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Unwavering Craftsman What if Damien turned around? (Part 12)
🕑 Added 2023-06-05 04:57:06 +0000 UTCGrace's guards were no happier about the flesh cave than Shigeo, but none let that stop them, and the group were soon racing towards Jurelli. Grace's group were back on their giant eagles—which had been rather happy at the flesh cave, at least until their tamer stopped them from trying to eat it—while Damien and Shigeo travelled by the [Bloodwave] express. Not quite as fast as teleportation, but since someone had helpfully mushed all the islands together, and hence removed a lot of the distance between them, it still didn't take long to reach their destination.
What they found there was a refugee camp. Ten thousand people, at least, of all ages, milling around alongside a crater—obviously caused by an impact from above, with the debris of Gaia's former port city still visible around the edges—where a patch of farmland was quickly being turned into homes by high-tier carpenters, masons and even earth mages, building empty huts from soil.
"Huh. Can't say I expected so many survivors," commented Damien.
"I doubt there were," answered the lieutenant. "As long as Kari survived, bringing back the entire city wouldn't be an issue, as long as she was on the scene quickly enough. We'll likely find the other temple cities were not so lucky."
The group dropped to ground level, where they quickly located a priestess of Gaia, who in turn pointed them along the coast to an isolated hut, in which were seated Kari the [Chosen of Gaia], Arial, the [Oracle of Gaia], and last but not least, an upset Gaia the Mother.
"So, you arrive here with Shigeo, but the source-lights are destroyed nonetheless," she sighed. "It seems my plan has failed utterly."
"Actually, it worked. I didn't destroy the southern one," pointed out Damien. "Someone else did after we left."
The Mother looked dubious. "Destroying a source-light is no simple feat. There are few in the bowl who could have done so."
In answer, Damien drew Grungle's dagger and tossed it to Gaia's feet. "I wasn't strong enough to scratch them either. I was given that to carry out the task."
Gaia stared, recognising the dagger for what it was; the work of her peer. "Then we were doomed from the start," she muttered.
"My Lady?" asked Arial.
"That dagger is the work of the Maker," she sighed. "This betrayal must have taken place since long before Damien took up his class."
"Damien!" came a shout from outside as Fleta entered. "You're alive!" she added, embracing him in a quick hug, before slapping him hard across the face.
"... I probably deserved that," he muttered.
"You deserve far more than that, young man," she glowered, before switching back to another hug.
Damien knew better than to comment on the mixed signals.
"Putting the past aside, we need to plan for the future," said Gaia, who had spent the few seconds granted by Fleta's reunion to think. Certain facts now made a lot more sense, and a few coincidences obviously hadn't been. "Grungle's plan seems to have gone slightly awry, and now the survivors are left in a far worse position than they might otherwise have been."
"His plan? A minute ago, you didn't even know he was involved. How could you know his plan?"
"There was an elf, somewhere he shouldn't have been; a beggar on the streets of Hrellisti. A [Neophyte Alchemist]. And Lana, the [Neophyte Smith]. I surmise that had the Other not have interfered, Grungle would have granted you the class of [Neophyte Tailor]."
Damien blinked. He'd certainly suspected that Grungle was going to give him a duff class, but how did that help his plan? A [Neophyte Tailor] wouldn't have been destroying any source-lights.
"Huh? How would that have helped?" asked Shigeo, putting voice to Damien's thoughts.
"The three classes together result in... a loophole. At higher levels, with the right perks and feats, they can create enchanted items that let them produce more powerful enchanted items, ad infinitum."
Damien pondered, remembering the green-haired kid from his first vision. The architecture around the corpse certainly wouldn't have been out of place in Hrellisti. Had that been the elf he was supposed to meet? And Lana, too... So he was supposed to be involved with her?
He frowned at the realisation of how close he'd been to getting completely drawn into Grungle's plot. Had he not turned around, he'd have ended up dancing in the palm of the Maker's hand. But without his interference, presumably that elf was now dead, the vision having come true. As was everyone in Thale, by his own hand. Could Grungle's path have possibly been any worse?
Gaia certainly seemed to think not. She said the survivors were in a far worse position, and it was obvious why; enchanted items could be shared. Damien may have ended up rank ten, with power rivalling the Five themselves, but he wasn't omnipresent. The entire population had been plunged into a world of demons and monsters.
... And yet a few hours ago, this had been the exact outcome he was hoping for.
"What do we do now?" he asked.
No-one answered.
"Anyone?"
"I don't think there's anything we can do," answered Gaia. "It's likely that all human settlements will be destroyed by monsters, demons and dragons over the coming weeks, and we have no means of protecting them. It doesn't help that a large part of the humans' fighting strength was in the cities of Illumis and Kakkerxat, as the cowards tried to defend themselves from you. If we tried to gather everyone together into a smaller, more defensible area, they would simply starve instead."
Damien pondered, casting his mind back once more to the flesh cave. A world that was not this one, nor the bowl. The Other had never complained about humans leaving his world, only that they'd stolen a part of his world to do so. Could he find another world to which he could evacuate the survivors?
The feat to control the portal's end point was a start, but one to actively seek out a hospitable environment would be better. That meant more levels, quickly. And given where he was, there seemed a fairly obvious way to obtain those levels.
"Gaia, you're convinced that humanity can't survive in this world?"
Everyone perked up at the sudden burst of confidence Damien exuded. "You've thought of something?" asked Shigeo.
"Maybe. It's not a great plan, but it's something."
"I do not believe humanity would go extinct, but I do not believe civilization would survive," answered Gaia.
"Right. Then I need another feat for [Gate], and then we'll evacuate."
At that, Gaia actually laughed. "I see... And to obtain that feat, you need levels... Very well, I permit you, although I dare say you weren't seeking my permission. And should I survive, I will have a proposition for you."
"My Lady?" questioned Arial. "What are you..." she continued, but was interrupted by Damien fulfilling the purpose of his class and casting [Divine Judgement]. After all, feeling out his options with [Poetic Justice], there was one that was simply perfect.
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There was a library, of sorts. Bookshelves formed an infinite maze, each one ten metres tall, each shelf without a single gap. An occasional reading desk was squeezed between the intersections, or against walls in small gaps in the shelving. Even there, more books were piled on the desks.
Should anyone actually try opening a book, they would find themselves doomed to failure. Each one was a solid mass, without pages or words.
This library was, after all, only here for the look of the thing. Humanity hadn't generated anywhere near enough knowledge to fill it, and all the real books were in a much smaller, neater room around the back.
Illumis stalked the narrow passages between the faux bookshelves, muttering to himself. His most senior priests were dead, and with them his borrowed defenders. With the death of his priests and the destruction of the source-lights, he was blind to what was happening out in the real world. Nor could he exert any influence there. Blind and powerless, he would need to cross over into the real world even to grasp the current situation.
He didn't, preferring to remain ensconced within his divine shell. Ignoring the prayers of his people in favour of ensuring his personal safety. After all, should he cross over, the Other could simply reach out and snuff him as easily as any candle.
When had his people ceased to be important to him? When had his thinking changed? There hadn't been a single point in time, but rather it had been a gradual shift. Each day, he grew a little more used to his bestowed power. Felt a little more that he deserved it. Became a little more scared of losing it. And now the end result was here, imprisoned in a cell of his own making, trapped by bars of fear.
He ceased his walking as the air shifted, a faint smell of the sea invading the dusty halls. Someone breaching his domain? How and, more importantly, who?
"Illumis?" called a voice that he recognised clearly, echoing between the bookshelves.
"Gaia?" he answered, making his way through the maze towards her. "How are you here? You shouldn't be able to enter this place. No, more importantly, why are you here? That thing could have followed you!"
"It could have, but it won't. The Other has no further interest in us. You know as well as I that it appointed a judge from our own people."
"Pah. If it hadn't been for your interference..."
"My interference changed nothing. We were all betrayed. Grungle sought the destruction of the source lights, and he had more servants than Damien."
"Don't do that aberration the honour of acknowledging his name," muttered Illumis as he took a corner and found himself face to face with Damien, Gaia standing behind.
"[Divine Punishment]," declared Damien, and Illumis crumpled to the floor.
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In another pocket space, a wooden lodge was decorated with the remains of fantastical creatures. Pelts covered the floor, fangs and claws in display cases. A series of heads were mounted on the walls, including that of an elder dragon positioned above a raised chair, the mouth open as if it was about to spit flame. Between the heads were mounted weapons; axes, swords and spears alike.
Kakkerxat sat in the chair, chin resting in a hand as he gazed into a firepit in the middle of the room below. The fire crackled, heating a pot on top.
Unlike Illumis' domain, the place wasn't completely fake; the pot contained a hearty meat stew. Not that Kakkerxat was in much of a mood for eating. Like Illumis, he found himself cut off from his believers, uncertain of what to do next. Never in a million years would he acknowledge fear, not he who held the title of the Mighty. Rather, it was pure pragmatism. He didn't stand a chance against the Other, so rather than dying a pointless death, he thought himself better off waiting for a chance to strike back.
Likewise, the sweat pouring from his forehead had nothing to do with fear either. It was simply due to his proximity to the firepit. Yes, it hadn't made him sweat in the previous few centuries, but it was burning especially hot today.
And so a formerly great warrior stewed as much as his stew. There had been a time when he'd have rushed straight out there, the Other be damned. He'd have greeted tentacles big enough to pluck islands from the bowl with laughter, not trepidation, doing his best to sever them with great swings of his mighty axe. Yes, he'd lose, but he'd have lost with his head held high. Not cowering inside his own pocket world.
That axe was mounted on the wall, too, between the heads. From a distance, it looked as shiny as new, but a closer inspection would reveal a dulled edge and a thin sheen of rust over its back. It had been polished up to look good for the display, but that was all. It hadn't been maintained properly and obviously hadn't seen real use in a long time.
But it wasn't the lack of maintenance that gave away how far the Mighty had fallen. It was the fact that every one of his weapons was still on the wall, and not a single one was in his grip.
The air clicked, a faint sea breeze invading the longhouse as a portal opened up on the opposite side of the firepit. "Gaia?" he exclaimed as he looked up. "How are you here? How did you cross without being noticed by that?"
"That really isn't interested in us," replied Gaia, as Damien crossed over behind her.
"Huh? Who's that? I thought all of your high priests were, well, priestesses."
"You... don't know me?" asked Damien, gobsmacked.
"No? Should I?"
Damien's eyes narrowed. "You sent murderers after me, but didn't even bother remembering my face?"
"You keep rude company, Gaia. Murderers... I do not murder. I distribute justice as required, and the only target of mine in your lifetime, brat, was some evil demon summoner. For all the good it did. The humans out there couldn't even do that right..."
"I believe they followed your orders by sticking to Jurelli rather than hunting down their target," pointed out Gaia.
"And why are you talking about humans as if you aren't one?" asked Damien.
At that, Kakkerxat finally stood, scowling with anger. "That's enough from you, brat. I am your god, and Gaia's pet or not, I will not tolerate your insolence in my own home."
"How low our gods have fallen," sighed Damien, as Kakkerxat finally saw fit to take a weapon from its display, tearing a spear from the wall and winding up for a throw. "[Divine Punishment]," he continued, and the spear fell from Kakkerxat's grip.
Kakkerxat himself crumpled to his knees. "You..." he gasped, suddenly finding it difficult to even breathe. "What did you do?"
"I only made you into that which you already believe yourself to be," answered Damien, smirking. "Tell me, does godhood live up to your expectations?"
