It was a normal day in Rye. The citizens in the village were going about their daily lives. Tending to the land and sowing new seeds for the next harvest. Everything was proceeding as it always had. The sun blazed on their backs, the sweat pooled above their brow, and the wind… The wind had begun to act strange.

One minute it was still and calm. The next, it was roaring as if a tornado would form at any moment. Some villagers began to panic, some dropping to their knees and praying. Others continued to work, believing a little storm would do no harm. As the sudden shifts in weather became more and more frequent. Many retreated into their shanty homes, dragging the curious children to safety.

In Boris’s castle, the eyebrows of Alfred furrowed. “I’ve underestimated how eager Requis was to battle. No matter this level of damage shall be acceptable…” The soldiers on duty ran around like chickens with their heads cut off, busy forming groups and executing bizarre plans. Ignoring the idiots, Alfred journeyed to Boris's room alone. 

Outside, a storm had formed, covering the entire village in darkness. From the center of the storm, loud explosions could be heard miles away. Each explosion shook the shanty buildings. Children were crying, and parents were cuddling, but no one would be safe from this catastrophe.

After a loud rumbling rain fell upon the village until a flash-flood swept through the area, ripping away the fertile soil and seeds. Horses were drowned, chicken swept away. Houses were ripped from their foundations, and doors caved in from the pressure. While the bodies of those who could not swim floated silently along for the ride ahead.

Not long after the flood formed, a single explosion of air blew the water away in all directions. As if the air was fleeing from the area, its speed broke the sound barrier. Anything that was floating became air-born. Even the moat around Boris’s castle was emptied dry. Clouds were retreating haphazardly with the wind. The sky became clear again, calmed as if the storm had never existed in the first place. 

Reemerging from the overcast, the sun shined upon the destruction. The village was ruined. Most of the homes were either washed away or their tattered soggy remains were the last vestiges of their existence. Only Boris’s castle somewhat survived but was now a wreck with parts of the battlement missing. Chunks of stone laid about on the ground. Bodies of man and beast could be seen underneath the debris. The unfortunate villagers drowned in the first few minutes. Others were swept away by the storm. The lucky ones found shelter in sturdy areas, but their village was now just a memory.

Clarence, who had begun his march to the neighboring noble lands, stopped and looked back. A strange pressure was heading their way. His eyes flashed with uncertainty. 

His soldiers paused their march, looking quizzically at their commanding officer, unaware of the battle happening far away.

Clarence swallowed subconsciously as he felt the battle becoming more and more intense. Beneath his armor, goosebumps had formed. Clarence only came out of his daze when he felt the eyes around him, burning with fear and curiosity. Turning to his soldiers, Clarence commanded, “We must hurry. The battle has begun, our homeland is in danger. Forward march, at double-time!”

Hearing this, the faces of the soldiers went pale. For a moment, everyone became hysterical and lost. The march was rushed and disorderly. They were actually moving slower due to the chaos. With Clarence distracted, all discipline was thrown out the window.

Clarence was disturbed by the raw power emanating from Rye. Even if he went all out, he would not even last a second against the two monsters battling it out. Their power is immense, incalculable. I was a fool to aim so high. Requis was right, the old man was right. What happened to Requis? To the old man? What happened to Boris? Wait...Could the lich and demihuman be having a falling out? If so, this would be the perfect time to finish them when they are weakened. I may be too weak. But the combined human might shall imprint fear into the hearts of those beasts. If everyone else is dead, I alone will take the glory of victory. Clarence spurred his stead forward with new resolve, “Onward men! Every second you waste is another dead person. Every minute is another family wiped off the map. Double time. Double time.”

The soldiers hearing the urgency, shook off their fears, and commenced marching at a breakneck speed to gather help and hopefully save their homes.

 

In a colossal building faraway, a worker yelped in horror from his desk, causing the eyes of all the other workers to land upon him. The man was in a panicked state and had lost the ability to speak. Those closest to him continuously asked what was wrong.

He could only point to his screen. 

The onlookers shook their head in exasperation while poking fun at the man, “Ah newbie, calm down. I’m sure the scale of battle can’t be that huge. No one is dumb enough to attack the guild. It is prolly just some spar….” Their jaws dropped when they looked at his screen.

At first, everyone was laughing but seeing the two in shock as well, something felt wrong. All the workers made their way to the orb, only for it to explode the moment they got too close. A high tier orb just exploded from the aura it was measuring? Many muttered, “Impossible!”

Seconds after the orb exploded, a man with long yellow hair appeared in the room sporting an aggravated state, “What are you idiots doing? The Director needs the reports from yesterday’s..” Moving like lightning, the man appeared before the shattered glass. His eyes were spewing rage, and electricity flowed from his aura. In anger, he roared, “Who broke it? Huh? You won’t just lose your job. Your children’s children will be paying off this item. Do you know how expensive this thing is?”

No one replied to his yelling. 

After a few minutes of silence, he calmed down a bit as he slowed his breathing. “Ok. Ok. I was kidding, just this is a very expensive item. So, whoever destroyed it, step forward so we can make the proper filing to request a replacement.”

Again no one moved. All had the same surprised look on their faces.

“Oi!” The man stomped down, causing electricity to flow throughout the room, shocking everyone out of their daze. Still, no one talked. Even without the daze, no one understood what had transpired. 

Sighing, the man lifted the closest person to him off the ground, who happened to be the newbie. “What happened, twerp? Wait, you are new here, right? Did you break it?”

The newbie could only shake his head, but the fear in his eyes made him awfully suspicious.

AHH. Of all the times this could happen, it had to be on my shift. “Ok. Ok. You are new and scared to lose your job. Just tell me what happened, and senpai will see what he can do.” Putting the newbie down, the man formed his best smile. Though the smile was obviously strained, and the electricity in his eyes hinted at a wave of repressed anger.

The newbie, still in a daze, began muttering something.

The man tilted his head in annoyance, believing the newb was whispering out of embarrassment, “What was that?” He leaned forward and listened to what he thought would be senseless rambling. But soon, his eyes turned into surprise, then narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Instead of the newbie nodding, those around him who saw the screen nodded slowly instead.

The man’s face darkened, “Who was the master of the building.”

A single name passed the newbie’s lips.

Without replying, the man disappeared from the room in a hurry. Not long after he left, a yell that sounded like thunder shook the room, “Don’t just stand there idiots, back to your stations.” 

Everyone stole one last glance at the destroyed orb before returning to their work. The newbie could only stand there awkwardly. 

Inside a well-furnished yet modest room, a grey-haired old man questioned the yellow-haired man with worry, “Blitze, are you sure of this?”

The yellow-haired man met the grey-haired man with resolute eyes, “I believe so, Director. I doubt those workers would be willing to lie for a newbie. Besides, Master Requis has always had a tendency to go overboard.”

The man sighed. He could already imagine the smug face Requis was sporting, “That idiot Requis, and he wonders why we sent him to such an isolated village. Just a few days ago, he let someone destroy his kitchen and hall. I reprimanded him for 3 hours. 3 bloody hours. It appears even that wasn’t enough. HAAAAA… any idea who he was fighting?” The old man sighed nonstop, pulling out a bunch of forms and paperwork. There goes my afternoon.

“I do not know, Director. There have been no reports of an individual of such strength in the area. The only oddity is the lich, but he should not cause so much trouble to destroy an entire town.” Blitze scratched his head in thought though he obviously wouldn't come to a conclusion. 

Seeing the frustration in Blitze's eyes, the old man apologized, “Oh, nevermind. I was thinking out loud. Don’t hurt yourself. Thank you for the report. I’ll handle it from here.” The old man paused from filling out a form seeing that Blizte was still trying his hardest to think of possible enemies. “You may leave.”

Blitze hesitated for a moment then, with a fierce salute slamming his closed fist to his chest, requested, “Director Vincent. If a subjugation squad is mobilized. I request to partake in the initial operations.”

The old man ignored the middle-aged man’s request, “That will be all building defense supervisor Blitze. Be sure to inform the next supervisor on duty about the destroyed orb and send that bloody newbie home. He has been standing there since you left.”

A little disheartened, Blitze recommitted his salute, “Yes sir, director.” then left with reluctance.

The grey-haired Vincent let out a long sigh, subconsciously gripping the form in his hands. 60 years, for 60 years I've been Director, and I've wasted 40 of em cleaning up this brat's mess. I knew that lad Requis was no good since I first met him. Only an idiot would challenge a semi awakened battle knight at the young age of 45. He just loves to prove me right. Noticing the crushed form, Vincent sighed once again. He'd have to redo this form.

In the capital of Wessex. Was a grand manor that made Boris’s castle look like a child’s playset. Inside sat a dignified middle-aged man. His throne was made of the most expensive silk, with gold-encrusted armrests. A chandelier hung far overhead, giving off the perfect amount of light. Long rugs laid on the cobblestone floor. A breeze cooled the room, but the room itself had no windows. Extravagant paintings were placed everywhere with men who looked quite similar to the man sitting on the throne.

The man had chestnut hair, although usually it was cut. The hair had grown unkempt in recent years. He had chestnut-colored eyes that shone brilliantly only offset by the bags developing under them. Still, the man exuded majesty, fit of a ruler. 

Yes, this was Wessex's king. King Alfred III, "The Holy Sun," was known for his unyielding faith in Zeyana. Unlike his more timid father before him, Alfred's rule was marked by religion and expansion. Hence, the paperwork, all these years of new settlements, and conquering of demihumans had backed up the bureaucracy. 

King Alfred busied himself reading report after report, only to pause and see more reports being carried in. This was for him, business as usual. It was never easy ruling a kingdom. But when the nobles in your kingdom cared only for self-glory. The city-states that were once part of your kingdom endlessly tried to invade, and a bloody lich was on the loose. Easy was no longer believable. That word held no meaning to this man, other than a lie told by those who never really tasted power and its burden. But for the glory of Zeyana, he endured, nay he thrived.

Alfred read each document with great scrutiny. Yet, today would prove different from his monotonous routine. Alfred raised his head as he heard a disturbance outside. A heated argument had begun to arise. Which made it difficult for his already tired mind to concentrate.

The individuals yelling sounded like the royal guards. Alfred could hear them say the same old drill, “Halt! Non may enter without the king’s permission.”

Hearing that part, Alfred assumed the minister of finance had come to reprimand him for spending so much on the military instead of infrastructure. Or perhaps his daughter was here to complain about all the classes she had to take. Maybe one of the prominent nobles went insane and was here to tell him off. If only. So boring, yet so loud. As his interest waned, he heard the other individual. The person yelling back was an unknown voice. It had been a long time since someone came to speak that wasn't one of the people he listed. Perhaps something has happened? No, it must be one of the many help complaining about my daughter acting unprincess like. 

The person yelled in a high pitched voice, “It is urgent. I must see the king.”

Usually, the king would ignore such occurrences, but they happened so rarely that he decided to humor the individual. His dignified voice rang out, “Let him pass.”

A young lad stumbled into the throne room. He was scrawny in build, had glasses, and was quite nervous. “My. My. My liege.” He kneeled awkwardly to the floor. It appeared he was not used to dealing with royalty nor customs. “I am Simon. Sixth apprentice of the court alchemist.”

No wonder those alchemists never were one for customs. King Alfred put down one of the many reports, “Is that all you had to say?”

The boy became flustered, “No, my master. The court alchemist sent me here to deliver an urgent report. It is..”

“Stop,” King Alfred raised his hand and reprimanded. “If you were sent by the court alchemist, he should have given you a token that allows immediate audience. Why did you not show it?”

The boy was confused then went, “Oh.’ Digging around in his pockets until pulling out a gold medallion with a wolf in the middle.

The king nodded, raising his hand. He even had the gall to reach into his pocket. If not for my curiosity, the secret guards would have killed him the moment he pulled something out. “Next time, show them that. You may not be so lucky if you don’t. So what is so great an urgency that it couldn’t be written in a report? Is the capital under siege? A demihuman rebellion? A new weapon of destruction?”

The boy shook his head fiercely, almost knocking his own glasses off in the process. “My liege. Essex is well, and no one dares to lay siege to her gates.”

“Good. Now Simon, be quick and report. I have much to attend to.” The king shuffled through the reports, skimming them with a glance, then returning them to their proper order.

Vincent’s face turned grave, “My liege, our devices have picked up a giant power surge in the territory of Lord Boris.”

King Alfred became more interested. He remembered reports of a lich in the area. Still, whenever he tried to investigate, Boris would claim to have everything under control. “And? The happenings in the territory of a lord are his and his alone unless the security of the kingdom is at risk. So, I ask. Is the security of the kingdom at risk?”

The boy opened and closed his mouth a few times then continued, “From the power we picked up. Most likely, the village of Rye no longer exists…”

Alfred dropped all the reports on the ground shooting up from his throne. A strong aura exuded from him, “The entire village… what of Boris, does he live?”

The boy remained on one knee, no longer daring to look towards the frightening king, “I do not know my liege. The event has just happened, and we are unsure who or what caused it.

The king paced back and forth, then motioned towards a shadow in the throne room, “Charles, your brother Alfred is in the area. See if he reports anything.” The king sat back down on his throne and proclaimed, “SUMMON THE DRAGON GUARD, tell them to head directly to Rye and bring the situation under control.”

A chorus of “yes my liege” sounded out. As everyone became busy in the manor. For a second, the king looked at the report in his hand and then crumbled it into a ball. The king didn’t even look at the other reports rushing to summon a war council. 

Simon was scared witless seeing an old man appear from the shadows and the appearance of the royal guards. With a bow, he scurried from the chaotic throne room.

 

Faraway from Wessex. In a dimly lit room filled with beauties sat an individual on a throne. The man on the throne was handsome beyond description with a devilish aura. His skin was free of wrinkles. His eyes were bloodshot red. A carefree smile hung on his face. Unlike King Alfred's throne, his throne was made out of human skulls. An extravagant feast was laid out in front of him, and many women of different races awaited his every command. He lazily sipped on an assortment of fine wine. Boredom was etched across his face, but it only added to the lazy smile he was sporting. 

That was until shock jumped across his face, then a myriad of other emotions followed.

The harem of women seeing this began to shutter. It was never good when this man's face wasn't lazy. It meant something had happened that either piqued his interest or anger.

Not worried about their thoughts, he set his wine down and looked off into the distance. The myriad of emotions combined into only one sentence, “Did I sire a child?” Quickly he became disinterested in the matter when the anomaly faded. The boredom returned, and the women all breathed a sigh of relief.

 

In a pristine cathedral, a bishop led his flock of the worthy in prayer. The individuals glowed with a white light as they prayed continuously to a statue of Zeyana. Everyone had their heads bowed in respect, and only the low murmur of the bishop could be heard.

In a hidden part of the church, a gathering was occurring. An array of orbs activated displaying the prominent bishops of Zeyana. Their faces had nothing but fear, which went against the normally prideful faces their worshipers were used to. 

As bishops, their faith should be near unshakeable. But in reality, the church had become oversaturated with cowards. Zeyana herself had not been spoken to since the high human era, regardless of how hard they prayed. Without the goddess, the church was built on a pillar of lies, upheld by propaganda and enforced by fanatical subordinates. Their supposed leaders were more focused on gathering influence. The church just proved to be the best place as blind faith was easier to control. 

If you didn’t donate to the church every gathering, you were a heathen. If you sympathized with the mistreated demihumans scourge, you were a heathen. Questioned the church’s overbearing attitude that’s right heathen. Forgot to come to church one day? Welcome to heathen hell population you. There was even a case where an entire city-state was branded as heathens when the queen refused to have a "private session" with a bishop.

The bishops didn’t have to do much. All they had to do was canonize humans with strong power. Those imbeciles with high light affinity were egotistical enough to believe the goddess had chosen them. Why on Titan would they allow others to downplay or question their goddess-given status. 

During the previous era, the last pope died when battling a heretic who tried to go against the natural order of life by creating his own. But no one wanted to replace him, as that would make them subordinates. Instead, the new pope was a fancy figurehead. Bishops were now the top of the church. The bishops were a bunch of old men fighting to hold onto power and groom worthy successors. The middle of the church was full of idiots who were full of themselves. The lower part and largest was the masses who were brainwashed and coerced into supporting the unfair system.

Six of the eight bishops were gathered for this meeting. The bishops present were as follows: Bishop Charles, Bishop Timothy, Bishop Alec, Bishop Paul, Bishop Gregory, and Bishop Benedict.

"Where the bloody hell is Bishop Michael?" Bishop Charles raspily complained.

Bishop Timothy defended, "Calm down, Charles. He is in the middle of mass at the moment. This situation has occurred too fast and without reason."

Bishop Charles snorted in frustration, "Mass? Just end the bloody mass. We have bigger problems. That's right, Timothy. You and that old fool are short of money lately. Perhaps you should have mass every day to make up for your losses."

Before Bishop Timothy could reply, Bishop Benedict mediated, "Easy now, Charles. Let's focus on the anomaly first. According to our sources, a demonic present has appeared on the continent. It has been over 1000 years since the demon scourge has appeared. If we do not act swiftly, things will unravel."

Bishop Paul questioned, "Where are the holy crusaders? Just send them to clean up the filth."

Bishop Charles sneered, "Paul did your dementia catch up to you? The crusaders are currently in the south suppressing the demihuman insurrection. How about Timothy and Michael send their holy order? I mean, they are the closest to the disturbance. You want me to send my guards all the way to Wessex for some unconfirmed anomaly? Sure, how about I run a bath for you while I'm at it."

Hearing they had to send men, Bishop Benedict issued his support of Charles, "I agree. The northern territories are already stretched too thin. It would be unwise to send warriors to Wessex. I say we allow them to handle their own problems."

Bishop Timothy countered, "If the anomaly proves true, then our current forces would be unfit to contain it. Only by sending an overwhelming force would we..."

Cutting him off, Bishop Charles spat, "You just don't want to use any more of your own men. What, should we pool our treasuries together while we are at it? Want me to send my firstborn to you too?"

Bishop Benedict laughed and added, "Nay, he'd want your second born as well. Soon he'll want your bishopry, maybe your lands. Hell, he'll need to be crowned pope to suppress this threat." 

A somber voice ended the petty arguing, "100,000 dead."

The laughing Benedict choked on his words, "What?"

The voice repeated, "100,000 dead."

Seeing who was talking, the aggressive Charles spoke with a bit of respect, "100,000 dead. You speak of the famous cult incident, where an entire city-state was sacrificed to a devil. We killed all those from the cult, Gregory. It is impossible for the same incident to happen. Most likely, this is some failed attempt, and the wrongdoers are already dead."

Bishop Gregory sighed, "I'm the oldest here. My master was just a simple friar when Pope Pius the XVIII, died. The pope. The pope tried to summon the bishops of the time for support. They said similar things to you. They complained similarly. They joked and asked if he wanted to be proclaimed the new Zeyana. In the end, 100,000 good Zeyanan souls were lost. Not long after, the pope died alone, battling the famous heretic of corrupted creation. Did you know? He didn't even bother to call for help. On his deathbed, my predecessor said his only regret was not answering the call, for that he knew no heaven awaited him. And if it did. He did not have the courage to face the pope. I wish to ascend with no regrets. The bishopry of Saxony shall heed her brother's call. It will take some months, but hold out until then." 

Silence reigned in the room. 

The faces of the other bishops were filled with shame.

Still, none offered to send help. It would be left to the bishops of Wessex to find their own salvation.