– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 220, Season of the Setting Sun, Day 21 –

  Terry exhaled sharply… and he sensed the disturbance his breath had caused in his mana bubble.

  He adjusted the rotating planes of immovable items around him with a rapid shift… and he sensed the resulting change in his mana.

  Terry adjusted his spell to allow a single metal ball to fall to the floor… and he sensed the miniscule waves rippling through his mana.

  For the first time in his life, his mana touch picked up on the ripples of even comparably quiet sounds traveling through the air his mana covered.

  Interesting…

  He opened his eyes and sat down to write in his notebook. He definitely wasn’t regretting his ritual choice. While it didn’t allow him any flashy ability, it opened up new worlds to what he could already do.

  More importantly, it was more than just an immediate effect. It was an ever-moving guidepost for setting his aim.

  The concept of self-attunement allowed Terry to sense a pull towards progress in his mana foundation.

  A pull towards a deeper naturalization.

  Towards making his mana more his own.

  This was one reason Terry had chosen it. He had hoped for his concept to be more than a static ability. The concept of self-attunement was a training tool as much as, or even more than, an immediate boost.

  Although, Terry was pretty satisfied with the immediate benefits as well. His plane drift had become workable. The decay rate of his naturalized mana had slowed down even beyond what the blessing of permanence had granted him, which was great for his liquid mana experiments.

  Not so great for pulling another stunt like with the ritual lynchpin against Anand. Would have to stall for longer to cross the decaying threshold to secure an oscillating item in dimensional storage.

  I wonder if I can intentionally cause my mana to decay…?

  Terry flipped to another page in his notebook and made a note for himself.

  Surprisingly, even his spellwork had benefited from the change. Terry had expected his general mana control to improve, but had no expectations for his specific spell control. Much to his delight, he had been mistaken on at least one account. He could achieve the same spell duration with less mana than before.

  However, the biggest benefits were to Terry’s mana regeneration and ability to harvest and re-claim mana. He doubted the Mana Drain of Derek, his companion in Tiv, would still affect him at all. If he had to face the Bloody Duchess again, Terry believed he wouldn’t even need to flood her with his naturalized mana to drain her from her own.

  Something to verify before I rely on it, though.

  “Ready for your walk, bucko?” Swen’s voice carried through the open door between their rooms in the large chamber guaranteed by the Order.

  Terry rolled his eyes at the Blasphemer’s phrasing, but still quietly packed up his stuff. If he was finally allowed to visit the Court’s standing arena – even if only as a spectator – then he wouldn’t complain.

  Before he left the room, Terry made sure to collect his newest batch of harvested mithril. Whenever he wasn’t in the pits or sleeping, he always reserved some of his mana to use on the growing collection of mithril slime cores in their chamber.

  Whenever a soul spawned, he was ready to use his strange skill to gather more of the precious metal.

  ***

  Terry felt oddly exposed. Something about the arena’s layout.

  Or the fact I’m sitting alone with all these blood-seeking gods probing me with their presence.

  He scowled and heightened his presence defence. He knew they were trying to put him down for daring to enter the Court’s trial arena as a mortal without a patron. In the barter districts, it was easy to forget sometimes, but a place like this attracted a different crowd.

  In front of the crafting gods, a mortal was a client, at least. For him to seek their services was only natural. They were the best service providers. Anyone should seek them out.

  Here, by contrast, a mortal’s presence was an affront to their godhood. Even the betting grounds for non-combat competitions would imply that he, a mere mortal, dared to consider his judgement – or even worse, his skills – better than those of gods.

  The combat arena was, unsurprisingly, the worst place for Terry to stick his nose in, which was why Swen had insisted on waiting until he was properly prepared.

  “You’re sitting in my seat!” A god with a gorilla appearance glowered at Terry.

  Terry kept his eyes in front, where he was waiting for the Blasphemer to appear.

  “You dare ignore me?!” spat the gorilla.

  Terry had learned the rules of the Court from the Blasphemer. He wasn’t worried about anyone actually picking a fight, no matter how much they barked at him. Unfortunately, there were other ways for the parasites to turn themselves into a nuisance.

  The gorilla stepped in front of Terry and blocked his view. “Pathetic mortal, I’ll—”

  “Oh, look!” Terry exclaimed loudly. “Someone from the Order!”

  The gorilla flinched and whipped around, only to discover a distinct lack of a red-eyed representative of the Judge.

  Terry snorted amusedly. “Not there. I thought your god-like senses would be sharper than this. Guess this mortal was mistaken about your abilities. My bad.”

  The gorilla flushed. It growled at Terry. “Face me in court!”

  “Nope,” said Terry without losing his derisive sneer. He knew from the Blasphemer that the competitions and battles were entirely voluntary. Leviathan and his Order made sure of that. The contestants entered the trial court out of arrogance or greed.

  Someone like the Judge would be invaluable in the martialist sects. No more cheating or grandstanding based on your backgrounds. An impartial judge like the Leviathan to confirm intent and ensure the Rule of Law.

  Terry caught himself frowning. He had to remind himself to not fall for any obvious upsides of the faiths he saw around him. The gods were not, and could never be his friends.

  At least the Blasphemer keeps repeating that. I guess that’s why he’s calling them parasites so often, too.

  Can’t blame him for that, either. Leviathan is acting as an arbiter for mortals, but only after the Veilbinder saved him from insanity. Who knows if the Judge would have ever chosen to act this impartially if it hadn’t been for the favor of a mortal and the grudge against his fellow gods.

  “Coward!” spat the gorilla.

  Terry rolled his eyes. The gorilla was getting in his face. He could try to use his presence and see if he couldn’t make the unruly god back off, but that would also mean escalating the situation when he simply wanted to watch the show.

  If I bruise its ego, it probably won’t leave me alone anytime soon.

  He yawned exaggeratedly. He closed his eyes and leaned back on his seat with his hands behind his head.

  I’m sure it will bore itself out and piss off eventually. Not like I need my eyes to follow what’s going on until the trial actually starts.

  Terry ignored the irritating ramblings of the incensed god shouting at him. He wouldn’t be baited into the court without having his chosen opponent vetted by the Blasphemer. In the end, it came easy to Terry to focus. There were few things he had more experience in than tuning out annoying voices.

  Oy! Rude!

  Terry concentrated on his mana touch. A smile tugged on his lips at his increased reach and sensitivity. Only a few days of getting attuned under the guidance of his concept had allowed him to improve by leaps and bounds.

  He couldn’t follow the fights with his eyes closed, because something happened during the beginnings of a trial to drain all non-contestant mana from the arena. Fortunately, the gorilla god had backed off, so Terry could watch properly.

  Even if other gods would harass him, he could stay calm with the assurance that, under Leviathan’s watchful gaze, no harm would come to him, unless he willingly took the risk upon himself.

  Terry watched with intense interest. He had already learned about the Blasphemer’s target for the day. A new arrival, and a nasty piece of work.

  ***

  “You stand before a god of conquest! Kneel, mortal!” Allvoice emerged from the sharp mandibles of a giant insectoid god towering over the elven figure in front of him.

  “You’re not worthy, parasite,” spat the Blasphemer back at the locust.

  The god’s multifaceted eyes glowered orange. “You dare defy Morgot the Harbinger of Annihilation! I am—”

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  “Shut it, maggot!” interrupted the Blasphemer. “You’re Anonymous Parasite #1452. That’s all you’ll ever be here.”

  Corrosive saliva dropped from the god’s mandibles. “You’ll be the third I kill here, but I’ll take my time with you, mortal. I’ll teach you your place. I’ll enjoy tearing you limb from limb while bringing you to your knees.”

  “I’ve had my share of kneeling when I was young,” growled Swen. “I’m done with it. By Day, I’ll teach you all how done I am.”

  The Blasphemer knew all his efforts were only delaying the inevitable, but he didn’t accept that excuse for failing. When they had entered the Court, he had promised to hold the line. To be the unbreakable line until the others could return.

  Even if the others would never return.

  Even if he couldn’t hope for Day to fix everything.

  Especially then.

  The Blasphemer would not allow these parasites to have their way with his home. They had forced a vow once from him. He would never forget when Day had freed him. The day when he had finally earned a chance to make his own choices.

  The Blasphemer had chosen, and he would never give that up again. If these parasites wanted to claim the Faithless Realms, then it would be over his own lifeless corpse and emptied soul.

  The god’s attack left nothing but a drop of the Blasphemer’s blood.

  The ancient vampire reformed instantly and bared his fangs in eternal defiance.

  The Blasphemer relished in the surprise emitted by the parasite. He would die to protect the realms that had allowed him to find a home among friends, no matter how long ago his friends had died.

  They had all stood for something. Day had shown him what it meant to stand together against the impossible. To yield was to give up not just their cause, but himself. Worse, it was to give up his friends and memories.

  The Blasphemer never flinched while he was excruciatingly torn apart again and again. The god was a new arrival, but far from weak. No god that made it to the Court was completely weak, but this one really had justification for his arrogance.

  More than most.

  This wasn’t just a lesser god with few followers or a god with concepts inferior in combat. This parasite carried concepts of conquest, destruction, and perhaps even pestilence.

  For hours on end, the parasite converted the mana of his followers into gruelling gore inflicted on the heretic elf. With every exchange of attacks, the towering locust grew more confident in his superiority.

  For the entirety of the battle, the Blasphemer was petering at the edge of death.

  But the Blasphemer didn’t fear death. He had been forged by death. He had already died a thousand times. What were a few a thousand more?

  His only complaint was that this parasite was still too weak to trigger what he needed.

  When the parasite finally unleashed an attack that pushed the mortal over the edge of eternal slumber, the vampire’s grin twisted into that of a predator.

  The Blasphemer’s personalized peak-level spell-chains activated. They linked up with the substances in his blood. It connected with the concept flowing from the ritual he had chosen. From the depths of his soul, a memory moved onto his flesh.

  Magic after magic combined into the Blasphemer’s signature move.

  The move that was dreaded by every god walking the Court for longer than a few cycles.

  From the depths of death itself, chains connected with the locust before the god had a chance to wipe the gloating expression from his face. All the pain the parasite had unleashed on the mortal reflected back to itself under the shackles of death.

  The Blasphemer knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not for this particular parasite. His skill set was highly specialized, but he had trained himself to choose the right escalation path.

  Before the locust could use its connection to its faith for an attempt to recover, the Blasphemers magic chain continued and the sequence escalated. In a split second, their destinies entwined.

  One death inevitably caused the second.

  When their destinies disentangled, a fallen god laid dead on the arena ground while a blasphemous mortal miraculously defied death itself.

  Swen exhaled sharply. He had just died. No matter how often that happened, it was never easy. With the help of Day and the other Faithless Saints, he had come up with a way to cheat death and use it to its fullest effect.

  Swen had originally envisioned the skill as a variation of Day’s scheme for dealing with Leviathan and Sophis. A sacrificial simulacrum. A death in body and consciousness, but not entirely.

  Over the cycles, Swen had added more to his original synergy of spellwork and rituals. Layer upon layer, until even the gods would question his mortality.

  The only downside was the deaths he had to die.

  A small price to pay to exterminate the parasites daring to threaten, not just their realms, but the dreams and hopes his first real friends had cherished.

  Against this parasite, the Blasphemer had to trigger nearly his entire escalation chain, which was less than pleasant. When he split his consciousness, he never knew if his own experienced version was the one to come out surviving on the other end of the light.

  There was no helping it. Some parasites required this kind of self-sacrifice. The Blasphemer knew some parasites were worse than others. The best way to deal with them was to do it quickly. Before they had a chance to make friends in the Court that would warn them about what a defiant mortal might unleash onto them if they’re not wary.

  The Blasphemer walked up to the corpse disconnected from its faith. He stared up at the spectating gods while the faith of the vanquished god dispersed unclaimed, with its marked followers doomed to hollow out with time from inside their own channeling anchors.

  The Blasphemer crouched down and looted the belongings of yet another dead god. The parasite’s credits hadn’t been part of the trial terms, so they would revert to the Court, but whatever was brought into the arena was his to claim.

  More bargaining chips when bartering with those parasites that still remained.

  ***

  Terry waited at the exit for the Faithless Saint to arrive. He fought off the invading presence pressure without even thinking about it anymore. Much to the irritation of the surrounding gods who were measuring his worth from afar.

  His mana touch was washing over the arena and competition grounds underneath the dome without pause. He wanted to take his own measure of the False Gods. Get a better idea of where he and the Blasphemer were standing compared to all the parasites with the potential to turn into their enemies.

  Terry knew from the Blasphemer that the serpent god Seth was on his way. He didn’t want to be taken by surprise.

  Terry also couldn’t help but be curious. He had seen the followers of the otherrealm creatures in his realm and beyond, but to see the targets of their worship was an experience difficult to stomach at times.

  He turned his head around to look at the spot where he sensed a familiar mana signature. The brightly shining toad was the center of attention in its group, no matter where it went.

  ‘Bright Lady’, my arse.

  Terry observed the supposed goddess with a scowl. He had thought the Blasphemer had been more metaphoric when he had called the Bright Lady a toad, but it turned out to be quite the literal description instead of merely an insult.

  He didn’t know how to deal with this faith-using creature. It certainly wasn’t the worst one running around. The Blasphemer had judged it unlikely that the toad had been directly involved in the acts of Bright Willow.

  According to appearances, the Bright Lady had no drive to conquer the Faithless Realms.

  The toad wasn’t even strictly destructive per se, with concepts far less perverse than the likes of this Morgot or whatever, whom the Blasphemer had just crushed. The claimed divinity of that anonymous parasite was incompatible with mortal life.

  The Bright Lady was better on that account.

  Still, watching the toad ingratiate herself with other gods by exposing the private stories, secrets, and even naked images of her followers had a sleazy and distinctly distasteful side to it.

  The Bright Lady appeared like the very heart of the parasite parties. Treating mortal struggles as nothing more than entertainment. Treat their claims to dignity as nothing more than amusing pretensions.

  According to the Blasphemer, the gods often held many titles, primarily designed to serve their aims. Some even took up roles for both sides of a conflict by directing seemingly opposing concepts to squeeze just that much more out of their mortal followers while they themselves grew through the pressure and suffering created in the middle.

  The title of ‘Bright Lady’ had presumably come about to attract the kinds of followers whose connection was the most valuable to collect in the realms where it was used. Other corners of existence knew the toad under different names.

  Terry could see the illusory images created by the toad displaying scenes from her followers’ lives. The toad’s ‘holy’ light replicated their most intimate moments and sold them as cheap entertainment for credits.

  He felt the desire to spit on the floor, but managed to contain himself. One day, he would tell his acquaintances in the Circle of the Bright Lady the truth. What they would do with that truth was a different story…

  “Let’s get out of here.” Swen walked next to Terry. He was used to the kid not turning around to look at him or at whatever they were talking about. The kid had a strange way to perceive his surroundings. It made the kid seem slightly off, but Swen knew better than to judge others on that front.

  Swen flipped off a gorilla glaring at his disciple and moved his lips in a silent challenge. “Fight me, coward!”

  Terry turned to the ancient vampire. He knew that, for all the Blasphemer’s public bravado, the fight must have taken something out of him. His soul looked paler and somehow… shaken. “Let’s go.” He didn’t want to be responsible for the Faithless Saint getting dragged into another consecutive fight.

  ***

  “Anything useful?” asked Terry, with a glance at the belongings of another anonymous parasite, which were spread out on the floor of their chamber guaranteed by the Order.

  “A few things,” muttered Swen pensively. “But I chose that target because it was an intolerable prick. Not the richest prick, though, evidently.”

  Swen rubbed his bald head in thought. “Unfortunately, the new ascendants only ever come with raw materials worth anyone’s time. Unless they’re crafting gods, that is. As raw materials go, this isn’t a bad haul, but I need a crafter to make something out of it with proper value, which can be traded further.”

  Terry frowned. After the incident with Bulgur, commissioning any kind of major crafting task had become a challenge. “I wanted to pick up the most recent batch of lightning spheres from Suho, anyway. He seems alright, I can ask him to—”

  “‘Alright’?” The Blasphemer scoffed. “Let me pull that tooth right away, before you can bite on it.” He glared at Terry. “None of the parasites are ‘alright’. You think your buddy Suho is any different, just because you worked with him or because he can hold an interesting conversation?”

  Swen hurled an item from his haul onto the floor. “Don’t let yourselves be lured into believing these parasites are normal folks. With life-spans like theirs, we’ll never be more than ants to them.” He caught Terry’s gaze. “Suho is the same. They’re all the same. Do you know what he did with the mithril you used to pay him?”

  “Yeah,” said Terry with a confused tilt of his head. “He said he wanted to help two of his sisters ascend into the Court.”

  “I guess he failed to mention the conceptual domains of his little family,” sneered Swen. “The little one seems nice as a parasite can be. Independence, dancing, and beauty. The older one, Elsea, though, was on my immediate shortlist for pest extermination. Her domains are chaos, lusts, and lies, with a real fondness for spiders. What do you think such a goddess would unleash on the mortals of the realms if she’s allowed to grow?”

  Swen pushed himself up from the floor. “You don’t have to guess. We can pay the credits to get a glimpse into their origin realms. You think your crafter buddy doesn’t know the nature of that one? He’d have to be willfully blind to miss it.” He shook his head and clenched his hands. “It’s worse than that. Suho doesn’t care. Nor does the other sister. They should, even according to the clash in their domains, but they don’t, because none of us mortals are part of the club.”

  Swen’s eyes darkened. “Don’t confuse someone being agreeable with them being good. When I still worked for the cults of the Twins, I saw the true believers. They might act polite, even altruistic at times. However, the moment anything clashes with their vision of utopia, everything is permissible. I saw the most agreeable mortals justify incredible wickedness for a perceived greater good, and that same reasoning applies to their gods.”

  Terry recalled Tiv’s Preacher and could relate.

  “Against a perspective of eternity, nothing can hold any weight,” continued Swen. “These kinds of god kin are like the most fucked up families you can imagine. They might support mortals against the other, but no matter how depraved one of them gets, they still stand with each other when it comes down to it.”

  Swen’s eyes betrayed a deep-seated hatred. “They’d shelter their kin, even against their most devout followers. In the end, they’d always side with their kin over any mortals. Our lives are fleeting compared to theirs, which makes mortal lives weigh very little. Even the ‘good’ sister, Jena, looks the other way while Elsea ravages the realms.”

  Swen caught Terry’s gaze. “How do you think your buddy Suho will react when I kill his evil sister?” He asked pointedly. “Will he judge it fair for all the innocent mortal blood that paved her path? Or will he simply see the sister, who has accompanied him all his life, be slaughtered by a mortal who has no right to meddle in their divine affairs?”

  Swen pointed a finger at Terry. “Don’t ever delude yourself into thinking any of these parasites are ‘alright.’” He took a deep breath. “We’ll use them for what they’re worth. We can commission work from Suho, and I’ll deal with that spider lady when we’re done.”

  ***