Level One God

I stood in the game managers room with hands clasped behind my back, eyes trained on what they called "The Master's Eye." At the moment, it displayed a view of the man with the horned helmet. Currently, he was speaking with grommets who all carried small furry pig-like creatures. They appeared to be excited about something which the man in the horned helmet did not appear to be excited about.

Curious.

He wasn't the only curiosity in the tournament, of course. I found myself particularly interested in Cassian Blackstone as well. His talents were well known, but he was also commonly seen running with criminals and relying on his father's influence to smooth over the trouble he caused.

So why in the name of The Nine was he lurking around Mongrel Army territories like some kind of guard dog? He had already dispatched no less than three nobles who had the misfortune of scouting in his direction, and I suspected more would come soon.

And there was also the issue of the "bone choir." His Divinity's public stance on necromantic arts was technically permissive, but many cities banned it outright, including Thrask. The decision to allow them to participate in this tourney was hotly debated because many argued necromancy was a gateway to the Forsaken arts. More still believed those who equipped class corestones with necromantic abilities were allies of Forsaken, even if they didn't intend to sell themselves over to that dark power themselves.

I slid my eyes from the Master's Eye, focusing instead on the game managers. They were rather pathetic creatures. Bureaucrats of a paved path that was largely useless except for surveillance and managing silly games such as this. For the most part, they were uninteresting to me. I saw only sad men and women determined to improve their station in this world by the slightest measure. I saw people far too short-sighted to imagine anything greater than larger bedrooms or more fine clothing.

But one of them did interest me. She was a well-crafted woman perhaps in her late twenties with eyes with a shape that reminded me of leaves—one rounded end and the other with a severe point. She called herself Talia, and I found myself watching her more than I cared to admit.

But it wasn't only because she was pleasant to look upon. It was because unlike the others here, she worked toward something… different. A cause I happened to support, and a cause I had thrown my own fate in peril to support.

I knew the man in the horned helmet was central to her plans. Whether he knew it or not, he was the champion she had selected for her cause. A martyr of sorts, but one who may cause a fracture in systems that had been in place centuries.

Talia wanted change because she hoped to honor a lost sibling, to tear down the mechanisms that led to her death. For my part, I saw an opportunity to cause chaos, and in chaos, power often shifted hands—especially for those who were ready to exploit it.

Talia stood with the senior game managers and caught my gaze, immediately looking away before anyone might notice. Perhaps sleeping with her had been a mistake, but I knew how these things worked on most minds. Physical closeness created a sense of trust in most. A vulnerability. It was one I wasn't immune to myself, but I hoped to leverage it if necessary.

I listened to the game managers talk. The topic tonight was controlling the viewing portals. Their plan of making Vitus the crowd favorite was failing, and they were resorting to emergency measures to divert the viewing portals away from Brynn Stygos and his mongrel army. Aside from a single viewing portal steered by grommets, they seemed confident they could keep him out of the public eye until he clashed with the nobility.

Their hope was to sabotage him before that point, but their first attempt with the challenge area full of five times the normal number of threats had failed miserably. Instead of dying a quiet death, Brynn Stygos had survived, grown stronger, and now posed an even larger threat.

I knew the man was doomed to die in the end, but a grudging part of me couldn't help actually rooting for him. I did always appreciate someone who could introduce chaos, after all.

Only a few more moments passed before I felt the tell-tale tug of magic at my core. I froze, heart suddenly pounding.

Terror gripped me with cold, dead fingers.

My body itched to run, to flee, but I knew there was nowhere I could run. Not when he wanted to summon me.

Had he sensed my traitorous thoughts? Had he—

The air turned suddenly to ice against my skin, vision snapping black as my stomach lurched. There was a peculiar wave of warmth inside me like a current through water, and then I landed on solid ground, swaying as I blinked through the nausea and disorientation.

I was no longer in the game manager's room in Thrask. I was in his hall. The Crystal Court. This was a place of no foreign sounds. No smells. It was a tower punching far above the clouds themselves where none could enter except those he wished. A place many had been summoned and never left alive.

His Divinity sat upon his crystal throne and his council occupied the other seats—seats once said to have been used by The Nine themselves. Now those seats were held by His Divinities four highest ranking members, the Radiant Generals. The remaining four seats were held by the Opal Knights.

I fell to my knees, forehead pressed to the cold, nearly transparent flooring that gave a dizzying view of clouds and endless expanses below. "His Divinity has summoned me," I whispered. "How may I serve?"

Ithariel himself rarely spoke, but his presence was a crushing weight on my mind. It was as if he was too large for the air itself. Too large for the room to contain him. It was as if his spirit pressed outward to fill the space, reducing everything in his presence to nothing more than obstacles in his way.

Even among those in His Divine House, it was exceptionally rare to be brought directly before Ithariel. Under normal circumstances, even being brought to speak to an Opal Knight was a high and terrifying honor. I'd had the misfortune of being brought before Ithariel twice before, and my experience mirrored the stories I'd heard from others.

His Divinity rarely spoke, except to occasionally mutter to himself. It was said that looking upon him could either draw a smile or the wrath of a god itself. Immediate death. Annihilation.

I tried to stop my body from trembling as I pressed my forehead harder against the smooth floor.

"We have questions," Radiant General Lassan said, his voice barely a whisper. "You may rise, Divine Footman."

I slowly lifted my head, careful not to bring my eyes to Ithariel himself, though his presence in the room was impossible to ignore as the sun shining above.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"How may I serve?" I repeated, risking a look across the generals and knights. The Radiant Generals were Mithril Rank and four of the most powerful men and women in all of Eros. Each was dazzling, wearing equipment and weapons of legend. Each bore a storied pasts full of feats straight out of myths.

Every Radiant General wore a different colored tunic over their equipment, marking their status. The tunics were said to be handed down from Ithariel himself and bore powers of their own, each a collection of brightly colored metallic scales that shifted and moved by some unseen wind.

Radiant General Lassan was a blade of a man with long features, a permanent sneer, and was said to fight with poisons of unimaginable power. He once famously entered The Black Temple by himself and emerged victorious back when he was Diamond Rank. He wore the Emerald Tunic.

Radiant General Heline was large and powerfully built, with broad shoulders, a broad face, and was never seen without the huge hammer she carried. They said she spoke to her hammer and it drank the blood of her enemies. Her fame was in her rapid rise to power during the Rift Wars a century ago. Stories claim she was so strong because of a unique, Legendary class, that her commanders eventually left her alone to hold off two rifts at a time. They say she sustained herself, killing wave upon wave of enemies by herself and gained so many levels and accomplishments that her growth was meteoric. She now wore the Topaz Tunic.

Radiant General Nor'tha'tan was a tomte with elaborately braided black hair and pure white eyes. He wore flowing robes under his Amethyst Tunic. The stories said he spent centuries living as a hermit in his high tower, studying arcane arts and forbidden methods of expanding his corestone and modifying his class. He was even exiled, and the Thraskian King sent three legions to bring him in for questioning after peculiar storms were reported in his area.

They say he broke the entire mountain in half and made the world's blood rise up to take the army. Now he sat here in the crystal court, pure white eyes surveying me as if I was less than an insect.

And last of the generals was Radiant General Portanikus. He looked deceptively young, maybe no older than his early twenties with handsome, serious features and tousled shoulder-length hair. He wore the Ruby Tunic over sleek black armor that hugged his athletic frame like a glove, ending in a high collar of scales that reached halfway up his tattooed neck.

Unlike the others, his story was notable because of how little was said. Portanikus fought alone, and the fact that not so much as a hint of a rumor about his class or powers existed said enough. It meant none who saw what he was capable had ever lived to tell of it. He, most of all, unsettled me.

Nor'tha'tan spoke first while the Opal Knights with their full helmets and ivory colored plate armor watched in silence.

"You are monitoring the tournament in Thrask. Yes, Divine Footman?" Nor'tha'tan asked in a voice that felt surprisingly mortal, despite the stories of the tomte. The question was, of course, a formality. They knew exactly who I was and what I was doing, but everything here was a test. An opportunity to tighten the rope around my own neck.

"Yes, Radiant General."

"We hear the tournament is unfolding in… unexpected ways," Lassan said. "There are rumblings that an aspirant could win. Give us your thoughts, Divine Footman."

I tried not to let my nerves show. I didn't lick my lips. I didn't shift my weight. I didn't let my eyes wander. "There is a powerful aspirant," I said, voice steady. "They call him by many names…"

While I spoke, I tried very hard to never raise my eyes beyond the legs of Ithariel, though I couldn't shake the weight of his presence—the knowing that he was in the room and could end us all as easy as breathing. I supposed I didn't know how a Mithril would stack up against a god, but I couldn't imagine even the four Radiant Generals combined doing more than delaying their deaths if Ithariel wanted it.

"Name," the voice was soft, almost a whisper, and yet it made my blood run cold and my head bow.

I pressed my forehead to the flooring, not daring to look. It was his voice.

Ithariel. He was speaking directly to me, and the threat of death hung heavy as an executioner's blade.

"Brynn Stygos."

There was a delay, a long delay. So long I began to brace for oblivion. Had I said something wrong? Done something to offend him?

When I dared to lift my eyes, I saw the Radiant Generals were waiting.

"That name…" Ithariel said softly. "I haven't heard that name in a very long time…"

All the moisture in my mouth seemed to flee at once.

"Tell me, Footman," Ithariel continued. "LOOK UPON ME!" he shouted so suddenly and so fiercely I fell back to my rear, mouth agape in horror as I lifted my eyes to him. It was hard to look. Gods. It was so hard to stare at him and feel the overwhelming weight of his strength. Ithariel leaned forward in his crystal chair, unspeakably powerful armor shifting and moving in ways that made my eyes water. "How is… Brynn Stygos performing in this tournament?"

I held my words. Would the wrong answer spell my end here? There was no way to know, so I settled for the truth. "He does well, His Divinity. Very well."

Ithariel's face showed no emotion, but he sat back in his chair. "Yes. I imagine he would, wouldn't he?" When he spoke again, it was as if he was speaking to himself more than anyone else in the room. "They've returned, then… What a fool I've been to pay so little attention."

Judging by the looks on the Radiant General's faces, they didn't know what to make of Ithariel's words, either.

His Divinity leaned forward suddenly. "Bring me the list of names, Footman. Every name in the tournament, even those who have been eliminated or killed. Do you understand? Perhaps more of them have found their way to Thrask… I wonder… does their coming mean the end draws near? Is it truly time for all our suffering to come to an end?" Ithariel tilted his head, and in that moment, I saw a touch of something like madness there—the vacant expression of the elderly when their senses have left them. A moment later, it was replaced with a kind of manic energy, then a wickedly sharp intelligence. Each came and went in an instant.

"Perhaps we should dismiss the Footman," Radiant General Portanikus said. "It seems you may wish to discuss sensitive matters not meant for the ears of your lessers?"

Ithariel gave no sign of hearing the man. He tapped his chin, brows furrowed deeply. "To destroy them would be to invite our end. But to let them live invites it just the same, does it not?" He laughed suddenly, the sound unsettling and deep, echoing through the court like a shockwave. "What was it I was supposed to do… before they left for the chamber? Was my role to interfere when they returned? Or was it to maintain order? Or was I supposed to join them? Am I a traitor?"

The Radiant Generals shifted in their seats, each clearly uneasy. I'd never heard stories of Ithariel speaking more than one or two words. Being present while he rambled like a madman… would the Radiant Generals and Opal Knights even let me live after witnessing this?

But Ithariel continued speaking to himself, one hand stroking his chin as the air around him seemed to bend and warp, as if his racing thoughts were disturbing reality as well. "Perhaps it matters not what I do… unless… no. No. No."

"I would be happy to send the Footman back to his—" Portanikus began, but before he could finish his sentence, Ithariel swiped an arm and the Radiant General simply vanished.

The other generals looked his way, eyes suddenly downcast like frightened children instead of the Mythril Ranked legends feared across all of Eros.

Did he just kill Portanikus? No. Surely not. He must have only dismissed him. Teleported him to another—

"LEAVE ME!" Ithariel boomed, his arm swiping out again and making every person in the room snap out of view one by one. I watched them disappear in a wave as if an invisible force was coming toward me, and then the coldness came, pulling me from my space in reality and violently sending me back to the game manager's room.

I landed on my knees, drawing looks from game managers who knew better than to ask what happened or if I was okay. Only Talia's gaze lingered on me, the concern clear in her eyes.

I wanted to meet her eyes and tell her nothing was wrong, but I couldn't, because what I'd just seen… The chaos that would come from an aspirant nearly winning a tournament in a single city would be nothing next to this truth getting out.

Our god was mad.

A cold fist began to grip my insides and I tried to pick over how this might change our plans. I got to my feet and tried to regain composure, but I saw Talia continue to look my way from the edge of the room as if she was hoping to read my thoughts.

Brynn Stygos… his name had been the key to a public outburst from His Divinity like none I'd ever heard of. But what did it mean? What interest did this man's name hold to the mad god? And why would he want the names of the others?

My goal here had been to sow chaos and perhaps use it to advance my station. But now? Now I feared the instability threatening to come was something far, far beyond anything I'd imagined. If this truth surfaced, it would topple kingdoms. There would be wars the kind we'd never seen if any suspected Ithariel wasn't in absolute control.

And somehow, I felt Brynn Stygos was the key to the puzzle…