddler. "They are the Supreme Lords, the Rakshasa Raja, the Devil Kings, the Bastard Children of Epimetheus. A Campione is a mortal that has slain a god and taken their power for themselves."

"Wait a second," James just didn't understand. "But you just said that only a god can hurt a god."

She nodded sharply. "Exactly! A Campione is something that is even more impossible than the gods themselves. Even still, they exist. Currently, there are seven of them, and that one you called a 'weirdo that thinks he's some kind of superhero' is one of those seven. John Pluto Smith is America's only consistent way to combat Heretic Gods. It is because they are so unusual and powerful that it is an honor to be under their banner. I follow my king gladly."

James could do little but mull over those thoughts, taking in what he could, attempting to believe the unbelievable. He wanted to call her a crazy person, but looking around… There was too much happening for it to be entirely false. Some of the stories his mother told him, the strange insistence that this property be always in the family, the runes displayed everywhere and the hundreds of rotted bodies littering the floor, when coupled with Heathers story, forced him to believe.

Magic was real.

"But how did they kill these gods?"

"Trickery and guile, mainly." She said with a furrowed brow. "There are… other ways of dealing with Heretic Gods, more distractions than anything." Heather admitted. She was tracing her hands along the walls, her face awash with disgust as she battered skin drafts out of her way. "There exist artefacts in this world, natural protections so that Heretic Gods don't destroy the Earth. These artefacts can take or bind their power, the Authorities of gods, existing both due to old legends and Heretic Gods being belligerent. They are known as Grimoires."

"Those are the, uh- spell books, right?" James awkwardly asked.

Heather shook her head, grimacing as her hair slapped against the grimy wall. "Only in the fantasy section of a library. A Grimoire can be anything, be it a stone tablet or a necklace, perhaps an actual book or even a statue, each holding different abilities and containing different powers from various Heretic Gods. Some are man-made, and some are godly items."

She paused, looking heatedly at the wall, tracing her hand in a pattern against the framework. "Using the Greeks as an example once more, Hephaestus once created a cage that captured Aphrodite laying with Ares, humiliating them before the rest of the pantheon. This cage was a Grimoire, holding the ability to temporarily bind the divinity of a god. It was passed down to one of his most devout, and it was later used by an ancient Campione named Uldin on the Heretic God Usumgallu, the Great Dragon of Mesopotamia. Uldin was mortal at the time, and after trapping the dragon he pierced it with a wooden spear bathed in its own divine blood, killing the dragon then and there, becoming a Campione in that moment. Another would be the most recent Campione of our time. Kusanagi Godou used the Tablet of Prometheus, a Grimoire which was said to be what the Titan used to take the fires of Olympus as a gift for mankind, and stole an Authority from the Heretic God Verethragna, the Persian God of Victory. Using that stolen Authority, a golden sword that could sever divinity, he was able to slay Verethragna, becoming the seventh Campione."

"And you think one of those Grimoires is here?"

"It's the only thing I can think of," she shrugged, scratching her chin. "That, or you descend from a family of fools that somehow were successful in binding a god. There have been few that have attempted this, less than a handful have succeeded, and always, always, whoever committed this act found themselves and their kin slain in the most horrific of ways, while the surrounding landscape was turned to rubble. The Investigation doesn't know much about your family, just that they were stoutly independent from any mage organizations and refused to cooperate with other groups. Whatever power they were hiding down here has to be wHY-!"

Just as she finished speaking, she tripped, falling directly into a small pile of bodies, collapsing against pair of legs that broke on impact, scattering grimy dust all over her body. Her emanating shriek ruined the image James had been building for her. This was no longer the dangerous and knowledgeable woman that could turn invisible that was telling him about magic, this was now the girl that puked on herself in his living room.

James found himself letting out a breath of relief; it was far easier dealing with her like this.

However, Heathers shriek quickly turned into a gasp. As she stood up from the pile, she was no longer empty handed. Grasped in her left hand was the crank of a wooden lever, positioned directly next to a wall lit only by the remnants of that green glow from the floor.

She dusted the grime from her body as best she could, pointedly not speaking about tripping. "It looks like this is what I'm after."

Then, with a great heave, she pulled the lever.

It was an almost instantaneous shift. James could feel the ground shake, could see dust rise and buffet the room as the bodies fell away. The floor was opening, the bodies were falling down black-stone chutes that seemed to form unto themselves. Uneven stone tiles fell into the quickly growing abyss, the green glow that emanated the room from beneath the floor was visible now that most of the floor was gone; a great brazier of vermillion flame taking up the whole of the bottom of the basement. And, where the skulls patterned to fit the rune of Algiz once sat, a great trident of unlit coals was now on display.

From where James and Heather stood, a second set of stairs formed from the fallen stone tiles, floating just above the fire. They all held small scripts on them, some in Latin, some in what appeared to be Greek and even a few in German.

"How the hell did I miss this?" James wondered aloud, his voice echoing all throughout the secondary chamber.

"Because you were never meant to find it," Heather retorted, eyes wide and voice breathy. "Nobody was meant to find it. This fire- Don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"Exactly! I don't feel anything! It doesn't feel hot or cold, and it's not making a sound." She then began walking down towards the flame, looking both frightened and giddy.

James found himself having no choice but to follow her. The flooring that was once available to him was gone, and the stairs back to his cabin were on the other side of the room. The only way for him to possibly get back up there would be to scale the walls, and that was something he would not be successful at. He could only hope that there was some way back up to the surface from down there.

As he descended, the fire grew progressively brighter. Heather was right, there was no feeling from the flame. It wasn't warm, nor was it cold. There was no wind or air current in the room, yet its embers swept around without a care in the world. And, as she stated, it was silent. Its sparks were not crackling against the coals, nor was there any ash spilling forth.

'Magic' He couldn't help but marvel at it.

Reaching the great brim of the massive brazier, he found his place next to Heather once more. She was looking at the metal lip, fervently typing something into the notes of her smartphone. James was less interested in what she typed about the flame and was more interested in the flame itself, naturally speaking.

It was, it was hard to describe. James felt a connection with the fire, as if it were familiar. He stuck his hand out, and as the embers licked his fingers, he felt more at home than ever before. Without hesitation, James stepped into the flame, ignoring Heathers shout of surprise.

There was finally sound as his boots pressed into the white coals. James was entranced, bug-eyed and smiling wide. Laughter bubbled from his mouth as he frolicked in the flame, uncaring for how foolish he may have looked to Heather. James felt like a kid again, the memories of his time in Stapeln were finally coming through in the most wonderful of ways.

"James!" Heather cried out, pulling him from his reverie. He turned to her and was confused to see her hand was burned, the skin of her palm red and raw. "Look in the middle!"

"How'd you burn your hand?" He asked, quite confused. The fire was supposed to be safe.

"It's a fire, it's supposed to burn when you touch it," she said cuttingly. "I don't know how you aren't burning, but that doesn't matter right now. Look in the middle!"

Scrunching his brow, he turned back around to do as she asked.

And there it was. Sat in the middle of the blaze, a golden pommel rested, the butt of the object pointing towards the basement entrance. James made his way over, taking note of the immaculate runes carved into it. He knelt down, pushing soot out of the way, and grabbed the gilded hilt. It was light, surprisingly, and without any effort he was able to lift the object in question.

It was an axe, seeming to be both ancient and freshly forged. More specifically, it was a battle-axe, a great beast of a weapon wrought of gold and embedded in gems. The blade of the axe was severely arched, looking like a crescent moon with a pommel stick out from its center. The pommel of note was gilded with the symbol of a gnarled set or roots, spreading all around; root overlapped root, uncaring of pattern.

'This feels good' James thought. It was better than any axe he'd worked with before, probably better than any chainsaw too. He felt strong with it in hand, seemingly capable of almost anything. Unconsciously, he flexed the whole of his body, attempting to appear more masculine whilst holding the golden weapon.

However, even as he felt great holding the axe, he also felt indescribably… wrong wasn't the word. Unsettled was closer to what he felt, but that wasn't right either. The words didn't come to him. The moment he pulled it out, the braziers flame began to recede, and now, only about thirty seconds after lifting it, there was little more than a trickle of embers. Though the braziers fire had no temperature, James felt a cold chill without its embrace, and started to shiver

"Well, that has to be the Authority." Heather commented, making her way through the coals. Without the flame, there was nothing to burn her, which in turn meant there was no reason she could not step inside. "Off the top of my head I can think of a few gods and legends involving an axe… But that doesn't really matter, not right now. I need to contact my superiors and bring this to the Investigation, His Majesty will know what to do with it."

Then, with a raised brow and an arm raised, Heather motioned for James to hand the axe over.

.

While hopeful that he would see sense, Heather found her hopes dashed quickly.

"Why should I?" James asked, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the axe tightened. His voice echoed through the room, his question reverberating around the walls, mirroring itself over and over again in various levels of sound.

Heather didn't know the right words to say. She had never described the divine before, not in extreme detail in any case and especially not towards a non-magic user. How could she explain the danger that Authorities possessed to him without him having any true experience in magic outside of this day?

Authorities were the might of the Gods. They were the manifestation of their legends, their power given form. It was due to this naturally dangerous phenomenon that it was imperative that the Authority in question be kept under lock and key, given to a Campione so that, should a Heretic God descend with intentions towards the axe, they could combat the disaster.

But this wasn't a mage. A normal mage would have shared her viewpoint on how Authorities and Grimoires needed to be under lock and key, and if he didn't share it he would have just sacrificed her the moment she opened the hatch in hopes of preserving the protections. No, James was a normal human who just happened to live in a magical house. He wouldn't understand how important it was that the axe be sent to His Majesty.

Already, she could feel its power. It was a subtle thing, but the rolling torrent of magic was there, just waiting to be wielded. James was looking progressively more defensive of the item, its allure seducing him. More than that, Heather could see the adverse effect of a human wielding an Authority.

James was aging before her eyes. His bearded, youthful face was steadily growing weathered, laugh lines deepening and green eyes were hazing with tiredness. His bones were weakening, forcing him to slump.

A creaking sound began to echo through the room, like a piece of wood was just about to snap.

With the physical proof that he needed to let that axe go, Heather opened her mouth, ready to speak her peace.

The creaking quantified with a great snap; Heather could scarcely even hear her own thoughts from that noise, let alone James hearing her words. James gained a grandly poleaxed look and pointed with his free hand over her shoulder. Heather followed it, jaw agape. The black-stone wall was leaking.

Then the walls of the basement broke, shattering as if they were made of glass. The small leak turned into a veritable tsunami as the normally calm waters of Clayton Lake spilled forth in a rage; a torrent of liquid crashing into the pair. Heather was only able to inhale a quick breath or air before being slammed by the water.

She could scarcely control her flailing; the current was so strong. All Heather knew was that she was rising, up then down, then her body was twisted until she didn't know which direction led to where. The bodies that had once lined the floor were crushed under the pressure, and even a few were rising with her. A stone slab smashed into her gut, knocking the smidgen of breath she'd been able to take out from her, and Heather found herself choking; drowning.

As Heather was battered and swept around, she found her life flash before her eyes; the cliché apparently as true as it was silly.

-Seven years old, told to play with dolls. I'd rather have played with my brother and his friends-

-Eleven, sad. My brother wasn't allowed to go to my middle-school. Dad said that he would be home schooled. Why couldn't I join him?-

-Twelve and betrayed. Why wouldn't they show me anything? Why did my brother get to learn magic and I had to learn how to take care of a house? It wasn't fair…-

-Thirteen and confused. I was unsure of how to handle being asked out. I didn't know him and, while he wasn't ugly, I thought that his sister was much nicer to look at. Mum said that it was unnatural to like other girls like that, that I just needed a nice man to take care of me-

- Fifteen and in tears. I cursed my mum and her old-fashioned opinions about how women should act. My younger brother was allowed to learn the family magics and I was supposed to be a brood mother? Fuck that noise-

- Eighteen, beaming. I'd just passed my apprenticeship exams; now I could look for a master and get away from my mother. She didn't even know I'd known any magic. That was going to stay that way-

-The woman that took me on knew only Lokin magic through the Nordic school. I wanted to learn Hermetic magic through the Grecian school like my brother did and be a knight. To show my family that they picked the wrong child. Beggars can't be choosers. I was moving to Los Angeles tomorrow to live in my new master's home-

-Nineteen, I put my heart and soul into my craft. I was going to be a master of this, nobody would tell me different-

-Twenty and alone. My master abandoned me, stating that I learned too slowly and that I didn't have the talent she wanted in an apprentice. I was slow because I wanted to perfect each spell, not because I was bad at it. I'd prove her wrong-

-His Majesty's assistant was gorgeous. Red hair and blue eyes, pale skin and the voice of an angel, I was half in love. Lady Annie said she liked what I could do with my magic, and that His Majesty would appreciate my talents if I joined the Investigation. I was properly in love now-

-Twenty-two, confused. My brother reached out to me for the first time in years. Mum had died in a car accident. I may have been estranged, but my family needed me-

-The funeral was simple. Less that fifty people were there. I'd never seen my bear of a dad break down in tears like that. He apologized to me and offered to teach me some things as reparation. I didn't want to be back in this house, but…-

-Twenty-three and content. Dad was serious when he said he'd teach me some things. Surprisingly, I found myself not wanting to learn much. I still hadn't mastered my Lokin magic, and that was my goal. I still took a few suggestions though-

-His Majesty gave the order. I was to go the Maine to look for independent mages. Why? I was finally getting my life together-

Her eyes snapped open and Heather found her equilibrium.

It was hard to see with everything being so chaotic, but there were two things Heather could make out. James's body was thrashed around just next to her, his grip on the axe still firm even under all this strain. And, below him she could make out the faintest of lights, which meant that below was above. She was turned upside down.

Heather concentrated, trying her best to ignore the pain in her lungs. It was difficult to invoke magic without an incantation, requiring either total control and understanding of the spell in question or an extremely high level of adrenaline; this case most definitely falling under the latter. A circular platform of glowing pink runes took shape just below her feet, and upon touching it she shot forward, grabbing James by the middle; he snaked his free arm around her waist in a near immediate response. A second platform, larger and brighter took shape above them. James was the one in position this time and slammed his feet down on it. They were rocketed towards the light.

They crashed through a wooden floorboard, slapping into the house walls and, while in pain all over, were finally able to breathe once more. Heather let out a strong gasp, the water in her lungs expelling painfully. James did the same next to her. They were out of the basement, but Stapeln wasn't dry. In fact, most of its floor was flooded.

Heather took slow, deliberate gulps of air, trying to calm the panic of her body. From the corner of her eye, she saw picture floating just to her left. A family portrait, where James as a child sat between a blonde woman with green eyes and a brown-haired man with an easy smile on the front steps of Stapeln.

The cabin was an absolute mess, what was left of it at any rate. James's furniture was in pieces, his pictures and paintings were floating along with all manner of debris. The floorboards were destroyed, as were the back walls that faced the lake. It couldn't even be called a cabin anymore.

Half of the place was missing, sunken under the strong waves. It appeared to have felt the fury of a hurricane.

'It's a ruin,' Heather thought, staring guiltily at the remnants of the log cabin. 'A ruin I made.' If she hadn't shown up here, if she hadn't been so bloody curious, all of this could have been avoided. She should have just let the basement hatch be, calling her superiors and asking for aid like a smart witch.

Noise pattered from her side. James was standing, heavily leaning on the axe as if it were a cane. He looked so… off. Though it hadn't even been half an hour since they'd met, Heather couldn't have imagined him with such a look. He was indescribably sad. Worse, he was sad and old. His laugh lines were now jagged, harsh wrinkles; his beard an ash grey, and his hair was falling out.

Wading through the water, Heather made her way towards him and did the only thing she could. Grabbing his wrist, she pried the axe out of his hand. He fought, oh he fought, but he was weak and tired. Holding the axe, Heather felt empowered. She was no fool. Having seen the affect it had on James, she embedded the crescent blade of the axe into the rotted wood below and released it. Just from holding it for that scant few seconds, she felt a few months older.

"James I-"

The boom of thunder overhead cut her off. Looking up, she felt her eyes dilate. The sky that was once blue was now a dark shade of purple, the dark rain clouds were orange and the sun behind them blared out darkness. It was wrong.

Water quickly started to coalesce, moving mechanically back towards the lake. Only, it was taking form. All the leftover lake water was rising, coming together and shaping what seemed to be an animal. It had four legs, a large body and a pair of decidedly dangerous horns, sticking out from its bovine face and jutting forward like lances. It was an ox, standing half the size of a mountain.

The ox let out a loud, mournful cry; its voice made Heather shiver.

'That's a Divine Beast.' Heather had seen one once before, the weakened form of the Quetzalcoatl that was hunting His Majesty for slaying Tezcatlipoca. That was also the day that Heather learned the power of the Campione; King Smith unleashed his full might and decimated the winged serpent quickly and efficiently. She also heard him cursing his luck, for he did not get any Authorities from slaying the Divine Beast.

'Divine Beasts normally are summoned or subordinate to others.' She thought furiously. 'There's no way an ox could use an axe, so where is its master?'

Her question was answered. The orange clouds parted, and the from the blackened sun a colossal figure descended. The figure was obviously male, she could see as he fell. He landed right in front of the ruins of Stapeln, so tall was he that the highest trees barely touched his hip.

He was a rugged looking man, with a great black beard and clear blue eyes. He wore loose yellow overalls, black rain boots that reached his kneecaps, and a grey plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves. He was extremely muscular, his upper body look more akin to a gorilla than a man, and atop his small patch of black hair was a simple blue hat with the name Paul on it.

Well, that settled who he was quite easily.

"Paul Bunyan." James wheezed out, his now milky green eyes open and wide in… admiration?

The Heretic God scowled darkly at the name, "Keep that accursed name off of mine person, thief. It were the mortals of this land who named me such, yet tis not who I be."

Heather swallowed. His booming voice sent tremors down her spine. "Who are you then, so that I may let the people know?"

Rather than answer her, the Heretic God shone with a pale-yellow light and began to shrink. No longer was he the size of a building, and instead he was just over two meters high. It was likely the smallest he could go.

"I am the law of North!" He bellowed, stepping closer and closer towards the downed pair. Heather scrambled back with James as firmly in her arms as she could. "The bringer of springs! He who shepherded the speakers! I am Justice incarnate!"

With one last step he stood right in front of the pair, his axe raised high. It was a rusted, ugly looking double-bladed woodcutting axe, yet under the rust was strong and sturdy steel. Paul dropped the axe, its weight scattering wood and dirt all over the place, and reached for the golden crescent axe.

Upon grasping it, he began to change before Heathers eyes. His bulky appearance thinned out, his rugged looks turned sharp and gaunt, and his short hair turned long and styled. The gold of the axe travelled up his arm and over the whole of his body, save for his face, like armor; the patternless roots that decorated the pommel of the axe cascaded over the armor, twisting to form the image of a gnarled, leafless tree.

"I am Fosite!"

.

'And here I thought today couldn't get any worse.'

Going from taking a stranger into his home, to her finding a basement filled with corpses, to finding an axe that made him old, to nearly drowning and having his house flooded, to summoning a god?!

There was no question. Today was the worst day of James's life. Period. His divorce? Nothing. His fathers death? Uncomparable. His mothers death? A blip in the radar.

"My Lord Fosite," Heather knelt, her head bowed in deference. He could tell that she was trying her damned to butter up the Heretic God that stood in what used to be his living room. "Why have you descended to the mortal plane?"

"Hmph, the truth shall usher my rule. Very well. Twas centuries ago, a God Slayer approached me. He held the power of Chain and Hearth, and whilst I did not perish in our melee, I was sundered of mine Axe. I hunted him, yet another God had taken mine kill and triumph. The Power that was lost in our battle did not return. The fool passed it down to his descendants, who sailed to lands afar."

"Early immigrants…" Heather whispered.

"Sundered, I was weak. I could not cross the sea without mine Weapon." He emphasized this by lifting it, and James watched transfixed as the golden axe suddenly shifted into the shape of an oar, the armor Fosite wore morphing at the base of his feet into that of a boat. They returned to normal in only a moment, for the god was done with his example. "Thus, I sent the Sacrifice to search for the Axe. I was truly weakened, and bereft of mine Power was smote by another God Slayer."

Fosite began to sneer, his deep blue eyes turning malicious. "Yet, here I stand. Returned! Unknowingly, I guaranteed Revival. Mine Weapon and Sacrifice sealed in one place, each waiting for the others release. Their freedom beckoned me."

"But where did the tale of Paul Bunyan come from?" James asked, coughing. His newly aged body hurt.

"From the descendants of mine prey." Fosite growled, looking pointedly at James. What did that look mean? "Clever creatures, they twisted mine tale to all that would hear it, turning me into a worker, a plebian in the eyes of other Gods. They added foolishness to mine legend, giving name to the Sacrifice; Babe." He sounded genuinely disgusted just from saying that word. "True, I gained new Power… But I reject it. A God does not keep with the masses. I shall be their master, not their champion."

He then spat on the rusted axe, glaring holes into the weapon.

His demeaner changed once more. Gone was the malicious sneer, and instead it was replaced by a look of joyous comradery as he stared at Heather. "And ye were the instrument of Return! A boon is owed, and so it shall be given. To what is desired? Power? A weapon from mine armory? Riches to last a lifetime? Sons that carry the essence Justice? Speak and it shall be done, witch."

She shivered at his gaze. James would have to, had he not already been shivering from weary bones.

Heather licked her lips. "I need time to… think, my lord. Allow me this, and you shall have your answer."

Fosite narrowed his eyes, "Appear before the Sacrifice in an hour hence. If ye do not, I shall choose the boon mineself. It will be the gift of strong sons."

With that, he stalked away, golden armor clinking with every movement.

James turned to Heather, only for her to faint on the spot. He shook her, struggling. She awoke quickly, but certainly not emotively.

"James, I've doomed us." She was so defeated, so morose.

He didn't care.

"You did," he stated plainly. "So what are you gonna do about it?"

Heather whirled on him, her eyes lit up in rage. "Don't you see?! I can't do anything! That's a Heretic God! Worse, he thinks I'm the one that released him!"

"Once again," James growled. "You did. So what are you gonna do about it?"

Her body was shaking as she started to move her hands. She dug through the pockets of her jeans and withdrew her phone, trying desperately to operate it. It wasn't turning on.

"No! No, no, no, no, no... I can't reach them! I can't contact the Investigation... There's nothing to be done." She groused, tears tracking along her cheekbones. "I just have to ask that he not hurt anybody, that he go on his way and leave us be."

"But you said that Heretic Gods were destruction incarnate. Do you really think he'll not do what he's been wanting to do just because you ask?"

"…No," she bit out. "But it's the only thing I can do. I can't contact the Investigation, which means I can't tell them about Fosite. King Smith can't come here to kill him. I have no other options. Unless you have a better idea, smart guy?"

Wordlessly, James pointed at the axe that was oh so innocently laying on what could formerly be called his floorboards. "You said the only thing that can kill a god is something else that's godly. We have that, right there."

Her eyes were wide and glassy, her mouth agape. Her shaking began anew, only this time there was laughter accompanying it. She laughed and laughed, cackling as if she were a hyena about to feast. She was mad, her hysterics uneven and almost painful to watch.

"You- You want to kill a Heretic God?! HA! That's impossible!"

Tired and pissed off and oh so bloody done with it all, James let go of any sense of propriety. With a roar, he slapped her across the face, hard enough to make her fall to her side. Now she wasn't laughing. With a struggle, he heaved her by the collar of her shirt and got right in her face. Their noses were less than a few inches apart.

"Listen and listen fucking well you damned bitch," James hissed, glaring right into her wide brown eyes. "Because of you I am an old man. I lost my house and you've started more chaos than I knew was possible. I won't let this end just because you say it ends when it's all your fault to begin with! I am dying because of you, and there is no way I'll settle for passing on from old age at 23. I doubt you want to settle as a baby factory for him either. So, we're going to fight. If I die, I'm going to die well. If we live, we've fixed the problem you made. But we will not do nothing. Do. You. Under. Stand?"

She was still shaking, eyes darting side to side. Eventually, after minutes had passed, she took a deep, calming breath and gave a short nod. She still looked scared as all could be, but she was stable. For now.

Grunting, James pushed her away and sat down, letting his legs stretch. They popped painfully, but he ignored it.

"Now, who is Fosite?"

"Fresian God of Justice, Travelers and Springs." Heather promptly reported, her voice hoarse.

"What else? What's so significant about the axe? Does he control Babe? Does Babe act like a normal bull? Can he become a giant again? Tell me everything."

Heathers face contorted. She furrowed her brow and bit her lip. "It's… Hard to put it all into the right words. I could show you, I guess." She looked miserable as she admitted such. Well, more miserable. This whole situation was miserable.

Slow and wary, James nodded his acceptance. Heather scooted closer, her face growing progressively more revulsed, until they were as close as they were when James was yelling at her. She gripped his beard and tilted his head down. Just as he made to voice his confusion her mouth covered his, and her tongue rolled over his own.

The Lord of Fositesland-A sacred spring which water had to be drawn in silence, it was so holy-baptizing people in its waters-sacrificing oxen in communion-the twelve representatives lost at sea-the thirteenth to board the boat, clad in gold and axe in hand-drifting them to land-throwing the axe, a spring of white water took form-banging the gavel and sentencing criminals-

On and on they came. Stories and folk tales and theories- Heather forced the information that pertained to Fosite into James's head. It almost seemed to much, but it was needed regardless. James came to know everything that there was to know about Fosite, everything that Heather knew of him and the nature of Heretic Gods and their Divine Beasts and Authorities. He also was given the understanding of what magic Heather could perform, without the context to perform it himself.

Finally, her tongue curled back into her own mouth and her lips left his, a trail of saliva stretching between them. She looked green and started to spit loogies onto the ground, but James didn't really care.

He stared at her, then looked to where Fosite had departed from and settled onto the axe that lay next to him. He grabbed it and felt the information she'd just given him resonate with the weapon, and then he knew.

"I have a plan.

One Hour Later…

The Remnants of Clayton Lake

It was a marvel in itself to see the underside of a lake without the liquid that made a lake such. Muck and mud were hardened, plants were dying, thousands upon thousands of fish were dead, and there were a few vehicles strewn about, including the bed of a truck and a rusted, barnacle covered little boat.

But the most eye-catching thing was the Heretic God that was in the middle of the lakes remains, with an ox made of the lakes water that stood four times his size behind him. Fosite looked impatient, grumbling idly and tapping his finger against a throne of gold, where he sat in grandeur.

Heather took a deep breath, James behind her by a few feet, and made towards the God.

"Ye come." Fosite rumbled. "I am gladdened. Ask your boon so I may begin mine vengeance."

"My Lord Fosite," Heather began, her voice clear and scripted. "I have one request: that you do not take your vengeance. That you leave the peoples here in peace and return to the Domain of Immortality."

Fosite stared at her, long and hard, before abruptly breaking into a mocking laugh. "AH-hahahaha! A most amusing request, witch! Ye think your boon is worth mine vengeance?"

All amusement left him as he leaned down, his massive face nearly the size of Heathers torso. "I think not. I shall find all those who believe in Paul Bunyan and stamp them from existence. I will sow their homes with salt and blood, so no life shall grow from where they once lived. Then, I shall do as all Gods do; hunt the Campione. They shall die, carved by mine Axe and drowned by mine Power."

Heather shuddered, as did James from behind. That proclamation was descriptive, and more than that it was horrifying. While nobody worshipped the gods, the folk tale of Paul Bunyan is still quite popular in the north-west. There was even a college football rivalry between the Minnesota Golden Gophers and the Wisconsin Badgers, where the winner of their game would receive a trophy axe called Paul Bunyan's Axe.

There were hundreds of thousands of people that watched that game annually, and millions that graduated from both schools still alive. Fosite would kill them all, their families included.

"Then…" Heather took a breath. "Then I ask something else. The man who pulled your axe from his prison requests a bout of honorable combat to the death."

Now Fosite's amusement returned, and it was far greater than before. "The old man? The one that could barely stand? HA! Very well, I shall grant him with a swift death. There is honor in dying by the hand of a God."

"My lord, I must clarify. He did not request a swift death, he requests honorable combat. In this regard, he desires for the both of you would to be at your full power."

Fosite looked genuinely confused. "And that would not be a swift death?"

James spoke then. "It might be a quick death, but I only became this old when I brought your axe to the surface."

"He wishes for you to heal him of his early aging," Heather finished. "Then the pair of you would fight, once more at your full might. You, in your largest form, and him, in his prime."

Fosite still looked confused, but regardless of said confusion he did as asked. His eyes shone a molten gold and James's youth returned in an instant. He took a deep, steadying breath and flexed his body.

"Why do ye wish to die, mortal?"

"I cut trees for a living," James shrugged, noticing Fosites glower. "Based on what you just said, since I knew about Paul Bunyan I was going to die anyways. Might as well go out fighting, right?"

A rumbling noise of approval spilled forth from the Heretic Gods throat. "Few are those that face certain death so brazenly. Name yourself, champion. That I might remember ye in the time to come."

"James Morris," he said shortly.

"Your name shall not be forgotten, James Morris. I shall name mine first son by that witch in your honor!"

"What!?" Heather shrieked. "I don't want that boon! I already asked for one and you're doing it right now!"

"It matters not," Fosite shrugged. "Talk of sons has made me desire such. Ye shall bare them, for ye are fertile and fair and I am a God. So it has been said, so it shall be."

With that, his body once more lit up in that pale-yellow light, and in a flash he returned to the size he descended down as. He stood just a head shorter than Babe, and with his crescent blade axe in hand and the throne of gold receding into his armor, he looked far more menacing than Paul Bunyan did in the few moments he existed.

"And now, the combat begiNS-?!"

James smirked. Just as Fosite announced the beginning of the fight, Babes horns pierced his chest. The bull looked horribly lost, and Fosite was quick to grow wroth with anger.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, MORTAL?!"

"Don't you know?" Heather asked, smirking. From her hand, a red cloth materialized. An illusion. "Bulls don't like the color red."

"That's not really true, but it's what people believe." James announced, grinning. "Heretic Gods get their power from belief, so why wouldn't other things that are widely believed be just as real when if comes to you lot?"

"I created a giant illusion of a red banner between you and Babe," Heather announced. "You were too preoccupied with us to even notice or care, but Babe? That was all Babe could see, and he did what people believe he's supposed to do."

With a roar, Fosite dispelled Babe, and all the water from Clayton crashed down without the ox to hold it. Heather was quick to summon another pair of platforms for her and James to stand on, which floated far above the splash zone. The environment returned to the way it was meant to, with far more damage.

"A true, true witch." Fosite growled, blue eyes blazing. Even with the lake back in place, most of his upper body was visible. His armor suddenly shifted, a golden boat lifting him to the lakes surface. His scalp touched the orange clouds. "When this farce ends, I shall enjoy your suffering."

"You might," Heather said, trying to hide the sliver of panic in her voice. The plan was working, damnit! "But there are other things you should be worried about."

"And what," He hissed. "Would that be? You have spent your trick. The Sacrifice is gone. You have nothing!"

"I have one thing, actually. Something I already told you about, but you've chosen not to remember."

"Enlighten me, witch."

Heather grinned so widely it almost hurt. "Instead of talking to James and forgetting about me like you did with Babe, you were preoccupied talking to me and forgot about James."

Snarling, Fosite looked to the platform that James was stood on. His armor shifted once more, forming a spear of gold that sped towards him, burying itself into his belly.

Only, while it did, it didn't.

James evaporated into smoke. The real James, not the second illusion Heather crafted, appeared ten feet from said illusions left side. He used the platform Heather made and rocketed towards Fosite, a familiar, rusted axe in hand.

Fosite finally understood and began to give in to panic. "NO! It shall not be done!" His armor twisted once more, growing golden spikes that jutted from every visible corner.

James saw all that. Even if he wanted to avoid it, he couldn't. Instead, with a roar he held the rusted axe aloft, swinging downward, intent on slashing into the massive deity. His plan did not go as intended.

From where Fosite had impaled the illusion Heather crafted, a pair of spears formed, stabbing James through his right leg and stomach. He cried out in agony. Heather almost vomited once more, the gore so noticeable. His shin was barely hanging on by a few strands of muscle; his bone was visible and shredded.

"A fine attempt," Fosite rumbled in approval. "A fine, fine attempt, James Morris. Were it not for mine Power and Armor, I would have been slain. To nearly kill a God... I shall give ye a chance, mortal. Ye shall be mine herald and champion mine banner! Serve me in all things, and your past shall be forgiven and your wounds healed."

James barked out a laugh, blood dribbling from his mouth, coating his pearly white teeth in red. "I... refuse!"

"Such stubbornness," Fosite marveled, eyebrows raised. His eyes narrowed then. "I suppose it matters not. Mine offer was foolish. Ye may attempt to slay me in the future. This cannot be allowed, for mine kingdom is to last a thousand mortal lifetimes."

And so, the golden spikes on Fosites armor began a slow, lethargic journey towards James's prone form. The Heretic God held a look of pity, but resolved was blaring in his actions.

James himself was shaking, muttering as he was an impending doom approach. Heather could barely hear his words, and she prayed and prayed that this worked. This was his last resort, that which he gleaned from the knowledge she'd gifted him and his possession of the axe.

"...Strength to move... mountains. Strength to... form rivers. ...Strength... to shape... land..."

Fosite heard his word loud and clear, and his panic returned with a vengeance. He let out a loud, almost feminine sound as the spikes on his armor moved quicker, wiggling as his body moved. The boat he stood upon was treading water, moving towards the riverbank, towards Heathers location. Her sweat felt like a waterfall, it was so much.

"...With axe in hand..." James continued. "I am... Power IncarnATE!"

Just before the spikes hit him, white smoke rippled out from his body. His muscles bulged, growing to almost inhuman levels, and with a grunt of effort he broke the spears sticking out from his body.

Heather quickly summoned one last platform, just beneath his feet. He fell onto it with a heep, wounds on fire as he screamed. The spikes missed him by just a hair. James didn't delay. He coiled his left leg and, with his newly accessed strength, shot towards Fosite, easily thrice the speed in which Heather could have sent him. There was a loud squelch, and Heather feared the worst.

He was impaled by even more spikes, five the size of his arm digging through his torso, two more dug through his left thigh and his right leg was now severed from the knee down.

But it didn't matter. The axe was buried in Fosites heart, breaking through the armor. The giant choked, golden ichor spilling on James's head from between his lips. The blood soothed his pain, allowing him to hear what the Heretic God had to say.

"Ahhh… Clever mor…tal…" wheezed the God of Justice. "So bloody clever…"

"MY PLAN… WOuldn't have… worked… if you weren't… so cocky." James croaked, power fading. The payment the axe demanded was quick to take toll, his youthful form replaced by an old, wrinkle covered man without any hair atop his scalp. He was thinner than a twig now, his bones snapping just from being stretched. That was fine, he knew he was done for in any case. He'd accepted death the moment he let go of Fosite's golden axe and felt the effects of age. To be able to do this much was more than he could have asked for.

"Using mine discard… heh! A fool amongst fools! A mortal using a Gods power!" Fosite laughed, coughing at the same time. "Very well! The tools used to slay me… They are yours. Take the Axe I foolishly threw away… Take the Bull… Use mine Strength... Educate the masses… Take mine name away from Paul Bunyan… God Slayer!"

In an explosion of golden light, Fosite's colossal body imploded, throwing James towards the raging currents of the lake. Heather was barely able to summon another platform to halt him. She hovered him towards her, slow and steady, and after grabbing him she brought herself and him to the shore.

Looking down, she saw it happen. The wounds Fosite inflicted upon his body were healing, even the missing leg was returning. His muscles were deepening, if he had any old wounds they would heal back up in a jiffy. His youth returned once more. Hells, even the hair he'd lost returned. He looked just as he had when she'd first met him.

From the center of the rushing lakewater, two spheres shot towards James. The axe in his hand turned to dust, the dust rising to form a third sphere. The three of them floated above his body, circling each other in concert. Heather saw the symbols on them, one holding a woodcutter's axe, another looking like a flexing man, while the last was a pair of bull horns. They merged into one another, forming a single orb of power and sunk into his body, vanishing as if they never existed. It was official, James did it. He was now a Campione.

Tired, weak and hopped up on adrenaline the likes of which she'd never felt before, Heather fell on her ass and began to laugh. Her cackle was near manic, it was so strong.

Her energy left her, the laughing stopped and she fell down on James's hip. Her eyes closed involuntarily, and she only had one thought before passing out.

What a day.

James was barely able to open his eyes, he was so tired.

He lethargically felt for where there should have been holes in his body, where his leg was curiously present when it shouldn't have been there. They were sealed, though the holes in his clothes were very much there.

He looked around. His vision was blurry. It seemed as if he was in a room of nothingness; the skyline wasn't white, it was the whole room. It looked like he was sat in the middle of a cloud, without the water or coldness.

"The conditions have been met."

James felt those words pierce his soul. Looking up, it was as if she teleported; either putting herself underneath him or putting his head in her lap. While the voice was foreign to him and the purple hair strange, he looked at those green eyes and remembered the woman that raised him as a child.

"Mom?"

The voice paused, before rubbing a gentle set of circles on his temples. "If you truly meant to call me that, I would be beside myself with joy. Alas, the Netherworld fools us all, my son. If only you could fix that…"

My son

She called him her son.

"Fix what? Do you need me to do something?" He hadn't done anything for his mother in a long time. Death could do that to a person.

The woman laughed, sounding like tinkling bells. "Ah! If only. Hmm… I do need you to do something, I need you to live. There are things coming that you cannot prepare for. Treat each day like it's your last. Go on vacation, father some children, see the world through your own eyes. Make me proud."

"…I will, mom." And with that, James fell asleep.

Pandora snickered. Most of her children came to her in this sort of sorry state after slaying their first Heretic God. It was only when they began gaining more Authorities that she could talk to them properly, if they remembered it at all.

And so, she began her chant.

"The Black Art the Epimetheus and I left behind-

"-The sacred Birth of an illegitimate Child-

"-Shrouded in Darkness-

"-Born of a Fool and a Witch."

"A secret rite of Usurpation-

"-Only possible through the Sacrifice of a God."

His body dissolved into particles of darkness as she spoke, leaving her alone. Pandora did not mind, she was accustomed to it.

"Rise my son, and take your place as a King above Kings. I name you, Campione!"

Far around the world, seven individuals startled as the essence of power was once more felt throughout the world.

An elderly man sat on a throne in Hungary narrowed his eyes and grinned darkly. Wolves chorused by his side in anticipation. New prey had come.

A middle-eastern woman who had been tending to the fever of a small child in Libya found a smile blossom over her face. A new sibling had been born. Oh, what a happy day!

Sat in a library in the Netherlands that he hadn't had permission to enter was a black-hair man, youthful in looks. He sniffed, staring towards the west with a frown. What a pain in the arse.

A blonde man who had been eating dinner in Rome looked up in glee. "Is that- Oh boy! Andrea! Start the car!"

And, in Japan, the land of the Rising Sun, three others felt the surge of power, having just slain Sun Wukong.

"What was that?" A black haired, Japanese teen asked his compatriots.

"Oh, of course my honored brother would not know, for he was the youngest of us before now." Hummed a beautiful Chinese woman.

"The ascendence of a new Campione." Announced a masked man. More than that, he felt wary. That power… It came from America.

It came from his home.

I felt pretty proud of this one. The battle scene might not be super over-the-top on the gods perspective, but I would like to believe that I created an interesting dynamic and used a Heretic God nobody had considered.

So! We finally have our newest Campione. James Morris, slaying of the Frisian God of Justice Fosite, whose Authorities were in Steel and Nature.

I won't be giving an Authority expose right now. I'll save that for chapter three, but it's not super hard to guess what he's got, though there is one curveball you might not expect. I just have to figure out some particulars, including the aria chants and the names of these Authorities. I will say that he gained one true Authority, with a few different abilities, one of which can only be activated after the end of the other. Part of one of them is a passive pseudo-authority, something that doesn't require a chant and can be used instantaneously.

I'm sure there's gonna be some hate for Heather. Go ahead, let me have it. She made her mistakes and made up for it in the final fight, being the only reason James even had a shot at killing Fosite. Don't like her? I didn't write a likeable character, I wrote a character that got the story along. Deal with it.

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