12-92. Unforgiveable Sins
Rage mingled with frustration and pain, and so thoroughly that Greffyn Cornelius didn’t know where one ended and the others began. In the back of his mind, he could catalogue the events well enough. The ranged attacker had caught him unaware, but he’d quickly adjusted to the situation. The moment the attack landed, he’d known that he couldn’t afford to leave that threat untended.
If he had, the culprit would have picked his people apart. What was worse was that the enemy had enough firepower to do serious damage, even to Greffyn. So, he’d pursued, believing that he would catch the attacker, kill them, and then return to find the ongoing battle well in hand.
After all, it was just a newly integrated planet.
And he was a demi-god.
He had nothing to fear.
What had followed was a constant stream of murderous vegetation combined with a fruitless chase that led him to what appeared to be a normal valley. It was anything but. The barrage that came when the enemies sprung their trap wasn’t that powerful, at least when it came to individual attacks.
But the real power came from sheer volume.
Each spell or projectile was like a pinprick, but enough jabs could kill even a hardy dwarf. And that wasn’t even considering the giant blobs of roiling ethera that fell upon him with blistering force.
He endured, taking the brunt of the damage on his upraised arms. The attacks melted his flesh, and vaguely, he felt muscle and skin sloughing free of his bones. It took everything he had to stay upright. To survive the barrage.
But Cornelius had invested everything into his body. He didn’t bother with fancy spells. With every evolution, be it abilities or his class, he’d focused on enhancement. The way he saw it, there was no substitute for his own body, and he wanted it to be as powerful as possible.
And the investment had paid off. Even while his contemporaries hurled spells or abilities at one another, he’d waded through punishment that would have obliterated anyone else of his level. Those enhancements were the only reason he’d managed to survive that barrage.
He had risen from the ashes of that attack, ready to make his assailants pay, only to once again feel the weight of the sniper. That shot would have killed him if he hadn’t felt it coming. Even so, it had torn through his chest, forcing him to use one of his few active abilities to mend the resultant damage.
It wasn’t entirely effective.
What’s more, when he tore across the mountainside, he found that his attackers were trying to escape. He killed two groups – more than a hundred of them – only to find that he was too late to destroy the rest.
He did find their weapons curious.
He wasn’t a stranger to firearms. Various other factions utilized them to various degrees of effectiveness. But these were oddly shaped. Like boxes with triggers and short muzzles. That they could pack such a punch was evidence that someone on Earth knew what they were doing, though the viability of such weapons depended on class investment. They might work for a while, but unless someone devoted their whole society to their use, they would quickly become outdated and useless against anyone that mattered.
He’d crumpled one of them in his bare hands before letting out a roar of frustration.
Then, he remembered the attack on his people.
What followed was a race across the mountains, during which time he was once again assailed by various plants. He’d expected as much in such proximity to a Druid’s grove, but the volume of attacks suggested that they were targeted.
By the time he returned to the glade, he found another shock. And more frustration. More than anything, though, he’d felt renewed rage bubble within him.
Because they were all dead.
Every last one of his people. Gone. Slaughtered.
If he’d been in his right mind, he would have acknowledged that he only cared about them insomuch as they served their purpose. There were no great bonds there, save with his Administrator. And even that failed to become a true friendship due to the nature of their professional relationship.
But even Mable was dead.
Cornelius had taken one look at the Earthlings arrayed before him. The armored Tradesman who thought she was a Warrior. The young, wood-clad defender of the Hartwood Grove. The wild man with his pack of canines. And the Legionnaires led by a one-handed swordsman in a broad-brimmed hat.
How could he let them live?
He charged.
The following battle was as brutal as it was one-sided. They threw everything they had at him, and with enough tactical expertise that it maximized the effect of their attacks. But they lacked the power to make it stick.
The only one who came close was the grove defender, and he was too young and low-leveled to truly challenge Cornelius. Still, he’d been surprised when the boy transformed into an ent. Even with his attributes soaring with that short-duration transformation, he was no match for Cornelius.
When that additional strength fled, Cornelius was still standing.
And he was still enraged.
He advanced with all the finality of a demi-god who’d had enough. Only one foe remained before him.
Not for long, though.
Vaguely, Cornelius felt the nearby Spires activate, but he paid them no mind. Likely, it was the evacuation of the so-called Space Mages who feared retribution. Rightly so. Cornelius had no intention of stopping with killing the boy. He was going to wipe Ironshore from the map, deals and manipulations be damned.
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Anyone who dared to stand in his way would die as well.
Only when he was halfway to the defender did he realize his mistake.
The presence he felt coming from the Conclave Spires was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Power swirled around the newcomer like a cloak in the wind.
And when he looked toward the compound, his jaw dropped.
To his eyes, she looked like any other human woman, though one clad in resplendent armor and wielding an oversized sword encased in a halo of white light.
She raised her hand, almost in greeting. But then, she closed her fist. Ethera laced with something unfamiliar whirled around him. He tried to move, but the suddenly manifested prison of light sapped his strength. He railed against it, but the cage was indomitable.
Then, she spoke.
He barely heard her words. Instead, he only heard an accusation. A reminder of all the terrible things he’d done in his life. A wave of guilt enveloped him, and he dropped to his knees. Tears streamed from his eyes as a thousand images flashed before his inner eye. Thousands dead, all by his hand.
They’d had lives.
They had had futures.
And he had taken them, shattering it all with the callousness of true evil. It twisted his stomach into knots and shot needles of grief through his mind. He sagged, dropping his hands to the ground.
“Repent,” the woman commanded, standing over him. She pointed her sword in his direction, its tip glistening with justice made manifest. When he said nothing, she raised her voice, repeating that same word. It echoed in his mind, bouncing off his guilt until he could think of nothing else.
He tried to speak, but no words came from his mouth.
“Confess,” she ordered.
And he did. Finally, the words spilled from his mouth. He told her everything. He didn’t remember names. All of his sins melded together. But he knew he was guilty, and he said as much.
“You must atone.”
Tears of blood streamed down his cheeks as he nodded. “I will.”
“You know what you must do.”
Forcefully, he deactivated all of his abilities. His body wilted. “Deliver me,” he croaked, his arms out wide.
With an implacable expression, she swung her sword. It was only when it was a mere inch from his neck that Cornelius snapped out of it. The cage of light dissipated into glittering motes, and he pushed the false guilt aside. He didn’t care about the people he had killed. He was just doing his job, and they should have thought of the consequences before they angered his employers.
With clarity of mind, he threw himself upright.
Or at least he tried to.
His muscles had barely contracted when the blade bit into his neck. His vaunted enhancements were gone, and there was nothing to stop the blade from cutting deep and removing his head.
Awareness remained for a few more seconds as his decapitated head rolled free. And as it did, the rage gave way to regret. Not for all the things he’d done. Rather, for how much he’d underestimated the newly integrated world of Earth.
And then, it all went dark.
* * *
Sadie stood over the headless corpse, heaving for breath.
Just holding the dwarf with Imprison had sorely tested her limitations. It had only lasted half its normal duration, and that was with him already half dead. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have said he was one of the zombies from her brother’s army.
The fact that he was still standing when she arrived was a testament to the gap between ascendents and demi-gods. That Elijah had fought creatures at that stage – and won – was just proof that he was very different from everyone else. With another pulse of faith and ethera, she used Beacon of Judgement.
Ribbons of light erupted from her, then swirled around her body. Each revolution widened the diameter of effect until it enveloped most of the glade. Where those ribbons went, people were healed. Even those close to death – like a couple of the dogs – were thrust back to full health.
If any enemies had remained, they would have been sliced into pieces.
When the explosion of light faded, people were already climbing back to their feet. A more callous person might have regretted using so much faith, but Sadie could only appreciate the sight of her friends rising from near death.
Miguel was the first to speak.
“Thank you,” he said, respectful as always.
“I would have come sooner, but I was in a tower when the request for help arrived,” she responded. It was true. Ever since her failure to control herself outside Benediction, she had forced herself onto the path of self-improvement. Much of that meant cultivation, but it had also included tower runs and quite a lot of looking inward. And she had come through it with a few extra levels and at an entirely different stage of self-control.
“You were just in time,” came a tired voice. She looked up to see a haggard Ron approaching. His skin was sallow, and he’d clearly overdrawn his core. He was on the verge of ethera deprivation – doubtless from keeping everyone alive.
“We’re not done,” said Carmen, her helmet having been discarded. Despite the healing, her face was still badly bruised. “There’s still an army outside Ironshore.”
“More help is on the way,” Sadie stated as the Conclave spires activated behind her. A moment later, Lamar strode through, followed by hundreds of people from Philadelphia. Most of them had participated in the Red Marsh, so their faces were familiar.
Next came the guilds. Then, a force from Svetogorsk. Argos was represented next. Before long, the amassed army had swelled to over five thousand people. And there were more on the way.
A couple hours later, the flow slowed to a trickle, and Sadie beheld a force whose numbers could rival those arrayed against Ironshore. When they had gathered, she gave the order to advance.
The following battle was brutal, especially when the undead joined the fray. The necromancers weren’t shy about using death magic, and many died due to their desperate attempts to salvage an unwinnable battle.
Taking down the abominations was even more difficult, especially in the middle of so many other foes. And Sadie was forced to activate Divine Momentum and Faith’s Reckoning before everything was said and done. Thankfully, killing zombies counted to extend Divine Momentum, meaning that within moments, her attributes had skyrocketed into an entirely different tier.
She mowed them down like the fodder they were.
When she found herself facing off against the people from Heaven’s Bastion, Sadie did not allow herself to hesitate. They were no longer her people. Perhaps the ones who’d remained behind could be salvaged, but these opportunistic attackers were lost causes. She treated them the same as she treated any other enemy.
And thus, the siege of Ironshore was broken.
The death toll was in the tens of thousands, with both sides having lost plenty. But victory was achieved.
After the battle had wound down, a scout from Ironshore approached her. Vaguely, she recognized him as one of the people who’d been stranded on Chimera Island, though she could not remember his name. He was a member of the Hartwood Grove, though.
More importantly, he came with a prisoner.
“Found him trying to escape into the mountains,” the man said, throwing Nico at her feet. “I figured you would want to deal with him yourself.”
Sadie could practically feel every eye on her. She stood over her brother, an impassive expression on her face. It did not match the swirl of emotions in her heart.
Anger.
Love.
Fear.
Disgust.
Her brother glanced back at the scout and spat, “You’ll pay for that, scum!”
He tried to climb to his feet, but a boot to his back sent him sprawling on the ground.
“Why?” Sadie asked.
It was a simple question, but when asked, it elicited an unexpected reaction from Nico. An expression of confusion swept over his face.
“Why?” he echoed. “Because it is my right! I am an angel! I am a Song! These peasants deserve –”
For the second time that day, Sadie swung her sword at a prisoner’s neck. This time, there was no resistance before her brother’s head rolled free. He never even had a chance to react, and the amount of experience she received told her just how pitiful Nico’s progress really was.
Or had been.
He would never get a chance to rectify his mistakes.
She stared at his corpse, wondering how she was going to break the news to her grandfather.
Without any outward reaction, she went back to the aftermath of the senseless battle.
Alone and wishing she wasn’t.