I walked through a hall of pristine limestone, pillars reaching high to support the architectural beast that was Yorokrom’s temple.

  Supplicants came and went like flowing water, a truly dizzying number in comparison to the temple of my home, and this is just one to mark a myriad. On the walls were epitaphs of warriors long dead, men and women of arms that died in the grasp of violence and valor, each having a story connected to the city of Anik. There were no lines here to see the priests, because Yorokrom’s servants weren’t here for conversation, they were here to present a challenge to the lax folly of the citizenry.

  It made Yorokrom rather unpopular with the general populace, but I doubted the god cared for the opinions of those who avoided blood. Where Tikin listened and offered his blessings, the followers of Yorokrom only administered tests. A kind of system that sharpened those who participate and I was all for getting stronger.

  So why didn’t I go earlier? If it was such a haven for training and measured progress, then why didn’t I bother?

  That was…a question with a complicated answer.

  My village prayed to every god of the pantheon, hoping for a deliverance from the tragedy that would befall us. I assume plenty of other villages did the same, and while most of the countryside worship Estia, reverence was given to the whole pantheon.

  Yet they didn’t answer our prayers.

  How hard would it have been for a being of cosmic power to protect the ants under their shadow? How much effort could it have realistically taken to prevent such a tragedy? The gods simply didn’t care, or perhaps they didn’t bother to listen in the first place. Frolicking in their personal utopias without a thought to spare for the silly mortals below.

  But they do answer on occasion, they show their favour to the few that impress them.

  Blessings were rare, but not so rare that there weren’t a few in that very temple. To even be a priest to service such a large congregation required the approval from their god, lest they risk divine wrath.

  I was avoiding the gods, entirely because of spite. But if I expected to survive the end of the world then…I needed all the advantages I could get. A blessing from Yorokrom? Even a minor one would be a boon, though that would come with the implication of service.

  I could do that, so long as I saw the relationship as transactional, rather than a thing of worship.

  So I walked through the pristine halls, a large carpet of leather draped over the center, sourced from something monstrous to really sell the theme of that place. It was impressive, all the stories and weapons. I could appreciate good craftsmanship, even if it was from a distance. It gave me some comfort in the act of something that I…honestly didn’t care for.

  I passed by many on my way to the priests, a few I recognized from the guild giving their offerings to the clergy of martial might and valour. Soldiers walked through those halls just as well and…I saw an elf.

  It stunned me for a moment, but then I remembered.

  The guard captain. Of course he was a worshiper of Yorokrom. Made perfect sense once I thought about it. I thought of approaching him but…my purpose wasn’t to converse with my kind, and distraction was an unwelcome vice.

  Besides, what words would we have exchanged? Other than being elves, we were two completely different people. Perhaps if he was a relative, but he wasn’t, so I passed him by and walked to a lone priest instead.

  The man had long hair of fiery red, alongside a clean shaven face and soft green eyes. The priests of Yorokrom dressed in plain togas of black, with little but the gods symbol in the form of jewellery. A three pointed star hanging from the ear.

  It meant the man was of the third tier.

  All I knew was that there were six, and the third meant he definitely had a blessing. He looked down at me with a surprisingly soft smile, considering the god he worshiped was a thinly veiled deity of violence. “It seems I’ve won the bet after all,” the man chuckled. “My fellows were starting to think you would never approach the temple, despite your reputation. What may I offer, blessed Yir, Rat-Slayer and prodigy of the hunters guild?”

  Being known certainly wasn’t something I had gotten used to, but I shrugged it off. “I’m here for membership, blessed messenger. To test my mettle and see where I stand in the eyes of divinity.”

  “I see,” his smile was something wide, and slightly feral. “I am Adaman, and I suppose that would make me your proctor for the day. Come, to the fields! Rarely do I get the privilege of inducting stars that shine as bright as yourself.”

  I nodded and followed the man deeper into the temple, passing by immortalized statues of Yorokrom’s greatest saints. I never bothered to memorize them, even though a few still lived. They were warlocks, and that path was closed to me the day I bonded my soul to a demon so…what was the point of bothering to care?

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  We passed by two great doors, plenty of adepts walking by with earrings carrying single or even double pointed stars but nothing to match Adaman and the priests. They stopped by a weapons rack filled with an arsenal of blunted implements. Adaman picked a quarter staff and gestured for me to choose my own weapon. I, obviously, picked the sword.

  Adaman let out a snort when he saw that, but didn’t comment.

  “Now, I want you to give it your all. If my instincts are right then I would say you’d qualify for the second tier. Don’t disappoint me now,” Adaman said with a smile that reminded me a little bit of Xae.

  Fucking battle maniacs.

  I nodded but offered no reply, which seemed to please the man. He brought his voice low and whispered something only I could hear just before the fight began. “No magic now. My patron doesn’t look kindly upon mages trying to cheat through the test.”

  The next thing I knew, a staff was making its way for my skull, and I barely had the time to step back before a flurry of strikes sought to overcome me. But I could hear the whispers, which was my saving grace. Gave me enough warning to each coming blow that I could either dodge or block, and eventually I was starting to match priest Adaman in ferocity, sending a few strikes of my own.

  The first strike went to the priest, a swift swipe to hit the knee. I had to dash back to avoid receiving a concussion as a follow up, and Adaman followed with a manic glee he wasn’t even trying to contain.

  I couldn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it. Sparring with Xae was a constant in my life now, and learning to find some joy in the process was a necessity. I wasn’t as insane as the bastard, but I was definitely missing a few nails in my noggin’. Things only deteriorated after his first blow was delivered.

  Soon I found myself back on the defensive, doing everything I could just to stay in the fight.

  Another bruise would mark my stomach, and a third blow met the flesh of my arm. I did my best not to show weakness and focus on the fight, but it was starting to become clear that the man wasn’t really trying. Still, he seemed to find some joy in the act of our spar, if the smile was anything to go by.

  I didn’t land a single strike throughout the entire duel, yet when it was over the mans eyes were glowing with respect.

  “Even better than I imagined! You definitely qualify for the second tier. Come along now, Yorokrom would be delighted to have you amongst their ranks,” He said with a jovial cadence as he walked over to a wall and…through it.

  The fuck?

  I stared at the point where he disappeared, shrugged my shoulders and reached out. It wasn’t an illusion, but it did mold itself around my hand. Letting it pass as though it were mud rather than limestone. I stepped through to find a smiling Adaman.

  “Wonderful! I wouldn’t expect my patron to disagree with my decision, but it’s only the diligent who make sure.” He smiled, then turned to walk through a narrow hall filled with blue-flame torches. I followed along.

  Eventually we reached a kind of prayer room, with pillows laid on the ground in front of a shrine. The shine was a man was a woman was an evershifting thing holding a sword pointed to the sky. It was watching me, and on its face was a smile.

  Adaman knelt on one of the pillows and bowed low. “Oh mighty Yorokrom, how your might graces our mortal forms with its beauty! I have come to deliver unto you another who would exalt your ways to the world above and below.”

  I stood there, not really knowing what to do until the lips of the statue moved. “Kneel.”

  An image of supplication, of surrender, of worship and praise and battle-

  Well then, the Word was enough to convey the meaning without the metaphysical fuckery. I shrugged and did what I was told by the statue. I had my doubts that it was really Yorokrom but…better to be on the safe side.

  Besides, I wasn’t there to start shit with a god, Adaman was kind enough not to aim for my head too often so I didn’t get that much brain damage.

  I kneeled and then-

  There was death in that place, soldiers clad in the leather and steel that failed to protect them to take on a new career as a cadaver. Corpses littered the field as far as the eye could see, young and old finding common purpose in death.

  The ground was stained a muddy red from the feasting on so much crimson, and carrion made it their burden to relieve the bodies of their flesh. Mainly crows, but there were a few ravens.

  In front of me, not ten steps ahead, sat a giant.

  I laid there prostrate before him, head bowed deep in gore and viscera to signify my reverence. The giant had gathered a few carcasses and fashioned himself something of a throne to sit on. He sharpened a sword, paying me no attention as the whetstone slid against steel.

  I wasn’t so much of a fool as to interrupt him.

  It was a broadsword of seemingly little significance. Hilt covered from wood and pommel a round cap with nothing adorning it to signify its origin. It was comically small in his hands, if the surroundings weren’t there to give perspective I might’ve mistaken it for an oddly shaped knife.

  He wore a sleeveless toga, exposed muscle of bronze contracting and relaxing through the motions. His hair was a short head of curls, black as the void, and his beard had three braids at the chin, each long enough to reach mid torso.

  His eyes weren’t eyes, they were two pits of blazing flame searing through anything that met his gaze.

  He looked over the blade, and let out a grunt of satisfaction.

  He turned his eyes to me, and I was almost crushed by the weight of his attention.

  “Curious,” he said. “A witch seeks my favour? You certainly aren’t the first but it’s always a surprise.”

  I said nothing.

  “Stand” he commanded.

  I tried…but couldn’t.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Shame, perhaps another time then. Return.”

  Before I could even think, I was gone.