"Hmmmm... This is a strange place isn't it Mrs. Fawn? Well, I guess not for you, but I will have a lot to learn here that I don't know, huh? I wonder if I will see father here, what do you think?" Fenoxo said smiling naively to the new animal that he had befriended, after he learned to control his powers that were suddenly opened and given to him. The curious spirit of the God of the Corruption and Chaos was unexpected for a god who brought calamity but it seemed for now that the boy was either unaware of what he was or has no intention of harm of the moment. Either way the corruption had stopped and had reverted back into him but for right now, as he saw no threats, such as those shadows chasing him in the maze before. Besides them he had not much to worry about despite keeping an eye out for anything suspicious like them. Despite the forest's infamous nature, regular animals still were able to prosper in certain parts of the forest, such as the area that he was in.

Fenoxo intrigued by the many new things not present in his many years imprisoned in the labyrinth, was admiring the beauty that he had never seen before. The flowers, animals and plants were all so amazingly unique to him, in comparison to the dead roses and hedges that were in his prison. He took his time observing the forest around him, as animals uncertainly came closer to the being that they felt was evil but at the moment were unsure. Fenoxo himself, seemed not older than 15 and in his current form had two wings which were partially destroyed with no use of either. He was a strange being to the animals, which brought unease as his left eye hypnotically stared at everything. Despite the creepiness around the boy, his actions depicted a much more.. naive and innocent individual with no true intention of harm for the moment. Making it reasonable for animals such as them to not be too afraid of the boy, and remained at his side for the remained of his journey through the forest.

Despite the basic mastery of his powers, his presence could easily be felt by anyone in the forest and the animals were not the only one. If the goddess Cithra was around still, she could easily feel the presence of the boy even a bit from the outside of the forest. As the shadows in the forest still danced silently to every footstep the boy took, as they mischievous watched the boy on his journey if she decided to spy on him like that. The monsters also were timid on the arrival of the boy uncertain what powers he wields that he haven't shown after the disturbing arrival that he came with.

Vitan stood suspended in space, looking down at a painful, haemorrhaging memory.

Voswurn was a place of so much pain, of so much vanity and death. Its surface crawled with Godless creatures, who had forsaken the Creator, to pursue their own unholy path to Godhood. His freedom from his self enacted imprisonment was a mixed blessing; yes, he was free to live once more, as he had done for millennia, but at what cost?

When the mortals rose up against the Gods, Vitan had naturally sided against his kin - against his father. He did not savour the idea of reaping millions of lives. He did not savour the prospect of waging a war that went against his very existence. So, instead, he aided the mortals. He did this, because Vitan was foolishly steadfast in the belief that he could salvage the situation, that he could show his father that the mortals were worth saving.

Giving Tanarius the Wise, a Mage Lord of great strength, immortality, was an erroneous move. Tanarius was able to copy the celestial blueprints of Vitan's powers, and rework the spell a hundred fold - creating an army of significantly powerful Mage Lords. This army was key in throwing down many of the Gods, but it was Vitan's grief and selfless sacrifice that stopped them. By banishing himself from the plains of existence, he took with him the very powers that Tanarius had used to enhance his own vitality, restoring the Mage Lords immediately to their mortal forms. Though this, he did too late, and by then the war was a pre-concluded affair.

Vitan shuddered at his stupidity.

Perhaps it was best to leave Voswurn to the others. To let them destroy it as they willed.

"Papa, no!"

"Henryd! Put down that blade! Have you Gon-"

"I'll kill them all, those wretches, who killed my son!"

Vitan listened patiently and sullenly to the inumerable anguished cries of the mortals. They were so angry, so blood thirsty. With no Gods to lead them, they had descended into a repeated revolution of civil war and murder. For every great city, there was an endless field of head stones; for every act of kindness, there were three acts of selfishness. Vitan wept slightly at the monstrosity, his shimmering form momentarily passing from existence, then back again.

"By order of the high courts, the accused is to be handed unto death."

"Send in the cavalry, break their flank! Run them from the field!"

Such anguish, such reckless hate.

"Father, who art in the Hallowed Realm, come to us in our darkest hour. I beg thee, help us!"

Vitan's attention focused entirely on that last cry - a plea for help. He saw trees blossoming with silver leaves, he saw a tower of white marble, and a blue banner bearing a golden ball in its centre. He saw men-at-arms, clad in shining mails, carrying hammers and leather bound books. He saw an old man, cancerous and deformed, clutching a ball of solid gold that hung from his neck, kneeling before a plain alter of obsidian rock.

At an extension of his will, he was there, standing before the man but unseen. His curiosity had been peaked - did the mortals still cling to memories of those they had banished? He was inside the marble tower, looking down on the old man who wept with the pain that racked his body, but also with the pain that racked the world. Vitan instantly looked into the old man's soul, a swirling mist of purple, blotched with darkness.

Not a good man. Not a pure soul. A repentant soul, perhaps?

There was a thunderclap, as Vitan made himself visible, using the guise of an aged, white robed mortal.

"You summon me, mortal?" Vitan asked, speaking with a voice of iron that echoed through the halls. "You wake me from the slumber that I subjected myself to, that you and your kin forced me undertake?"

The old, dying man recoiled, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. Trembling lips managed, "with which Mage Lord do I speak?"

Vitan let loose a powerful sigh, just as the solid oaken doors at the back of the chamber burst open, and in surged a group of heavily armoured knights. They froze when they saw Vitan, unsure of how to proceed.

"You have commanded much evil, Trinton, son of Trint, Grand Master of the Holy Order," Vitan roared, in a voice that defied his semi-mortal appearance. "Murderer of children, of men and of women. Rapist. Thief."

The old man fell to his knees, clutching the golden ball at his throat. "Ho- what? I do no-"

"The GODS see ALL, Trinton, and you have disgraced my name by proclaiming to head an Order of murderers bearing the flags of my righteous form," Vitan continued, his features twisting in disgust, his yellow eyes blazing with fury. "And you have the nerve, to beg for help."

The knights at the back of the room lowered their weapons, and one by one fell to their knees. The old man, tears flowing from his eyes, struggled to get words through. "I am sorry, so sorry- please, do not kil-"

"KILL YOU!?" Vitan snarled. "Is that all you have learned from my legacy? From what I tried to teach your kin?"

The old man, cancerous and deformed, collapsed to the floor as his heart gave way. Vitan saw his chance, and stooped low alongside the dying mortal.

"I will save you, Trinton, though you do not deserve my blessing. I will save you, that you may spend your last years of life striving to undo the bad you have committed," he hissed through shimmering white teeth. He held up his staff, and tuned himself to the life forces in his immediate bounds - namely the knights, and some of the flora beyond the marble walls that he could reach. Power surged through him, not much, but enough for his needs. He touched the dying old man, the Grand Master and murderer, with the end of his staff and stood back.

"Arise, Trinton, son of Trint, and reclaim the conscience you held in earlier days," Vitan said, his voice growing soft.

The old man lost twenty years, in a mere instant, and hopped to his feet in a flash of youthful vigour. His deformations gone, his cancers removed. He looked at Vitan, brown eyes full of vitality, and then fell to his knees.

"Oh master!" the revived mortal called. "Oh master, how wrong I have been, how stupid I have been. I thought you lost to us. I did all that I could to keep your memory alive," he paused, "I killed many, to achieve this end."

"And no more, shall you kill," Vitan retorted, before looking at the knights. "Nor will any of you."

It was early in the morning, crisp with an advancing overcast coming from the north-east. Two guardsmen of the Crown were making their way towards His Majesties Royal Vault inside Cafeld Castle. Everyone behind the stone walls of the keep were on edge. Peasants from the neighboring villages had all congregated at the front gates demanding less taxes and more support against advancing armies. War was knocking on their door, be it against an alien foe or a civil revolution.

Just before breakfast was served to His Majesty's beautiful new young queen, a servent reported that he had heard a loud ruckus from the Vault and that it sounded like someone had broken in. Sir Dahl and Sir Woodstead were sent to investigate.

"What do you think friend," Sir Dahl jested, "be our intruder rat or boar?"

"I have no doubt that some form of swine is in our Lord's tresure room," Woodstead retorted. "And as serviceable men of the Crown, we will swiftly butcher whatever pig dares defile the home of our King."

The two knights turned the corner and walked past the inner courtyards of the castle and found themselves at the Vaults entrence.

"No sign of forced entry," Sir Woodstead noted as he kneeled near the base of the massive vault door. Everything seemed utterly intact, with not a peculiar scratch to be found.

"Smart pig," Sir Dahl replied as he took the door in hand and swung it open for their entry. Nothing seems out of place at first glance as they entered the massive chamber. The vault itself made up of mostly shelves full of important treasures looted from far off lands and the local peasant's gold.

Further in though, things looked quite strange. Standing in the middle of the vault was a tall brutish man wearing ornate blood red armor. In his hands held one of the King's greatest artifacts, The Scarlet Helm of The Bastard. The helm was thought to encase the living breathing soul of the God of War himself, but such legends were usually hushed into submission.

"You!," Sir Dahl shouted at the mystery thief, "drop the piece now or feel the sting of our blades you porker!"

Sir Woodstead did his best not to giggle at his partner's insult, raising his sword with him.

"Yes, drop the helm now and we will make sure your execution is swift."

The mysterious man looked up from the helm, his face completely hidden in the shadows. Defiantly, the man rose the helm above his head and placed it upon himself. The two Knights noticed that they could hear the man finally begin to breath as soon as the helm was worn.

"No, for I am no thief," the now fully suited being replied. The helm matched his armor perfectly, a full set finally restored. "For I am Vas, the Bastard. God of War born of blood and harbinger of glory."

Sir Dahl and Sir Woodstead looked at each other in confusion and doubt.

"Good try peasant," Sir Dahl replied in spite, "try to scare us with false names and thievery. Any half-assed blacksmith can make cheap armor like yours. Now remove the helm now!"

Vas shook his head and chuckled to himself. These two were truely fools. A piss poor excuse for knights and guardsmen, idiotic at that.

The God of War began to walk towards them, his every casual step shaking the ground as if a great beast was charging. The two knights held their ground, holding their swords out ready to strike.

"Can you not hear the them outside," Vas taunted, "hell hath come to your doorstep and all your king cares for is his little pretty nothings. Why serve such a wretched coward when you can die in real combat?"

Without warning, Sir Woodstead charged Vas. The knight swung savagely at the God, hoping to end this affair. The God of War grabbed the blade in mid-swing, crushing the steel into powder with his gloved hand. Woodstead looked onto Vas in utter terror, clutching the remains of his sword for dear life.

"Death it is," Vas announced. The god took the knight by the forehead, crushing the iron helm until a wet unsavory pop caused blood to gush. He then lifted the man straight up into the air and slammed him deep into the ground, almost literally burying the fool to his waist past the cobblestone floors. Vas took no joy for this, but mortal had to learn somehow.

During all of this, Sir Dahl had bolted from the Vault and towards the nearest guard station. Tears ran down the knight's eyes, for The God of War had truely returned.

The Mage Lords knew what to do when they casted the Gods away. They didn't simply lock them in some plain jail, oh no, they did much worse than that. They made it their mission to not only rid their foul world of the Gods but to torture them in their captivity. They made the very concept that Mysli existed off of- memories, thoughts and reflections - and turned it into something evil. Wherever they casted the goddess off to, they had chained her to a wall and made her live and watch every painful memory a human ever stored. Killings. Fires. Rape. Trickery. Drunkenness. Deception. She experienced every puny thought.

Mysli considered herself a fair goddess. She watched over her followers with a kind heart. She answered the prayers she received, rewarded those who offered sacrifices. She knew she didn't have the biggest following, being a goddess of memories and all, but the fact that half of her loyal group turned against her... For what? Empty promises of immortality? Endless wealth? She had tried to not pick a side in the great war. She couldn't deceive her followers, her people, but she also couldn't turn a back to her family. She had too many stored memories with them. As peaceful as she tried to be, she was still tossed aside like rotten meat. Humans linked so much of their existence to material possessions that it made her sick. She almost didn't want to be back in Voswurn.

The descent from her jail was like a breath of fresh life was breathed into her. She was free from the torture she had been living in. She had control, once more, when she looked into someone's mind and possibly have her old powers back. Yet, as she struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, she could feel how weak she was. Her head throbbed and the land seemed to be swaying. Seeing a sign just a few feet from where she was sitting, she squinted in order to read it. The Great City of Lloesy. This "great city" would be a perfect spot to start off, then. Gain her strength back, see if she had followers anymore and wreck havoc against those damned Mage Lords.

She wouldn't be so nice this time.

As the goddess tried to stand on weary feet, a thunderstorm seemed to erupt in her mind. All those memories she had been forced to watch were rotting her mind. A shaky breath left her lips as she picked up the little orb that hung on a golden chain around her neck. The winds inside the little purple orb were spinning too fast already but Mysli needed to rid her mind of these memories. Transferring them to a human would be too deadly. Their brain would deteriorate until their body, too, would deteriorate. Closing her hands around the orb, the goddess closed her eyes and murmured an ancient chant. As she did this, a weight felt like it was being lifted off of her shoulders as light mist flowed out of her temples and between her fingers to get to the orb. After a minute or so she opened her eyes and smiled, feeling much better. The winds inside the orb were whipping around, meaning that some complication was happening with a memory. A memory she had stored in there, something she wanted to forget but not lose, was fighting to be released. Not today. The goddess thought, tucking the necklace under her bodice.

Mysli opened one of her hands and made a navy blue hooded cloak appear. She still had some of her godly powers. She wanted to look around and see what the state of the city was before she started recruiting new followers and planning her revenge. Plus, she needed to restore her strength. After slipping the cloak around her shoulders and pulling the hood over her head, she started making her way to the city.

Takes place before the hidden god appears.

It was nearly dawn, and the weather was clear to see several ships anchored themselves right in the middle of the sea. Fishermen on the ships were dancing around the stove happily, drinking and eating with each other. Mostly maybe because they caught tons of fishes today and they were celebrating, but not for long. Dark clouds began to gather above the ships and soon it started to rain heavily. As the fishermen decided to clean up the mess and head back to the dock, a beam of purple light pierced through the clouds and smashed into the sea with great velocity followed up by a huge impact sound that can be heard clearly even from a far distant.

Shocked by the huge impact sound the fishermen heard, everyone on board stopped what they were doing earlier and began to look around the water, hoping to identify where it came from. The sound even interrupted the captain's sweet dream, causing him to jump off from his bed and run outside from his room angrily. Just right after everyone thought it was just another anchor that slammed and hit one of the ship while they were pulling it, a puddle of water raised up to the ship deck and formed a weird looking shape. It looks like a human figure but with longer neck and only a pair of burning eyes can be seen, the whole body was covered with endless flow of water. Everyone on the deck quickly grabbed a few harpoons and aimed at the figure in front of them.

"What is this!? Is this some kind of monster that one of the Mage Lord created?" The captain, as known as Captain "Cold" Seabart by his crewmen, stood behind his crewmen cowardly and shouted the words with a tremble voice. The monster turned its head in a jiffy, gazed at the captain. The captain got the shock of his life, fell down and hit the deck floor hard. It seems like the monster was pissed off by what the captain just said earlier. The others did not dare to move an inches from where they stood, fearing to draw the attention to themselves.

The monster inhaled a big chuck of air, and let it out slowly. "Ahh....So I'm back to this filthy place once again." The monster let out a big sigh followed up by a sentence with a deep voice. The monster walked slowly towards Captain Seabart who was still hiding behind the crewmen, and decided to introduce itself to them.

"I, am an Elemental GOD! Remember MY name - RYUJIN!" Ryujin screamed at the crowd standing before him. Ryujin lost count on how long he left Voswurn and he made a good decision of asking the current status of Voswurn, if he planned to stay here once more. Ryujin learned some information from the captain and his crew. The first one that draw Ryujin's attention was the few mentions of those that called themselves the "half-god"' - Mage Lords. Some men revealed the fact that he was not the first monster... or god they saw, meaning that there was a possibility that immortals just like Ryujin, came to Voswurn too.

After Ryujin learned enough information from the fishermen, he agreed to let them go as keeping them as hostages will not aid him even a little bit. He could just simply killed all of them, but Ryujin was too busy solving the other questions that the fishermen could not answered. Before the ships headed back to the dock, Ryujin gave a fair warning to the fishermen that they should stay away from The Shallow Sea as he will make the place his new home.

Vitan stood in the tower's chapel, casting his glowing golden eyes this way and that, appraising stained-glass depictions of his own Legend. It was odd to him, how militarised the mortals had imagined his deeds - or re-imagined, as the case seemed to be - and blindly followed the belief that the God of Life was in fact, some kind of warlord.

Warlord.

"So tell me," Vitan said finally, to the small group of knights and their squires, all dressed in brilliant blue and silver. "What Legacy does this so called Holy Order of yours hold?"

Trinton stepped forwards immediately; the man had gained an annoying amount of arrogance from his supposedly humbling near-death experience. "We have stood for a thousand years, and once ruled the lands a hundred miles from here, in every which way. Our causes were just; we fed the poor, we rejuvenated the destitute and safe guarded the honour of our peoples."

Vitan's aged guise twisted in contemplation. "Explain."

Trinton's new found arrogance faded. "Explain what, your Grace?"

"Safe guarding honour, what did that entail?" Vitan asked, genuinely perplexed by what he perceived as a riddle.

"We kept them from erring into a life of crime and sin. We punished those who would not listen, and released those whose minds were beyond-"

"Released," Vitan chuckled. "You mean you killed them, yes?"

One of the knights removed his full helm, revealing a handsome face and burnished long hair. "Non-repentent murderers. Slavers. Thieves. Any, who would not listen to your teachings of compassion, your excellency." The knight finished with a curt nod, and a smug smile.

Such hubris? In my presence?

"So after you killed the killers, the slavers and the thieves, did you then kill those who had killed these 'criminals and sinners'?" Vitan asked, smiling warmly, as the chapel suddenly grew colder.

None answered his question, as each of the knights and even the arrogant Trinton predicted Vitan's line of questioning, and where it was going.

"And now, having gorged on the blood of your kin for a thousand years, you are left with this worthless piece of marble, shut away in some forest. How grand, this tale of yours," Vitan said mockingly.

Trinton shook his head, "we were outlawed by the Mage Lords, your excellency. We fought many wars to keep your memory alive, but we were faced by too many enemies. This tower is all that remains of your following."

"Incorrect," retorted Vitan. "It doesn't seem to me that I've had followers for a thousand years, and this is something I must very much rectify, if your kindred are to survive the coming storm."

The knights and their Grand Master gasped at Vitan's proclamation, though none dared deny him. Trinton was about to ask for the God to expand on his meaning, when a distant horn bleated in the distance.

A knight drew his sword, prompting his comrades to do the same, "the bandits, they are upon us once more!"

"Bandits?" Vitan asked, sighing as he sensed the mortals' bloodlust surge to the surface.

Trinton nodded. "They have moved into Silverwood of late, driven here by the strife in the lands beyond. There are many small communities here, and we try to protect them all. However, we have too few men, and now there are many scorched hamlets that stand as monuments to our failures."

"Take me to these bandits," Vitan said with finality. "I will show you the wrongs of your ways."

Vas pushed his way past two more guards heading his way, blades steeled to slice at him form. The God of Wars armor was strong then that of mortal blade, reducing their harsh efforts into annoying nudges.

"Krypton will have his fill this day," Vas muttered humorlessly to himself as he too one of the guards by the arm and flung him out a window. None of these pompous fools knew anything about true war! His War-Worthy could easily raise this feeble castle in a fortnight.

After murdering some more guardsmen, Vas found himself at Cafeld Castle's drawbridge and mused at the angry townspeople outside. Their angry fueled him entirely. The seeds of war were now blossomed into forests ripe for deforestation.

With a single mightily kick, Vas knocked down the gigantic wooden drawbridge. Ropes bursted and wood shattered from the impact, shattering the castles last defense against the peasant hordes. All shouting stopped dead silent, as every man and woman outside watched the drawbridge break from the inside and collapse into the mote below.

"Rage harder you beasts!," Vas shouted over the silenced mob. "Royal sinners plague your houses and rule your lands. Rip them apart like the gods intended!"

The mob roared once more, rushing into the mote to climb into Cafeld Castle. Vas just stood their, his hands glowing orange as dual blades entered this world from another.

"It is so good to be back."

Lethos started strolling through the woods.

"There must be a city nearby. I'm absolutely powerless unless I'm in the presence of people."

Sensing the presence of a human colony in the distance, Lethos set off in the direction of the Wehyrst Castle.

"It's always a good pass-time to start the flames of a rebellion and watch as the humans tear each-other to pieces."

While walking Lethos finds himself with time to think, deciding to use this time to his benefit he begins planning on how to deal
with the Mage Lord threat.

"I could always just have their beloved humans turn against them and begin a "Witch Hunt" of sorts, but where's the fun in that? No, I have a much better idea. I would imagine that Mage Lords would make wonderful pawns. I'll just start stirring up the populace so that they shun Mage Lords. Then, when they are filled with rage at those they intended to protect, I'll step forth and offer the Mage Lords the opportunity for revenge. YES! That's marvelous! I will turn the mortals against their beloved Mage Lords, then use the Mage Lords as tools for their own destruction! Oh but just who shall play the lead role in this wonderful tale of mine? I'm excited to find out."

Whispers. Soft, gentle, caressing whispers wound their way along the walls of the simple white room until they reached the body that lay in the center. A long, lithe body rested against the cool stone floor, shimmering white tresses splayed out about the head. It seemed it was time to wake up.

With that realization, The Weaver's eyes opened. Where she found herself, however, wasn't what she expected. Indeed, she was still surrounded by beautiful, serene white, but it wasn't her white. No, it was different. Cold, wet, crystallized. Of course, Snow. Her thoughts finally registered the substance that her body was laid in, and she found herself laughing softly. How interesting.

Whyspe looked around for a moment, but all she saw was a cloudy sky, and what seemed to be an endless snow field. She smiled, her body rising from the snow. In her hands, she grasped her tome, and about her neck rested her famed spindle. It was time to take a walk among the Humans again. She had so much knowledge to acquaint herself with, she was certain of it.

As she trekked through the snow the whispers of choices and changes in paths resounded in her ears in a sort of low thrumming. Absently, she wove her hands through the air. Anyone who saw her would think her strange, but only because they could not see the web of time itself sprawled out before them as she could. To her, the timelines of people's choices was a vast and sprawling network. A network that she was able to interact with, and readily did so if she thought it necessary.

Unlike many of her kin, Whyspe had seen the coming of the great war, and had chosen not to take part in it. She didn't even tell her siblings, or children that it was coming. What was the point in that? No one would learn anything that way. And, how pitiful would Humanity be if they were forever trapped under a pantheon's rule? They'd never grow. Without their growth, Whyspe herself would stagnate. And she just couldn't have that, now could she?

A long, dark gasp of what sounded like a dying man’s breath filled the kingdom. To most, it was a trick of the wind. To some, it was a mystery. To the gods… it was the signal of gloomy old Krypton’s return.

Of course, the noise came from his energy sucking through a small hole in the coffin in which he appeared, making a most unholy sound as his essence combined into one poor old skeleton that had been buried for a thousand years. His staff appeared on top of this skeleton, as did the folks of his cloak around him. The ribs - or, more accurately, the cage - held no souls, as he had sent them all off before he was finally banished by those Mage Lords.

He attempted to rise… and almost cracked his skull on the thick concrete lid.

So this is how the undead has to deal with it...

Kicking upwards, he sent that pesky lid into the walls of an old abbey.

He rose, looking around at his surroundings. He expected millions, many millions of souls to be wandering across the world. Gods able to see them would no doubt be annoyed if there even were any around. It was in part a blessing - that was one thing he didn’t miss. Gods bitching about souls walking up to them and demanding their lives back or whatever nonsense they came up with. Well, both the souls and the gods. He met some rather obnoxious souls in his day too.

First order of business, of course, was assembling his crew of reapers. All cold hearted - souled - they had done their work quite well. He even had some free time in the end before the other gods pissed off the Mage Lords for whatever reason.

But the first thing he had to do was find souls worthy of his time.

---

Krypton stepped out of the doors of the abbey. He hadn’t meant to knock the door down, he just pushed on it and it came down, so that made things perhaps a little easier.

In the far north, souls weren’t nearly as common. Still, he saw a few moping about, no doubt bemoaning their existences, how they couldn’t interact or make anyone not a Mage lord or God see them. He didn’t care, it was humans that put him out of duty. He would probably reap the souls and keep the bodies… it was time for a little… population control. No doubt there was overpopulation form the other gods not being around for their duties, so he had to take care of that too.

“Oi, bonehead! Watch what turf you’re on. I know you aren’t one of those thick skulled humans, not that I can see the difference!”

Who dares speak such insolence?! Krypton gave his best attempt at a glare to a short human, obviously a spirit, who had yelled up to him.

“Yeah, bonehead, I’m talking to you! This is my abbey, now get the hell out of here!”

Krypton could only stand and watch, the sheer insolence of this human who was insulting him too overwhelming.

“Did you hear me, dumbass?! Get the hell out of here!”

Krypton was utterly stunned at how this… human had managed to work up the courage of Vas or the sheer madness of Lethos, to insult the representation of death itself.

Krypton finally managed to speak, concealing his complete indignation with his cold voice of death. “Do you know to whom you speak, insect?”

The human looked at Krypton with a stare of utter confusion. He had never been insulted before. “Insect? Insect?! A bonehead like you, calling me an insect?! You couldn’t match half of my power! I have defeated a dozen foes in my spirit form and nearly a hundred brigands in my day! You - are - nothing!” Nonetheless, the vice of Krypton did make him a little weary.

Krypton grew tired of this. “And you have not reaped a million souls; you have not dealt with the bickerings of gods, you have not heard the insolence of humans, nor have you controlled a ten thousand strong horde. Yet, I admit on my own end, I have never met one so… insolent and pathetic a bug as you. Fight me? Do please, take a shot.”

The human spirit laughed. “You’re almost not worth fighting! I’ll make this quick-” he sent a punch at Krypton’s ribs, only to his growing horror find that his fist, and steadily his arm, was being sucked in. “What is this?!” he yelled.

“Congratulations. You are the first soul in the new era to have been reaped.” the soul, screaming while being sucked in, quieted down as it was completely sucked into his rib cage.

“Now, where was I…. oh yes. Going south…”

To call the civil war that erupted into Cafeld Castle a slaughter would be less then satisfactory. Villagers and servants of the realm fought to the death in cobblestone hallways and ornate courtyards. Vas simply observed the massacre as it unfold, intruding only when a simpleton from either side took hostilities towards him.

And damn did it feel all so good!

Blood splattered against century old artworks. Honor-guard knights fell to housewives welding whatever cooking utensils they collected from home. Looted gold and gems from the King's very vault rushed out of the keep on the fleeting feet of the repressed. For Vas, it was the purest form of glory. Moving, bleeding art. War.

After having his fill of beautiful violence, Vas motioned towards the central chambers of Cafeld Castle. Few guardsmen remained to protect the inner court and it's aristocratic leaders. Those who did remain dropped their weapons at Vas' very sight. They did not know of his godly being. They were just to defeated to continue. The God of War shook his head at the hold-outs, for they were truly a shame.

"Weak, all of you simply weak," Vas told them as he took aim with his blades towards the mortals. "Worthless worms taking hold of a decaying world. Godless shits."

The guards took up their arms once more, but for their own skins. Their eyes burned in fear and anguish. None of them wanted to die this day, but the God of War had other plans. Vas raised his arms far over his head and began to glow in a searing orange energy.

The guards looked away from the sight so not to be blinded, but found that when they took gaze at the armored god once more, four orange beings of pure light and energy stood beside him. Each looked like warriors from different ages, damaged and bloodied from eons of war. A brutish barbarian, a female marauder of the sands, a vicious viking berserker, and a fierce knight.

"End these pests my War-Worthy," Vas ordered as he paced by the now petrified guards. "I want their their heads on pikes and their blood smeared all over this castle by noon."

As soon as Vas was past the entry way and inside the inner courts, the pained screams of damned mortal souls howled through Castle Cafeld. With his War-Worthy unleashed once more upon the world of flesh and bone, Vas felt truly whole again.

Arriving in Wehyrst, Lethos found himself humming a song which he could only identify as Primo Victoria. With a visage that masked his sinister intentions Lethos turned to a nearby beggar and "convinced" him to tell the god where he could find the nearest Mage Lord. It was no surprise to him that the only Mage Lord in town lived in a large mansion close to the center of the castle.

Feigning ignorance Lethos looked shocked, "I'm shocked that such a powerful man is using his power to live in high society. He should be using his wealth to help poor gentlemen like yourself. It's not a fair way of living don't you think?"

While he was talking Lethos worked his magic to twist the mind of the poor man turning his jealousy into hate.

"I think you should rally your friends and bring that man down to his rightful position; serving you."

As the angry man went on his way Lethos enchanted his words to spin hate into the minds of all those he speaks to.

"Now I can just sit back and wait for the havoc to begin. Oooh while I'm waiting I think I'll go say "hello" to the Lord of this castle and have him increase the taxes on his citizens."

Using the word "great" to describe Lloesy was actually a "great" understatement. Maybe Mysli was thinking this because she was a goddess, but the city really wasn't that special. Most of the streets outside of the elite, inner circle of the city was unpaved and bumpy. Street vendors rammed their carts around, paying no mind to who or what was in their way. A few beasts of burden even roamed around the streets, given there was space.

The goddess knew she couldn't pick just any human to recollect the memories of the past few decades. She needed someone with actual knowledge of history or someone with a watchful eye. As if she answered her own prayer, she found a bookstore after rounding a corner. Upon entering she found that it held no patrons but a wise looking bookkeeper. What a stereotype. As she pushed the hood off of her head, the man looked up.

"I see you've traveled a long way," he said, slowly coming from around the counter he had previously been sitting behind. The goddess let out a little laugh because that, too, was an understatement.

"Yes, I'm first here for knowledge. And, after that, revenge," the goddess said in a smooth, scarily calm voice that hid her anger.

Saying no more the goddess reached out and placed a few of her fingers against the man's forehead. At once, decades of memories flood her mind. Children running around a cabin. A loving woman sitting on the arm of a chair. Thunderstorms. Rainstorms. Sunny days. She "sorted" out the old man's memories in her own mind, got rid of the minutia and accessed what she was really looking for. A tall brute of a man standing on a pedestal. The locking of the mansion's gates. Hunger. Poverty. Hierarchy. The goddess shuddered a bit because these memories were far more intimate. They left a profound impact on this man, more than his own family, and this led to more energy for the goddess. She pushed back even further into the man's mind, memories that took place long ago. Childhood memories. Memories of stories, which were harder to focus on. A storybook. A woman reading. Rebellions. The revolt against the Gods. Mage Lords.

Suddenly the goddess pulled her hand away, the memories becoming too scattered and harder to find. The old man's visions refocused on the goddess and a dazed look appeared on his face. That usually happened when the goddess went through someone's mind. They felt lost and confused for an hour or so and then returned back to normal.

While the old man stumbled around his store, looking for his stool, Mysli exited the bookshop with her hood back over her head. She would pay a visit to the local Mage Lord, see what he was all about, then kick his ass. As she pushed her way deeper into the city she brushed against other mortals, catching glimpses of their mind and memories. That this point the old man's thoughts had given her great strength and these other humans were simply topping off her strength.

After another few minutes of walking she reached the mansion gates, which was guarded by a single man. She figured that the people of the city had given up on getting their own city back and that this Mage Lord didn't need much protection. Wonderful.

"Halt there, maiden, for no one is allowed to see the Lord," the guard said in a husky voice, standing directly in the goddess's path.

The goddess reached out and touched his wrist, only needing the smallest touch to scramble his mind. "But I am his mother, you see, and I must visit my son. I have gone on for so long without seeing my boy, won't you let me in?" As she spoke she forced the memories that the guard had of the Mage's relatives to disappear, leading him to become confused on who exactly the mother was. Was it Mysli? Was she dead? Who knew.

The guard opened the gate with hurried apologies and slight pleas of not telling "Lord Nesmar" that he forgot who his mother was. Mysli promised and kept a kind, motherly look on her face but, once she was inside, she set out to find where exactly this Nesmar was.

After a few minutes of wandering and memory-reading, the goddess was able to locate the manor's lord holed up away in his room. Upon entering he whirled around, standing to his full height and demanding to know who exactly the woman was.

"I am simply a passer-by, on my way to cleanse this world," she said, pushing off her hood and smirking at the man. "Of maggots like you." As she finished speaking she slowly approached the man who scrambled for his sword, beginning to have a clue of who Mysli really was. "You see, you've made those like me very, very angry and we are going to kill every last one of you."

At that, Nesmar swung his battle-worn sword at the goddess who quickly ducked and side-stepped his swing. The one flaw the Msyli had in this fight was that she needed physical contact with her victim in order to wreck havoc on their minds. This, however, made her swift and agile. She knew she had to be careful because she had no clue of who's powers this mortal had access too. She hoped it was something easy, like strength or agility, but it seemed like that wasn't the case when Nesmar threw his sword to this side.

"I see that we will play this game like Gods, then," he said with a laugh, making the real goddess cringe a bit. Why were mortals so cocky. Flames erupted from the palms of the mortal's hands and she groaned because, really, fire? He threw little fireballs at the goddess, causing her to ditch her cloak when it erupted in flames. Apparently her clothing wasn't fireproof. Nesmar laughed once more as he swirled his hands around to create a giant fireball to which he promptly hurled at the goddess; she ducked but managed to get burned on her upper arm. Her eyes darted to the abandoned sword just a few feet away and while Nesmar was distracted with his the goddess lunged for it. The Mage Lord threw his fire balls and, as Mysli deflected them, she lunged at the Mage Lord while branding the sword. Nesmar couldn't get his defenses back up before Myslie got a firm hand around his neck.

His greedy memories began to pollute her mind as she was able to see just how many people Nesmar killed, tricked and took advantage of. He was a coward without his sword or ability to use his powers. Her father's powers. She knew how she would punish him.

Still holding his neck, she used her free hand to hold the orb that hung around her neck. She whispered the same chant from before in reverse so that the awful memories she stored in there flowed out in a dark mist into Nesmar's temple. He began to jerk around as his mind was flooded with dark thoughts, thoughts of such gore and power that his mind couldn't take it. He continued to jerk and groan as the goddess put all the memories she had to suffer with into one mortal body. Once she was done she let go of the mortal who slumped to the floor. He'd be alive for another few hours but he'd be unresponsive and twitchy; after a while his mind would give up and then so would his body.

She looked down at her arm and winced a bit as she poked at the burn. It would heal soon enough with another mortal's memories but for now it stung and hurt like a bitch.

In the memories she found out who Nesmar's right-hand man was and, after juggling his thoughts around a little bit, she made him return the tax payer's money, lower the tax rate and a few other things that would improve the lives of the mortals in Lloesy.

As she exited the mansion she knew that, before ridding the ground of the Mage Lords, she'd have to gain her beloved follows again.

It was midnight, but it was not a dark night because the moonlight poured from the sky like the milk of a god that required no sustenance and instead was satisfied with only the beauty of the soft rays. Other than the moonlight, there sparkled a mysterious material called "stars". Many were of different sizes and shapes, swirling, twisting, and churning among themselves in an enormous war that was too slow and much too big for the human mind to contemplate. Ryujin was lying down on the seabed at the bottom of Sea of Sorrows, thinking a method to deal with those so-called Mage Lords' immortals. Suddenly, A light bulb appeared above his head, as Ryujin got the best idea to deal with this which was to visit the Mage Lords himself.

"Where should I start looking for them?" Ryujin muttered to himself, another question popped right up after one was solved. Ryujin could just grabbed a random mortal that passing by, but thanks to the warning he gave to the mortals earlier this evening, not a single soul dared to come near the sea. Just thinking about the fact that the mortals actually took his warning seriously made him giggled a little bit. Ryujin remembered that the fishermen he encountered earlier did told him that there were two cities nearby, which were Camor and Caburn. But Ryujin already knew the place called Camor way before he was sent back to Voswurn again. They also mentioned that a Mage Lord was saw lately in one of the city.

"Maybe I should go for the city of Camor first." Thanks to the information from the fishermen, Ryujin knew the location where the city of Camor lies. Ryujin stood up and wasted no time swimming towards the city of Camor, hoped to meet a Mage Lord and have some fun.

It took Ryujin not more than ten minutes to reach the dock of Camor, but mortals will have to spend up to an hours or more to reach the same place even if they were on a fast ship. Before Ryujin came up shore, he morphed himself into a adult male to blend in with the crowds. The city of Camor, a city which once was a fishing village. Apparently gods know when that the place had grown into a dense and cluttered town. Ships of different sizes formed a row at the bay, rickety wooden shops, marble and brick houses can be seen everywhere. The streets of Camor were still crowded with mortals, even it was already midnight. The sound of them talking and shouting to each other was deafening, even for a god like Ryujin.

It will take forever to identify or spot a Mage Lord if Ryujin is to look at the mortals' faces one by one at a time. Ryujin came up with the idea of causing a massive chaos, well not that massive... in the middle of the town and hopefully it will draw out the Mage Lord.

Ryujin opened his mouth and snapped at his fingers, the torchlight around him immediately started to flow into Ryujin's mouth. He then aimed at the houses around him and started to breath out fires. The flame was burning the houses with colors that mortals never thought it would. Ryujin grinned evilly, knowing that with each flare another of the mortals' precious possessions were turned into dusts. The mortals was shocked by what Ryujin did for a moment, but they quickly realized that they should ran away from the scene as fast as possible. The air was filled with fear and panic at that moment.

With everything going according to Ryujin's plan, the last thing he needed to do was to wait for the Mage Lord to show up.

Reaching the Inner Keep without any trouble Lethos found a spearhead pointing itself at his chin as soon as he entered the front arch

"Who are ye? state yer business an' I might jus' let ye live!"

Used to this type of reaction Lethos chose to play the role of indignant noble.

"Cease this savagery at once! I am the envoy of the Lord of Caer Mide and I have business with your Lord!"

Stumbling over himself in a rush to apologize the guardsman spoke humbly.

"My sincerest apologies m'ludd I was meanin' no disrespect of course. There's jus' been so many assassinations as o' late. Ye cannae be to careful y'know?"

Smiling Lethos calmly said, "Yes, I understand." weaving magic into his words he began again "Guard duty can be so stressful sometimes, is it really too much to ask for a simple break every now and then?"

The guard's eyes began to cloud over as he took on a slightly drained appearance. "I jus' get so tired sometimes, all I wan' is maybe a week off o' work."

Smiling Lethos made his way inside.