Alexander didn't fear men. He feared boredom.
So, instead of soldiers in polished armor, the gates of the obsidian needle were guarded by things that should have stayed in the dark parts of the Holy Book.
I halted, my bad leg seizing up as I looked at the "Welcome Mat."
"That," I whispered, licking my empty tooth socket, "is not a dog."
In the courtyard, prowling through the mist, were creatures that looked like wolves turned inside out. Flayed-Stalkers. Muscle and sinew exposed to the air, no skin, just raw red meat and teeth. They didn't bark. They wheezed.
But they were just the appetizers.
Behind them, chained to the massive front doors, was the Boss.
It was a mound of flesh the size of a small house. It didn't have legs; it dragged itself forward on four massive, pale arms that looked suspiciously human, just scaled up fifty times. Its "face" was a cluster of weeping eyes and sewn-shut mouths. It smelled of old slaughterhouses and ammonia.
"He keeps pets," Brandan rumbled, gripping his hammer. The King didn't look scared. He looked disgusted. "Ugly ones."
"It’s psychological warfare," Gerald noted, drawing his sword. "He wants us to vomit before we even fight."
"It's working," I muttered, clutching my stomach. "My Truffle Pie is reconsidering its life choices."
Suddenly, the air next to me sizzled. It smelled of burnt sugar and ozone.
POP.
A small figure appeared out of thin air, hovering two feet off the ground in a halo of white sparks.
"Sup, losers?"
Pontifex Malachia.
She looked like a disaster in silk. Her heavy ceremonial robes were tied up around her waist, revealing muddy combat boots. Her face was smeared with what I hoped was chocolate, and she was holding a scepter that she was currently using as a back-scratcher.
"Shortstack?" I blinked. "You're supposed to be guarding the Church. Or eating vegetables. Why are you here?"
"Boring!" Malachia yelled, floating down to the mud. "Sitting on a throne is boring! Listening to Desmus preach about 'Sin' is boring! I want to kill the Snake!"
She pointed her scepter at the tower.
"He killed my dad, Wilhelm. He made it look like an accident, but I know. I saw the purple smoke. And today..." She grinned, a Flickering, terrifying expression. "...today I’m going to Erase him."
I looked behind her. No army. No Knights of the Holy Order. Just a twelve-year-old girl with a sugar rush.
"Where is the cavalary?" I asked, looking around. "Where are the thousands of shiny zealots? Where is Desmus?"
Malachia scowled. She kicked a pebble, and it disintegrated into white dust.
"Uncle Desmus is a poopy-head," she declared.
"Technical term?"
"He says we can't attack Alexander," she spat. "He says Alexander is a 'Hero of the Faith'. He says you are a Bastard, Brandan is a Usurper, and Astrid is... broken."
She looked at Astrid, who was staring at the flesh-monster with dead eyes.
"He says if I help you, I'm 'straying from the light'. So I told him to go pray at a wall, and I Blinked out the window."
"So..." I rubbed my temples. "The Church isn't coming. It's just us. The broken family and the runaway Pope."
"We are enough!" Malachia shouted. She punched the air. "I've been grinding, Wilhelm! I found the Vault of the First Saints. I ate the ghosts!"
"You ate the... what?"
"Check me!" She puffed out her chest. "Scan me, Shiny Pants! Look at the numbers!"
I sighed. I tapped my Monocle.
My jaw dropped. Or it would have, if it wasn't already broken.
"Two hundred..." I choked. "Thirty thousand?"
I looked at my own stats.
"I built a house," I whispered, my voice trembling with indignation. "I saved an economy. I fought an Ice Golem. I got whipped. And I have... ninety-four?"
I looked at her.
"You ate ghosts and you tripled my score? That is... that is metaphysically unfair! That is nepotism of the soul!"
"Get good, scrub," Malachia giggled. She spun her scepter. "It's called having a Destiny. You should try it sometime."
She floated up, hovering over the mud.
"Now," she said, looking at the monstrous Corpse-Collector. "That thing is ugly. It looks like Uncle Desmus's personality."
She pointed her scepter.
"I call dibs on the big one! You guys handle the skinless dogs!"
"Wait!" I shouted, reaching out. "Malachia, that thing is a Boss-Tier Construct! It has resistance to "
"DIBS!" Malachia screamed.
She didn't cast a spell. She just launched herself. A bullet of white divine energy.
BOOM.
She slammed into the Corpse-Collector.
The monster roared a thousand mouths screaming at once. It tried to grab her with a massive, pale hand.
Malachia Blinked. She flickered out of existence and reappeared behind its head.
"Smite!" she yelled, whacking it with her scepter.
A shockwave of light exploded. The monster staggered.
"She's insane," Gerald whispered, watching the child fight the abomination. "She fights like a berserker."
"She fights like she doesn't know she can die," Mary corrected coldly.
The Flayed-Stalkers the inside-out wolves turned their attention to us. They snarled, strings of bloody saliva dripping from their exposed jaws.
Brandan stepped forward. He swung his hammer.
"Let the girl play!" Brandan roared. "We have dogs to put down!"
He charged.
"For the Mess!" Astrid screamed, running after him with her one good arm, a dagger in her hand.
I stood there. 94,000 SP.
"I hate this family," I muttered, drawing my rapier and my heavy Cleaver. "I hate them so much."
I looked at the wolves.
"Right. Come here, Fido. I have a bone to pick. Literally."
I tapped the [Spider Web] icon.
"Thwip," I whispered tiredly. "Let's make this look expensive."
The battle for the tower began. Not with a strategy. But with a Wrongling child, a raging king, and a bastard who was just trying to catch up on the scoreboard.
"Incoming dog!" I screamed, ducking as a Flayed-Stalker lunged at my throat.
I didn't dodge fast enough. The beast’s raw muscle-shoulder clipped me.
CRUNCH.
I tumbled across the wet stones, the air leaving my lungs. The wolf turned, strings of saliva dripping from its skinless jaw. It prepared to pounce.
"Bad dog!" I wheezed. "Sit!"
I raised my wrist.
"Thwip."
The white glob hit the wolf’s face. It hardened instantly. The beast thrashed, clawing at its own eyes.
"Now," I grunted, scrambling up. "Thermal Shock."
Red beam. Blue beam. Flash-Heat. Flash-Freeze.
The wolf’s exposed muscle fibers crystallized and then shattered. It collapsed into a pile of frozen meat.
"One down," I panted. "And only... oh god, the big one."
I looked up.
The Corpse-Collector was raging.
It swung a massive arm an amalgamation of fifty human limbs fused together. It aimed for Malachia.
Malachia didn't dodge. She Stuttered .
She flickered, her image tearing like a bad video signal, and the massive fist passed right through her ghost.
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"Missed me!" she cackled, appearing on the monster's shoulder. She bonked it with her scepter. "Boop!"
"Shortstack!" I yelled, firing a web line to a gargoyle and swinging up to a higher vantage point. "We need to hit the core! It’s regenerating!"
The monster roared. It grabbed a chunk of the tower wall and threw it at me.
"Oh, bugger."
I couldn't block that. My [Strength 11] would snap like a twig.
"Web!"
I fired at the falling rock, then fired a second line at the wall. I yanked. The web acted like a spring, diverting the rock just enough. It smashed into the balcony next to me, showering me with dust.
"I need an angle!" I shouted down to Malachia. "I'm going to pin it! You bring the hammer!"
"Load me up, Shiny Pants!" she screamed, glowing with white divine energy.
I jumped.
I dove off the balcony, straight toward the monster’s face.
"Thwip-Thwip-Thwip!"
I fired three lines. One attached to the monster's left arm. One to its right. One to its neck.
As I fell past it, I fired the anchor lines into the heavy obsidian pillars of the gate.
"Hold!" I gritted my teeth, the webs going taut.
The monster roared, thrashing against the sticky bonds. It was pinned. Just for a moment. Its chest a mass of writhing faces was exposed.
"NOW!" I screamed, swinging on a final web line to get clear. "HIT THE DISGUSTING PART!"
Malachia was already moving.
She ran up the monster's back. She didn't run normally. She Phased forward, skipping frames of reality.
She jumped. She was above the exposed chest.
"HOLY SMITE: SHARD CRASH!" she shrieked.
She slammed her scepter down. It grew. It became a giant, glowing 8-bit hammer of pure light.
BOOOOOOM.
The impact was blinding.
The monster shrieked a sound that made my teeth ache. Black blood sprayed everywhere, coating the courtyard.
The webs snapped. Ping. Ping.
The monster thrashed, throwing Malachia off. She bounced on the ground, rolling like a rubber ball.
"Ow," she groaned, sitting up. "That drained my mana bar."
I landed next to her, sliding in the muck.
"Thermal Shock!" I yelled, aiming at the open wound on the monster's chest.
I froze the wound shut, stopping the regeneration. The monster howled, clutching its frozen, shattered chest. It retreated, dragging itself back toward the tower doors, oozing black sludge.
"We hurt it," I gasped, leaning on my knees. My vision swam. 3,700 ml. I was tired. "We actually hurt it."
A golden pillar of light erupted around me. The pain in my jaw vanished. The ache in my back faded.
My mind expanded. The menu changed. It grew.
"Oh," I whispered, staring at the list. "That’s... a lot of zeros. I am officially incompetent at everything."
I had 1 Skill Point from the level up.
I looked at the monster. It was wounded, but it was still a [STRENGTH 100] nightmare. My [Strength 11] was a joke. I needed to hit harder. I needed to pull myself up those webs faster.
"Strength," I decided. "I'm tired of being weak."
I dumped the point.
I flexed my hand. The rapier felt lighter. The Marrow-Cleaver on my back felt... manageable.
Malachia stood up, wiping slime off her dress.
"It's running to daddy," she said, pointing at the retreating monster. "Alexander is inside."
"Round Two," I said, checking my blood. [ 3,726 / 5,000 ml )
I looked at the new list of skills. [TACTICS: 0]. [THEFT: 0].
"I need to grind those," I muttered. "But first... we kill the pet."
I reloaded my wrist-web.
"Ready, Pope?"
Malachia grinned. Her teeth sparked.
"Ready, Bastard. Let's go Let's go erase a legacy."
-------------------------------------------------------Bonus Pyramid Hierarchy-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Sermon of Steel & Scripture Speaker: Archbishop Desmus of the Pontificate (The Right Hand of Malachia)Location: The Cathedral of Kynoboros, addressing the new Initiates of the Holy Knightage.
[The sound of pages turning violently, followed by the metallic shhhhk of a blessed bayonet being sharpened.]
"ANU! AND ZI DINGIR!
Sit down, you trembling lambs! Stop shaking! You want to wear the cross? You want to purge the wicked? Then you must understand the Great Ladder of Being! You must understand why some men fly, and why some men crawl in the muck!
The world is not a chaotic mess, my children. No, no, no! It is a Divine Architecture! It is a beautiful Divine System built by the Annunaki, may their Golden Light burn us all to ash!
Open your eyes and look UP!
High above! Beyond the clouds! The Annunaki Lords! They have left this physical plane, yes, but do not think they have abandoned us! Oh, no! They wait!
Now, you ask me: 'Father Desmus, why do the common folk have no magic? Why are they so weak?'
BECAUSE THEY ARE EMPTY CUPS!
The 'Clayborn'… the mud-people… they complain. They cry. But listen to me! They possess no Spark because they are spiritually barren! Their souls are too small, too shriveled to hold the Light of Enki! It is not that the Gods take from them; it is that they have nothing to give but their sweat! It is their Genetic Sin! They were born to kneel so that we the Highborn, the chosen vessels may stand on their shoulders and touch the sky!
It is a kindness that we let them work! It is a mercy that we let them serve!
"And who speaks for the Silence of the Stars? WE DO!
The Crown rules the mud, but the Pontificate rules the Eternity! We are the scalpel that cuts out the rot! Look at the hierarchy of Holiness, you maggots, and despair at its perfection!
- Pontifex Malachia (The Supreme Head): At the very top sits my niece… ah, the glorious Pontifex. She is not merely a woman; she is the Living Law. When she whispers, the King’s ears bleed! She holds the 'Legal Executioner' card. If a King sins, Malachia snaps her fingers, and the Crown falls!
- The Archbishops (The Lords of Souls): Men like ME! ZI DINGIR! We rule the Archdioceses, the massive spiritual territories. We are the generals of the faith!
- The Bishops (The Watchers): Below us are the Bishops, ruling the Dioceses. They ensure that every city, every town, every hole in the ground pays its tithe to the Annunaki!
- The Deans & The Chaplaincy: Further down! The Deans control the local districts, and the Chaplains are the local priests who have the misfortune of smelling the breath of the commoners every day.
- The Holy Knightage (The Purifiers): Do not forget the Church’s iron fist! We do not need the King’s army; we have our own! The Purifiers! We are the ones who hunt the heretic and the mutant!
We are equal to the Crown? BAH! We are the spine of the Crown! Without us, they are just men in fancy hats!"
"Then, to the side beneath the gaze of the Church we have the Feudal Divine System. The Secular World. It is a pyramid of violence! Learn your place in it!
- The High King (Brandan Stormsong): Right now, it is that boy in the Moonclaw Lands. He sits on the Sovereign Crown Land. He wears the big hat. But listen closely... his power is Decentralized! He is a King, yes, but he is surrounded by wolves who are just as hungry as he is!
- The Great Dukes (The True Power): The Falkens! The Stormsongs! The Ironvines! These Great Duchies have massive autonomy. They have their own laws, their own private armies, their own economies! The King waves his scepter, but the Dukes are the ones who decide if the war actually happens!
- The Counts (Provincial Lords): Below the Dukes! The rulers of the great Provinces. They manage the vast stretches of land where the wheat grows and the peasants die.
- The Barons (The Highborn Floor): The lowest rank of the 'High Nobility.' If you are a Baron, you barely made it into the club, but you are still better than a million Clayborn!
THE KNIGHTHOOD (The Class of Slaughter): And this... [Desmus pulls a long, silver bayonet from his sleeve] ...this is where the glory lies. The Sword-Bearers!
- THE ARCHANGELS (High Nobility Elites): The peak of warfare! These are Highborns who have taken the Sacred Vows! Look at Ser Alexander Shadowgrove! He is a Noble, yes, but by taking the Oath of the 'Ser,' he binds himself to the Code of Honor and Courage! These men are walking natural disasters! They don't just fight; they erase armies!
- THE ANGELS (Low Nobility): The standard knights. The foot soldiers of the aristocracy. They are strong, they are proud, but they lack the divine spark of the Archangels. They are the hammer; the Archangels are the lightning!
This is the structure! This is the cage the Gods built for us! It is perfect! It is rigid! AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL!
Look down. Look way down into the gutter. What do you see?
- The Clayborn: The masses. The sheep. They have Zero Spiritual Power (SP). Why? Because they are made of mud! They are dull creatures, born without the gift. They work, they breed, they die. That is their holy purpose! To feed the Divine System!
- The Grotesque: [He spits on the marble floor] PAH! The mutants! The twisted things! Their ancestors betrayed the God Enki ages ago, and their bodies were twisted as punishment! They are not just empty; they are Broken! They are physically distorted and spiritually drained. To kill one is not murder; it is cleaning!
- The Outcasts: Bastards! Beastmen! Cripples! Creatures like that Fox-man Fenris. They are mistakes of nature!
Now, listen to me, and listen well! The air is thick with treason!
King Brandan Stormsong sits on the throne... but rumors are like rats; they scurry in the dark. They say he killed King Hartmut. They say he committed Regicide.
Do you know what that means?
Under Church Law, a King who commits a Mortal Sin is no King at all! He is just a sinner in a fancy hat! If the Pontifex declares him 'Unworthy'... then it is our holy duty to drag him from that throne and HANG HIM FROM THE HIGHEST TOWER!
The Crown protects the body, but the Church owns the soul! And if the soul is black... the body must burn!
ANU! NOW PICK UP YOUR SWORDS AND LET US GO SAVE SOME SOULS BY CUTTING THEM FREE FROM THEIR BODIES!"