Hero Of Broken History

The morning sun had no business being that bright. Or loud. Or existing at all.

"Kill me," Kai groaned from somewhere beneath a pile of cushions that had probably started the night on furniture. "Just make it quick."

"The protagonist does not experience hangovers," Leontis declared from the bathroom, followed immediately by the sound of violent retching. "The protagonist is merely... purging toxins in a dramatic fashion!"

More retching.

Avian sat at the dining table, sipping tea and watching his companions suffer with the detached amusement of someone who'd stopped drinking after one glass. Lux lay sprawled on her back nearby, occasionally sparking with what looked suspiciously like smugness.

"We have work to do," Avian said, not bothering to lower his voice.

"Work is canceled," Kai mumbled. "On account of death."

"The cemetery stake-out? The armorer visit?"

"Can't we hunt death mancers tomorrow? When the world stops spinning?"

"The world's not spinning. That's just you."

"Lies and slander."

Leontis emerged from the bathroom looking like he'd lost a fight with his own mortality. His usually perfect hair stuck up at angles that defied both gravity and good taste. "The protagonist requires sustenance. And possibly new internal organs."

"There's breakfast on the side table."

Both hungover men turned to look at the spread of food with expressions of horror.

"You're a monster," Kai accused.

"I'm practical. Eat something bland, drink water, and let's go. The death mancers won't hunt themselves."

Though watching you two try to function is almost entertainment enough. Almost.

It took another hour of groaning, careful movements, and Leontis dramatically narrating his own recovery before they were ready to leave. Even then, 'ready' was generous.

"First stop, armorer," Avian decided, taking pity on their fragile states. "Walking might help."

"Nothing will help," Kai muttered. "Nothing but death's sweet embrace."

"The protagonist seconds this motion!"

They made their way through the noble district, Avian's companions squinting against daylight like it had personally offended them. The streets were busy with morning traffic - carriages rattling over cobblestones, merchants hawking wares, normal people living normal lives.

The armorer Kai had mentioned operated from a shop that didn't look like much from the outside. 'Hedrick's Metalworks' the sign read, with no indication of the specialized services within.

"Password?" Avian asked as they approached.

"No password. Just gold and discretion." Kai knocked on the door in a specific pattern - two short, three long, one short.

The door opened to reveal a woman who looked like she arm-wrestled bears for fun and won. Scars decorated her forearms, and her leather apron bore stains that were definitely not rust.

"Kai," she grunted. "Brought friends?"

"Colleagues. They need equipment that won't fall apart at the first sign of death magic."

Her eyes sharpened, taking in Avian's concealed sword and Leontis's general existence. "Death magic's tricky. Corrosive. Most enchantments don't hold."

"That's why we're here," Avian said. "We need reliable protection."

She studied them for another moment, then stepped aside. "Come in. Touch nothing without permission. Lost three fingers to idiots who couldn't follow that rule."

The shop's interior was organized chaos. Weapons covered every surface, from simple daggers to things that shouldn't exist outside nightmares. Armor hung from chains, some of it still moving slightly despite being empty.

"Resistance work," she said, leading them deeper into the shop. "That's what you want. Not immunity - nothing's truly immune to death magic. But I can give you gear that won't dissolve at first touch."

"What do you recommend?" Avian asked.

"Depends. You planning to fight one death mancer or several?"

"Several. Eventually."

"Hmm." She moved to a locked cabinet, producing keys from somewhere. "I've got treated leather that'll hold up against moderate exposure. Chain with silver-iron weave for anything stronger. Won't stop a direct curse, but it'll buy you time."

"The protagonist requires something with more... flair," Leontis interjected, having recovered enough to care about aesthetics.

"Flair?" She looked at him like he'd asked for armor made of butterflies.

"Dramatic presence is essential to—"

"I have a cloak that billows dramatically and resists necrotic damage," she interrupted. "Good enough?"

"Perfect!"

Of course that's what wins him over. Not the protection, but the billowing.

They spent the next hour being fitted, tested, and occasionally threatened when someone touched something they shouldn't. Avian settled on reinforced leather with silver threading - flexible enough for movement, resistant enough to matter. Kai chose similar gear with more hidden pockets for his knives. Leontis got his dramatic cloak plus armor that somehow managed to be both protective and theatrical.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Eight hundred gold total," Hedrick announced.

Kai paid without flinching, though Avian saw him wince slightly. Even with their mysterious funding, that was significant.

"Pleasure doing business," Hedrick said. "Try not to die. Bad for repeat customers."

They left with their new gear, the weight of proper equipment a comfort Avian hadn't realized he'd missed.

"Cemetery next?" Kai asked, looking marginally more human.

"One stop first," Avian said. "You two wait here. I need to check something."

"Check what?" Kai asked suspiciously.

"Personal business. Won't take long."

"The protagonist does not appreciate being excluded from potential narrative developments!" Leontis protested.

"The protagonist can wait twenty minutes," Avian said flatly, already walking away.

The old church in the slums hadn't changed much. Still the same crumbling stone, same broken windows patched with boards and hope. This was where the poor came to pray, where faith was desperate rather than decorative.

And where they keep the old tools. The ones from before the Empire sanitized everything.

He slipped in through a side door, memory guiding him through dusty hallways. The device would be in the relic room - if it still existed. The Church had tried to destroy most pre-Empire artifacts that didn't fit their narrative, but poor parishes couldn't afford to throw away anything that might have value.

There. Behind a rusted grate, covered in dust thick enough to grow crops in. The Divine Resonance Detector looked like someone had tried to build a compass while drunk and having religious visions. Brass and crystal twisted together in patterns that hurt to follow, centered around a sphere that pulsed with faint inner light.

Still working after all these years. These things were built to last.

The device was simple in principle - it measured divine energy residue. Priests used them to verify blessings, test for divine favor, occasionally check if someone had been cursed by the gods. Place your hand on the sphere, and it would show how much divine power clung to your soul.

Avian placed his palm against the cold crystal.

The device exploded with light.

Not the gentle glow of a minor blessing or the steady pulse of priestly ordination. This was blazing, overwhelming radiance that filled the entire room and probably leaked through the cracks in the walls. The measurement crystals around the edge didn't just light up - they cracked under the strain of trying to quantify what they were reading.

"What the fuck?"

I've never been blessed. Never served as a priest. Never had any direct divine contact in this life. So why—

The capping. The forced limitation on his cultivation. Someone with massive divine power had touched him, marked him, actively suppressed his growth. But not a god - gods left different signatures, cleaner and more absolute. This was divine power wielded by mortal hands. Someone blessed so thoroughly they practically bled holy energy.

He yanked his hand back, mind racing. The device slowly dimmed, measurement crystals still showing cracks from overload. Evidence. Proof that someone with massive divine authority was actively working against him.

Someone with divine power capped me. Not a god - gods leave different signatures, cleaner and more absolute. This is divine power wielded by mortal hands. Someone blessed so thoroughly they practically bleed holy energy.

The cracked crystals told their own story. The overload pattern, the specific fractures - he'd seen similar damage once before, centuries ago, when they'd tested a captured archbishop who'd been channeling divine power for decades. This was that level of power, maybe more.

High Church then. Has to be. Someone with enough divine backing to forcibly suppress a Sixth Tier cultivation. But why? What do they gain from keeping me weak but alive?

He needed to leave before someone discovered him here. The old churches kept irregular schedules, but his luck wouldn't hold forever. Avian quickly memorized the crack patterns - evidence he might need later - then turned to go.

A dusty cabinet caught his eye. Labels in faded script: "Dampeners," "Detectors," "Emergency Supplies." Worth a look.

Inside he found what he needed - divine resonance dampeners, low quality but functional. Meant for priests who needed to move through areas without triggering every ward and detector. He pocketed one, feeling it immediately start to mask the blazing divine signature.

Won't hide me from whoever did this, but at least I won't light up the whole city.

He slipped out the way he'd come, mind churning with implications. Someone in the Church with massive divine authority had personally marked him, capped his power, kept him limited. They wanted him weak but not dead. Controlled but not eliminated.

Like keeping a dangerous animal on a leash. But why? What threat do I pose that requires divine intervention to contain?

As he walked back to where Kai and Leontis waited, another thought struck him. If someone with that much power had marked him, they might be able to sense when he tested their work. The divine signature was like a brand - the one who placed it could probably track it.

Which means they might know I just discovered their interference. Shit.

He found Kai and Leontis exactly where he'd left them, arguing about whether a particular cloud looked like a dragon or a dramatically posed hero.

"Finally!" Leontis bounded over. "The protagonist was beginning to think you'd been kidnapped by narrative convenience!"

"Just checking on something," Avian said, the dampener crystal cool against his chest. "Found what I needed. Let's go stake out that cemetery."

But as they walked, his thoughts kept returning to that blazing light. To the cracked measurement crystals. To the fact that someone with the power of a near-god was actively working to keep him weak.

High Church. Divine authority. Keeping me leashed but alive. This isn't random - this is deliberate. Someone knows exactly who I am and wants me controlled.

The game just got bigger. Death mancers, the Black Mage Association, and now someone with divine backing who's been playing puppetmaster.

When I find out who... well, divine power bleeds just like everything else.

The cemetery waited below, full of dead who couldn't answer questions. But maybe the living who visited them could.

They positioned themselves around the Weeping Angel statue with sight lines covering all approaches. The statue itself was a masterwork of mourning, carved with such skill that the stone tears looked real.

"I'll take north side," Kai said, moving to a concealed position among the larger tombs.

"The protagonist claims the dramatically appropriate southern approach," Leontis declared, then actually picked a decent vantage point.

Avian settled behind a mausoleum that gave him clear view of the statue while remaining hidden. Lux stayed in ring form, ready to manifest if needed.

And they waited.

The first hour passed quietly. The second brought a few mourners who left flowers and tears. The third—

"Movement," Kai's voice came through the communication crystals they'd bought from Hedrick. "Hooded figure, approaching from the east."

Avian watched the figure move through the cemetery with purpose. No hesitation, no checking graves - they knew exactly where they were going.

The figure stopped at the Weeping Angel, glancing around nervously. Then they reached behind the statue's wing, fingers finding a hidden hollow.

There we go. Dead drop confirmed.

The figure retrieved something - a small scroll - and left a different one in its place. They turned to leave, moving quickly now.

"Follow or intercept?" Kai asked.

"Let them go," Avian decided. "Check the drop after they're clear."

They waited another twenty minutes before converging on the statue. Avian found the hollow easily, retrieving the scroll left behind.

It was encoded, of course. But the seal...

"That's a Church seal," Leontis said. "High ranking too. Why would the Church be communicating with death mancers?"

Because nothing's ever simple. Because corruption goes all the way up. Because maybe the gods aren't the only ones pulling strings.

"We need to decode this," Avian said. "And we need to be very careful who we trust."

The game had just gotten bigger. Death mancers were one thing. The Church being involved was another. And behind it all, someone with divine authority had marked him, capped him, kept him controlled for reasons he didn't yet understand.

Five hundred years of lies. How deep does this go?