Book 3: Chapter 1 - Defiance (RAW)

Anything, when meticulously crafted and refined for a single, specific purpose, free from all unnecessary trappings and features, embodies a form that is pure and captivating. Like the most beautiful sounding of instruments, or the most elegant of weapons - their intrinsic beauty lies in their purity of purpose. In this, the human heart can not help but be enamored.

But when we ponder the nature of such beauty, an ethical question arises. If the thing is fashioned for a purpose that falls within the realm of the malevolent or the unethical, should we still regard it as beautiful? It is one of the foibles of man that we are often attracted towards the aesthetics of perfection, even when it is directed towards an objectionable end.

- The Principals of Conflict by General Damien de Savant circa 234 AC.

A thing from myth and legend fixed its gaze on me, its slitted eyes emanating a primordial light and mesmerizing in their ferocious beauty. The Manticore unfurled its leathery bat wings, shaking off the last of the stone dust before giving out a thunderous roar that echoed throughout the temple. I was momentarily stunned by the sheer force of the sound as it reverberated through my very core, causing my bones to tremble in response.

It lashed out with a lion’s paw, the sharp claws screeching against the metal of my cuirass and knocking me off my feet. As the world spun around me, a burst of adrenalin flooded my system. Time seemed to slow down as I rolled to evade a liquid projectile hurtling through the air, taking cover behind one of the lifelike statues.  The gob of whatever it was sizzled upon contact with the stone floor where I had been scant moments before. The creature possessed the ability to spit acid or something equally deadly.

The temple resounded with laughter, a mocking echo that seemed to pierce through to my soul. It was the laughter of the godling, taunting me mercilessly.

"You'll need to do much better than that. Struggling against such a juvenile creature, and this is only the beginning of your trials," Iasis the Mother of Monsters warned playfully, placing a delicate, clawed finger to her lips.

It was circling me, its prey the only focus of its two pairs of eyes. I kept the statue, a brutish Minotaur, between me and the monster. Dwarfing the largest of draft horse, it was of a fearsome size. But what truly unsettled me was seeing the alien hunger in those malevolent orbs, the primal part of me screamed that I should just run away. Fear, however, could give birth to more than cowardly flight. From fear could come rage. And from rage a serene form of clarity.

Seeking to cut out the root of the problem, I slashed at the avatar of the goddess, the blade of my weapon passing through her form like so much smoke. This only caused her to erupt in new peals of laughter. Tsk-tsking in annoyance, I realized that there would be no choice but to play her game.

I focused on the task at hand and cast my investigative spell, Identify.

Juvenile Manticore - [Chimerae lvl.12]

Health: 402/402

Stamina: 74/75

Mana: 7/7

Seeing something broken down into visible numbers soothed the part of me that feared the unknown. The monster before me, though no doubt a being of a fantastical nature, had Health, Stamina, and Mana. They were high numbers to be sure, but not totally out of reach. This thing, given time, could be killed.

A quick glance at my Status caused a small grin to steal across my face.

Health: 328/336

Stamina: 64/68

Mana: 9/14

Thanks to my heavy armor, the Manticore’s last attack only caused eight points of damage to my health, a drop in the ocean, and my Holy Aura was already starting to undo even this minor damage. If I played this correctly my victory was almost certain, the only thing I had to worry about was its acid spit. Even now, the stone was still sizzling from its missed attack.

Almost as if sensing my thoughts, the snake head of its tail opened its mouth wide and spat a large gob of acid. The caustic liquid missed me, splashing against the Minotaur statue that I had decided to take cover behind. The liquid ate into the living stone, and although she hid it well, I saw a flash of anger cross the features of the dark goddess. So that’s what it was, I thought to myself with a grim smile.

It was time to make this trial, divine test or whatever this was meant to be, a little easier. I gave a roar of challenge of my own, hoping to bait the Manticore. It simply offered another bestial cry, and we continued our little game of ring o’ roses. It was time to try something else. I started to cast an old staple of my mine, Drain, upon the monster. Forming the spell structure in my mind had become almost second nature, but for some mysterious reason there was a resistance, an obstruction to the spell.

Nevertheless, I continued to push more Mana into the spell and the familiar black lines of ebon came into being. They formed a link between me and the mythical creature, and a flood of heady energy filled me. A flavor I had been without for too long, the very taste of life distilled in its purest form. Now it was just a matter of time before the thing died.

Unlike the Karilla, a large fearsome lizard beast that I had defeated before, the Manticore sensed the link between us and stormed towards me on instinct. The monster’s charge was a hurricane of scale, tooth, and claw that smashed into the statue between us, toppling the sculpture over with a crash.

Predicting that the creature would take this line of action, I had moved out of its path and taken shelter behind another statue. The silence of the godling’s laughter was all the confirmation I needed to know that my ploy was working. This would be a battle of patience and attrition.

Enraged, the creature fixed its baleful eyes at me, the serpent’s head of the tail hissing with new malice. More of gobs of stone-eating liquid flew my way, but always I made sure to keep behind the statue.

“Enough! Very well, you pass this stage of the trial!” cried the goddess, her words an imperious command. She clapped slowly as the manticore faded into the shadow. The midnight lines of my Drain spell that joined me to the monster suddenly snapped as if cut by an invisible blade.

Doubting her, I narrowed my eyes, looking at where the monster had vanished before new script filled my inner sight.

You have completed a Divine Ordeal.

You have gained 200 experience.

Perhaps the godling was telling the truth, but her next words were far from a relief.

A mischievous expression played about her face before she announced, “Very well done indeed. I did not expect one of my sister’s to actually use what little brains they had. It’s always purge the unclean, burn this, and burn that…” she played with her hair, twirling it in her fingers before she smiled at me. “But have you the mettle to complete my next Test, I wonder?” she broke off laughing, a melodious tinkle that irked me to no end.

The Manticore had been a challenge of its own, but not something I could not have overcome with a strong arm and a sharp wit. Indeed, a part of me was disappointed that I had not been given a chance to kill the thing. I had suffered minimal damage and had even absorbed two points of Mana from my exchange with the winged terror. Had we fought where it could have used its advantage of flight, the outcome may well have been very different.

The crack of stone splitting shook me from this line of thinking, and drew me back to the task at hand. The task of spiting the Goddess and surviving this damnable trial. The hall shook as the sound of worn gears and ancient machinery filled the stale air. All except two of the remaining statues sank into the floor, as if being absorbed by quick sand.

From one of the last statues, a new threat presented itself, that positively towered even over the Manticore and reached almost as high as the ceiling. A hulking metal faceless thing that was shaped in the vague approximation of a gigantic man, but all sharp lines and oblique angles. No roar came from its non-existent mouth, just the screech of ancient pitted iron as the unnatural abomination stood up upon thick pillars that could be construed to be its legs.

Fear and shock had long left me now, just a dull weariness remained that hid a smoldering ember of hate. I just wanted to get this over and done with, and spent a precious point of Mana to measure the new threat.

Iron Golem - [Automata lvl.12]

Health: 1059/1059

Stamina: - -/ - -

Mana: - -/ - -

Like the undead Praxis Guard I had encountered before, the Iron Golem had neither Stamina nor Mana points. At a guess, this probably meant that it did not rely on Stamina for its movement and basic locomotion. The lack of a Mana points also possibly meant that it no will or consciousness of its own, like a pre-programmed machine. It did still however have a prodigious amount of Health that completely overshadowed my own, and being an artificial construction metal, I doubted my Drain spell would work upon it.

“One of the finer creations of one of my own creations. You will not defeat the Giant of Iron by running around like a little mouse,” Iasis chortled playfully, her voice coming from somewhere behind me, tempting me to look back.

I resisted the urge to turn in her direction. An indistinct yearning slowly emerged from deep within the recesses of my mind, crystallizing into a nearly palpable thoughts of a deeper hunger. Trapped in this accursed place, I had forgotten the existence of one of my quintessential spells, Rust. It had consistently eluded my grasp, as slippery as a wet eel, but now it pleaded to be invoked. If I had only realized sooner, I could have turned the Undead Praxis Guard into so much dust and avoided a desperate struggle.

But these were merely thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. Regrets had once held me captive, keeping me down the path of passable mediocrity. To give ear to them would be but a waste of time and emotion. They had no place in the here and now, in this world where civilized society would not shield me.

Somehow, I forced down a burst of reckless laughter that would have no doubt riled Iasis, possibly causing her to twist this Test against my favor again. Impending triumph played its anthem within my mind as I began the motions to cast Rust, the dead syllables of an unknown language forming the spell in my mind. The voice of the spell resonated alongside mine, delighting in the anticipation of soon feasting upon a fresh bounty.

Just as men were often victims of their own hubris, so too did the gods often misjudge the capacity of mortals.