My daughter has diapers on as punishment

Part 1
Judaism: a Retreat from Biblical Monotheism
The history of the Jewish people is clearly divided into two periods: before and after the expiatory death of Jesus Christ. As the Sacrifice for the sins of the world had not yet been carried out, Old Testament history continued, the entire meaning of which consisted in waiting and preparation to meet the coming Savior. Messianic expectations were particularly pronounced during the last decades before the arrival of the Savior into the world. People not only in Jerusalem, but also in other cities and villages of Palestine, waited for the Messiah foretold in the Holy Scripture.
Christ and the Pharisees
Time was fulfilled. The Messiah came, but Jewish leaders, Pharisees, and Sadducees condemned him to death. But why were the Pharisees, Sadducees, and scribes offended? Why was it enough for the Samaritan woman to reveal the secret side of her life for her to gladly believe that the traveler standing beside her, weary from the road and asking her for water, was Christ (see John 4:42)? Why did the Pharisees and scribes, who were witnesses to the magnificent miracles performed by Jesus and knew the Scriptures better than anyone else, stubbornly refuse to recognize Christ? Finally, one more question: why did they hate Him, despite the fact that he delivered many people from terrible disease and suffering?
The answer must be sought in the peculiarities and character of the spiritual life of the leaders of Israel. Religious life demands of a person self-attentiveness, moral sensitivity, humility, and pure intentions. Without this, the heart gradually hardens. A change inevitably occurs, the consequences of which are spiritual death.

Already before the beginning of our Savior’s Gospel of the Heavenly Kingdom, the Jews had begun to imagine the Messiah as a powerful earthly king, who would exalt them above all nations and make them wealthy and powerful. This concept of the Messiah corresponded to their spiritual and moral condition.
For a proper understanding of the prophecy inspired by the Holy Spirit, not doctrinal erudition, but pure, uncorrupted faith was necessary.
The consciousness of lawyers and scribes, corrupted by sin, did not notice the parts of the Old Testament in which the spiritual qualities of the promised Messiah are given: "behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass" (Zech. 9:9); " Behold my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth; I have put my spirit upon him: he shall bring forth judgment to the Gentiles. He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street. A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth" (Isa. 42:1-3; cf.: Matt. 12:20).
Despite all the seemingly multifaceted events preceding the trial of the Savior of the world, there is only one reason for such a grave sin to have been committed—the people were rooted in sin and loved it. They seethed with anger at He who had come to the world to conquer and destroy sin.
After Christ the Messiah, who came to save the world, was slandered, profaned, and put to death, the spiritual death of the chosen people began. The Lord Jesus Christ spoke to the Hebrews directly, "He that hateth me hateth my Father also" (John 15:23). This means that the monotheism of the Hebrew leaders became entirely formalistic.

In literature, Old Testament religion, which ends with the conclusion of the New Testament, and Judaism, are often confused. This association is completely wrong. The expectation of the Messiah, which permeated the centuries-long history of the religion of the descendants of the Prophet Moses, ended. The goals and aspirations of the Hebrews, led by the Pharisees and Sadducees, stayed on Earth. Earthly well-being, wealth, success, and power became core values. In keeping with these, they imagined the anticipated Messiah.
However, the prophets foretold the coming of another Messiah—the Suffering Messiah. The Prophet Isaiah, who is called the "Old Testament Evangelist" (see Saint Jerome, Letter to Paulinus) because of his many prophesies and the precision of their fulfillment in Jesus Christ, speaks about this with impressive clarity and precision.
What then is the true Messiah? "He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth… for the transgression of my people was he stricken. And he made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death; because he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth. Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief: when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hand" (Isa. 53:7-10).

Were the Jews familiar with this chapter of the great prophet? Not all of them. Usually during weekly readings at the synagogue this chapter is omitted. Here is an excerpt from the memoirs of Rosa Price, who survived the horrors of several Nazi concentration camps and accepted Jesus Christ. Her daughter became a follower of the Savior Jesus, but she adhered to old misconceptions. "I ran to the rabbi. He would tell me different Scriptures with which to challenge my family. In response, they would give me five more. At the urging of my family, I asked the rabbi about Isaiah 53. He said, “No Jew reads that, especially not a Jewish woman.” So I couldn’t read it. The same for Psalm 22. There are 328 prophecies of the coming of the suffering servant Messiah. I asked the rabbi about almost all of them. Finally, the rabbi told me not to come to the synagogue anymore because I had read him Isaiah 53" (Rosa Price. The Survivor // Sid Roth. They Thought for Themselves. WWP, 2007).

How did the lawyers, who knew many parts of the Old Testament Bible by heart, explain the chapter? In the period of the Talmud's formation, the scribes recognized that the 53rd chapter was a prophecy of the Messiah's coming. However, beginning with the famed Hebrew exegete Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki; 1040 - 1105), rabbis assert that the 53rd chapter speaks of the Jewish people. A simple reference to the text can refute this belief.

• "Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows" (Isa. 53:4). Whose grief did the Jewish people take on and whose sorrows did they carry?
• "With his stripes we are healed" (Isa. 53:5). Who has been healed by the wounds of the Jewish people?
• "For the transgression of my people was he stricken" (Isa. 53:8). If it is speaking of the Jewish people, then who suffered punishment for the transgressions of the Jewish people?
• "And he made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death" (Isa. 53:9). When and in which grave are the Jewish people buried?

In the holy Old Testament books there are signs of the appearance of Christ (the Messiah) and in it are described his chief characteristics. Of the prophecies on the coming of Christ into the world in the Old Testament, before all else it is necessary to note the vision of the prophet Daniel, foretelling even the year of the Savior's death. “Seventy weeks are determined upon thy people and upon thy holy city, to finish the transgression, and to make an end of sins, and to make reconciliation for iniquity, and to bring in everlasting righteousness, and to seal up the vision and prophecy, and to anoint the most Holy. Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks: the street shall be built again, and the wall, even in troublous times. And after threescore and two weeks shall Messiah be cut off, but not for himself: and the people of the prince that shall come shall destroy the city and the sanctuary; and the end thereof shall be with a flood, and unto the end of the war desolations are determined" (Dan. 9:24-26). Week (seven) is understood as 7 years, and 70 sevens consists of 490 years. It is the timeframe for the "end of sin." Here, we are talking about Christ the Savior's atonement for people who have violated the will of God and fallen from grace. In the prophecy, the Messiah is directly indicated ("to anoint the most Holy"). To calculate the amount of time given here, one must turn to historical sources, noting the reconstruction of the city of Jerusalem, which fell as a result of the Babylonian destruction in 586. The count of seventy sevens begins from the date of the reconstruction of Jerusalem. The decree for the restoration was given by Artaxerxes Longimanus in the 20th year of his reign. He came to the throne between December 18, 465 and December 18, 464 BC. The seventh year of his reign, from which the countdown of weeks begins, comes in 458 or 457. From this time period to the time of the appearance of Christ our Lord, 69 weeks (483 years) should pass.
The Forerunner of the coming of the Messiah is also mentioned in the Old Testament. "Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, even the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight in: behold, he shall come, saith the Lord of hosts" (Mal. 3:1). Dwellers in Palestine knew the Holy Scripture and saw in John, who preached repentance, the Angel of the Covenant predicted by the prophets. Thus, people from all of Jerusalem and all the outskirts of the Jordan came to him (see Mark 1:5).
In the holy books of the Old Testament, there are prophecies of all of the main events in the life of Jesus the Messiah. The prophet Micah identified the place of birth: "But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting" (Mic. 5:2).
The Word of God demonstrated the great spiritual gifts of the future Anointed One. "And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots: And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the Lord" (Isa. 11:1-2). All of this was fulfilled by Jesus: "... the people were astonished at his doctrine: For he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes" (Matt. 7:28-29).
Through the prophets, the Holy Spirit indicated a special distinguishing feature of the Messiah, the extraordinary power of wonderworking: "He will come and save you. Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped.
Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert" (Isa. 35:4-6). When the two men came to Jesus from John the Baptist to ask, "Art thou he that should come? or look we for another?" (Luke 7:20), the Lord before all else points to the miracles he has performed: "The blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, to the poor the gospel is preached. And blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me" (Luke 7:22-23). The people knew that the Messiah would be characterized by the miracles he performed. "Then was brought unto him one possessed with a devil, blind, and dumb: and he healed him, insomuch that the blind and dumb both spake and saw. And all the people were amazed, and said, Is not this the son of David?” (Matt. 12:22-23).
A mind corrupted by sin could not notice the parts of the Old Testament in which the spiritual qualities of the promised Messiah are given: "Behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass" (Zech. 9:9).

1. The Jews, having rejected the Messiah as the incarnate Son of God, could not remain in the scope of the Revelation given in the Old Testament. Gradually, to the Law given by God, the Pharisees and scribes added 613 commandments: 365 positive commandments and 248 negative commandments.

The Lord rebukes the Hebrew teachers of the law. "For laying aside the commandment of God, ye hold the tradition of men" (Mark 7:8). Faith in God as a real, absolute Person—this is monotheism—is replaced by ritualism. In Judaism, the authority of the Talmud is greater than the Torah (Pentateuch). The famed rabbi Adin Steinsaltz writes, "If the Torah is the foundation of Judaism, then the Talmud is the central pillar supporting the entire spiritual and philosophical edifice. In many ways, the Talmud is the most important book in Jewish culture, the backbone of creativity and of national life. No other work has had a comparable influence on the theory and practice of Jewish life. The Jews always recognized that as a people, their preservation and development depends on the study of the Talmud" ("What is the Talmud?").
What is this "central pillar" of Judaism? I will introduce an excerpt from the Tract Sabbath, with commentary from Rabbi Pinchas Kehati: "The cripple may go out with his wooden leg; such is the decree of Rabbi Meir, but Rabbi Jose prohibits it. If the wooden leg has a receptacle for pads, it is subject to defilement. Crutches are subject to defilement by being sat or trodden upon; but one may go out with them on Sabbath and enter the outer court (of the Temple). The chair and crutches of a paralytic are subject to defilement, and one must not go out with them on the Sabbath nor enter the outer court (of the Temple). Stilts are not subject to defilement, but nevertheless one must not go out with them on Sabbath."
Commentary: "The cripple, a man with one amputated leg, may go out on the Sabbath on his wooden leg, an artificial leg, made according to the size of his shin. Such is the decree of Rabbi Meir, who believes that an artificial leg corresponds to footwear, while Rabbi Jose forbids the cripple from going out with his wooden leg on the Sabbath. According to him, it does not correspond to footwear because the cripple stands primarily with his hands on a cane, while the artificial leg is only for appearance's sake so that his physical handicap would go unnoticed. Thus, the artificial leg on Sabbath is seen as an unnecessary load, and it is prohibited to enter with it. According to the other point of view, Rabbi Jose agrees that the artificial leg equates to footwear, however he is afraid that the man will detach it and will carry over 4 cubits into the public domain, but Rabbi Meir does not have this fear.”
I risk fatiguing the reader, but I will introduce one more place from the Talmud to fully portray the spiritual deadness of ritualism. “There are two acts constituting the transfer (of things which are prohibited) on the Sabbath, which are in turn subdivided into four for a man who finds himself inside a private domain (reshut hayachid). The two acts are, however, increased to four for a man who finds himself outside in the public domain (reshut harabim). How so? For example, a mendicant stands outside (in reshut harabim) and the master of a house inside (in reshut hayachid). The mendicant passes his hand into the house (through for example a window) and puts something into the hand of the master (let's say a basket, so that he might give him a piece of bread), or (another variation) the mendicant reaches out and takes something from the master's hand (a piece of bread). In these two cases, the mendicant is breaking the law of the Sabbath, but the host is not. Or, if the master of the house (being inside) passes his hand through a window and puts, say, a piece of bread, into the hand of the mendicant, or, having put out his hand, he takes an object (a basket) from the hands of the mendicant, who is standing outside on the street, and brings it into the house, the master of the house would have broken the law of the Sabbath, but not the mendicant. This is the first part of the Mishna, which has demonstrated to us what the “two acts” of transferring objects mean, from the position of one who is inside, and from the position of one who finds himself outside. Carrying out any of these acts on the Sabbath is prohibited" (Tract Sabbath).[1]
Instead of a living faith in a merciful God and love towards one’s fellow man, entire volumes of the Talmud are filled with the sophistic disputes of various rabbinical schools over what to do with an egg laid by a chicken on the Sabbath, or about a host giving bread to a beggar, so that he does not break the Sabbath.
What a huge spiritual distance there was between the prophets and the scribes! The first to shine in the faith were those who participated in the source of heavenly wisdom, while others directed their extraordinary erudition to "solving" questions irrelevant to life. The lawyers occasionally thrashed out whether one may move a ladder from one dovecote to another on feast days.
It is obvious that religious life, in which ritualism is the determining principle, will become formalistic. "Wherefore the Lord said, Forasmuch as this people draw near me with their mouth, and with their lips do honour me, but have removed their heart far from me, and their fear toward me is taught by the precept of men" (Isa. 29:13).
Falling away from the living source of Truth will inevitably lead to dissolution and barrenness. In medieval European church art, the contrast between Christianity and Judaism was allegorically represented in the form of two female figures: the Church and the Synagogue. The south portal of the transept (cross aisle) of the cathedral in Strasbourg (approx. 1230) is decorated with such sculptures. The woman representing the Church, clearly and confidently carries a cross in her right hand as if resting on it. The straight folds of her cloak, flowing down to the ground, make her figure solid and firm. Her head is crowned. Her gaze is cast into the distance. The figure of the synagogue holds to her body a spear broken in several places. The bend of the figure repeats the broken line. Scrolls fall out of her left hand. Her head is downcast. Her eyes are blindfolded, a symbol of spiritual darkness.

1. The next phase of Judaism's retreat from Biblical monotheism was the rise and expansion among the Jews of Kabbalah (in Hebrew qabbalah means acceptance or tradition) of mystical teachings and practices. This esoteric theosophical teaching is in spirit and letter absolutely foreign to the Holy Scripture. Two books initiate an exposition of Kabbalah: Sefer Yetzirah (the Book of Creation) and Zohar (Splendor of Radiance). The former was likely written in the sixth and seventh centuries B.C. Confirmation by the Kabbalists themselves of the existence of Sefer Yetzirah already during the time of patriarch Abraham is absolutely mythical and has no evidence. On the contrary, the presence in these books of philosophical ideas of late antiquity, such as Gnosticism, Neoplatonism, and others, completely refutes this view. The author of Zohar is believed to be the Spanish Kabbalist Moshe (Moses) de Leon. It was written in approximately 1300 A.D. The desire of modern Kabbalists to make the author of Zohar the disciple of rabbi Akiva Shimon Bar Yochai (Laitman, M. The Book of Zohar. M., 2003. p. 185)[2] , who lived in the second century A.D., contradicts the view of experts. "The Aramaic language of all eighteen of these sections is throughout the same, and throughout it displays the same individual peculiarities. This is all the more important because it is not in any sense a living language which Simeon ben Yohai and his colleagues in the first half of the second century A.D. in Palestine might have conceivably spoken. The Aramaic of the Zohar is a purely artificial affair, a literary language employed by a writer who obviously knew no other Aramaic than that of certain Jewish literary documents, and who fashioned his own style in accordance with definite subjective criteria. The expectation expressed by some scholars that philological investigation would reveal the older strata of the Zohar has not been borne out by actual research. Throughout these writings, the spirit of mediaeval Hebrew, specifically the Hebrew of the thirteenth century, is transparent behind the Aramaic facade" (Scholem, G. (1954). Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism. p. 163).[3]

Kabbalah is divided into the contemplative (Kabbalah Iyunit) and practical (Kabbalah Maasit). The central aspect of the Kabbalah is Ein Sof (The Infinite). In contrast to the God of the Holy Scriptures, Ein Sof has no name because he is without person, unknowable, and incomprehensible. No attributes can be ascribed to him. Ein Sof makes himself known in his manifestations (not to all, but to Jewish mystics). Ein Sof's chief manifestation is the original man, Adam Kadmon. Through his emanations (flows) the ten sefirot come into being, which are the attributes of God. Ten sefirot represent the mystical body of Adam Kadmon (heavenly Adam). He appears as a result of emanation and has no image or form. The earthly Adam was created in the image of heavenly Adam. The tenth sefirot is called "the Kingdom" or Malkuth. It unites all ten sefirot. In Zohar, Malkuth—or Kingdom—denotes how the Knesset (assembly) of Israel is a mystical prototype of the House of Israel (Shekhinah). In The Dialectics of Myth (XIV. 3), Aleksei Losev writes, “As a very well-educated Jew and great expert of Kabbalistic and Talmudic literature (from which I, with the nasty habits of a European observer, sought to learn exclusively about the Neoplatonic influences in Kabbalah) told me, the essence of all Kabbalah does not at all consist in pantheism, as liberal scholars think, who compare the doctrine of Ein Sof and the Sephirot with Neo-Platonism, but rather with pan-Israelitism: the Kabbalistic God needs Israel for His own salvation, He was incarnated in Israel and became it. Therefore the myth of the world domination by a deified Israel, which is forever contained in God.”
Kabbalists have established a correspondence among the different sefirot with parts of the human body. Becoming familiar with this primitive mythological arrangement of the structure of the universe, it becomes difficult to ignore the question that Kabbalists themselves do not ask: What is the source of this "knowledge"? How does one manage to conclude that the sefirot of the Crown (Keter) is the brow, the Tiferet is the chest, Victory (Netzach) and Majesty (Hod) is man's hip?
The esoteric teachings of Sefer Yetzirah and the Zohar are fundamentally incompatible with the biblical teaching on God, the world, man, and humanity's path to salvation. Contemplative Kabbalah represents a combination of elements of Gnosticism of the second and third centuries A.D. and Neo-Platonism. From the Gnostics, it borrows the teaching of the 10 eons, which comprise the pleroma (universal fullness). Dualism is the link between Gnostics and Kabbalists; the idea of eternal enmity began with good (light) and evil (darkness). Kabbalah's dualistic world view finds a direct expression in Sefer Yetzirah: "Also Elohim made every object, one opposite the other: good opposite evil, evil opposite good, good from good, evil from evil, the good delineates the evil and the evil delineates the good, good is kept for the good and evil is kept for the evil.” It is evident that the teaching, which ascribes evil an ontological status, leads to the justification of evil. In contrast, according to the Holy Scripture, evil was not created by God, but arose as a result of the abuse of the gift of freedom given by God to his creatures, Angels and mankind.
Kabbalistic teaching is an obvious expression of pantheism, a complete retreat from monotheism. God and the world are understood as one complete whole. The world is only a manifestation of God. Pantheism is fraught with internal contradictions. Its logical consequence is inevitably first the derogation of God, and next, denial of him, because all of the world's imperfections are attributed to him.
Kabbalists divide the world into male and female elements. The right and left spheres are respectively male and female. The world is presented as a loving union, as the unification of male and female elements. The relationship between the spheres is interpreted with the help of gender symbolism.
Kabbalah presents itself as a fantastical mix of esoteric occultism, blended with pagan religious and philosophical ideas. It attests to a complete regression from the great and saving teachings of the Bible with its deep and sustained monotheism.
Hieromonk Job (Gumerov)
[1] This appears not to be a direct quote from Tract Sabbath, but commentary based on Tract Sabbath: http://www.evrey.com/sitep/talm/index.php3?trkt=shabbat&menu=19. —Trans.
[2] This cite may not be accurate to the English version. —Trans.
[3] Page number may not be accurate to English version.—Trans.

Chapter 6 – {Awakening}
“What a sudden turn of events! Camulus has undergone a startling transformation, and has now suddenly gained the advantage! Can Henry come back from this? Or will Camulus crush him like the unstoppable force he has now seem to have become.”
“What are we gonna’ do nowwwwww?” Goll whined, tears streaming down her face as she shelled up on the floor.
Arthur looked at her sympathetically, as if he were a dad looking at his crying daughter. Kneeling down, he placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed gently, trying to rouse her from her worry. “There, there, the fight is not over yet.” Arthur assured her softly.
Snapping up into a sitting position, she grabbed a hold of whatever cloth she could get her hands on and began to shake Arthur as hard as she could. With tear now of anger rather than sadness, she began to shout at him. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, “The fights not over yet”? HE'S JUST TAKEN ON A STRONGER FORM, AND HENRY CAN BARELY KEEP UP WITH HIM AT HIS BASE LEVEL! HOW THE HELL DO YOU SUGGEST THEY GET OUT OF THIS ONE?!”
He tried to get out a response as he shook back and forth wildly, “Just-keep-wa-tching-the-ma-tch.”

As Goll had a meltdown up in the stands, Henry was struggling to stand on the field. His left arm had been rendered little more than a clump of bruised flesh and powdered bone, the mangled limb twisted at a truly sickening angle. The rest of his exposed form was bruised, bloodied and battered, micro cuts crisscrossed his frame alongside deeper gashes and rents in his flesh from the many blows he had endured over the course of the fight. And now he stood, staring up at his opponent, stronger than ever, like a stone wall, waiting for Henry to shatter himself on his now indomitable stature.
And yet, the light still burned in Henry’s mind. Like an everlasting flame, the spark of warmth, of passion and determination still burned in Henry’s soul. He would see this fight through, no matter the odds stacked against him, or the forces that sought to block his path, he would endure. It did not matter to him that one of his arms had been mangled. The god could have a leg, if they wanted, perhaps even both. As long as he could raise his sword, he could still fight. And if he could fight, he could win.
All it would take, is one good shot.
“I would advise you to surrender now. Perhaps they’ll let you keep your life.” Camulus suggested, a deep grimace on his face.
Planting his sword in the cracks of the stone, Henry propped himself up on the blade, his muscle screaming for release, yet he could not stop. He strained to smile, his eyes bleary as he looked at his adversary. “I’m sorry,” he declared, pride creeping into his voice, “but a King bows to no one, not mortal, and since the gods show themselves cruel and fickle, not even them. As a leader, I would be a disgrace if I chose any path other than battle.”
Camulus processed his opponent’s words for a second, then a toothy grin stretched on his face, one of pride and excitement, but more worryingly, one of sheer bloodlust, “Then we’re of the same mind.”
Camulus’ image blurred as he seemed to vanish into thin air. Confusion didn’t even have time to set in, as the god’s fist smashed into the plate of armour protecting Henry torso just below the sternum. The shock wave of the blow boomed throughout the stadium. Henry heaved as the hit knocked him away, but before he could go very far, a nanosecond after the punch, the sole of Camulus’ foot slammed into Henry’s face brutalizing his nose and adding more momentum in addition to the punch, sending him clear across the ring, crashing into the walls and the arena.
Henry hacked up a glob of blood as his head spun for the 1-2 combo of devastation. Camulus sauntered toward Henry as if he were taking a stroll through the fields. The image vanished, before appearing directly above Henry in an instant. A wicked grin near split Camulus’ face as he began to hammer down on Henry’s form. All Henry could do was shell up in hopes to stave off the onslaught. The blows came in a million a second, embedding him deeper into the stone as the armour continued to crumple under the pressure.

“It seems Camulus has this battle won.” Andrasta commented, her tone pointedly neutral.
“Yes, but at what cost?” Cnabetius answered, his voice wavering as he was on the verge of tears.
“The little one is right,” Caturix answered, “that form may give him great physical might, but it comes at the cost of a deteriorating mental state.”
Lugh spoke up. “And you would know about this?” he prodded, trying to get more information out of the Battle King.
Caturix’s jaw clenched as he watched the fight intently, his mind and body on edge from the brutal display

Swinging his arm wide, he dug his arm into the arena and dragged it through the stone, palming the side of his opponent’s head and sending them flying through the air, before quickly crashing into the ground with a sickening thud.
Seeing his fallen foe splayed across the ground, Camulus crouched down and tensed, as if he were an apex predator waiting for the right moment to strike his prey. Henry, meanwhile, was struggling to breathe after the bombardment of blows. He heaved as he struggled to rise to his feet, the misshapen armour now digging into his body at odd angles. His knees were shaking as the struggled to rise to his feet.
In an instant, his adversary was again upon him, battering with every kind of blow at every angle one could think of. Punches, kick, elbows, knees, chops, Camulus even made use of the spikes and blades on his knuckledusters, raking and slashing them across any exposed flesh he could see. Henry struggled to withstand the hail of blows, each hits threatening to knock him over. He couldn’t dodge the assault, he could barely block or even see the hits. The sheer speed and ferocity of the onslaught made it nigh impossible to even find an opportunity to counter, let alone pull it off successfully.
Camulus began to laugh uproariously, seemingly enjoying the punishment he was inflicting upon his prey, almost relishing in the game of life and death. Each blow forced Henry back, his will struggling to keep him from being knocked clean off his feet.
A punch smashed into Henry’s stomach, making Henry wretch as he struggled to keep his stomach contents from being violently forced from his body. An instant later, an upper cut hammered into his jaw with the might of a catapult, launching his body high into the air. Henry’s head wrung like a gong as not even a moment later, Camulus was directly above him. Henry tried to raise his sword to strike at his foe, but he found it kicked away as Camulus began to spin, gaining momentum as he prepared to strike his opponent down. As his fists came down, for just a moment, the metals shone like diamonds in the sunlight.
[Colchester Crash]
This time, there was no defence, no counter to the blow. It connected squarely into Henry’s chest, as the blow slammed down both combatants like a meteor. The ground was blasted to pieces as small rock were smashed to dust in the wind, and largerocks sent flying in every direction. The building seemed to be cracking apart, sending both god and man alike into a panic as they rushed to either escape or stop the damage from becoming worse. The sound boomed throughout the entire Realm as the dust settled into a thick cloud that covered the arena.
Several moments passed as the cloud slowly died away to reveal the carnage. What ever hadn’t been destroyed before the impact as certainly pulverised now. The floor was a mess, rock jutting up from the earth at random intervals, as if they were whales breaching the surface of the sea. Cracks like spider webs sectioned the ground, transforming the terrain into a grid of madness.
It was from that chaos one of the combatants forced themselves into the light. The rocks moved and shifted, giving way to reveal Camulus almost completely unharmed.
Physically, at least.
Mentally it was clear that something was not right. His eyes were red deeply bloodshot and demented, his grin splitting his face as his teeth slowly grinded together. If his sanity hadn’t fled him before, it was certainly gone now.

“Uh, guys”, Cnabetius stammered, “I don’t like that look he has.”
“It’s quite worrisome.” Andrasta replied, a slight warble in her voice from fear.
“Most worrisome.” Lugh added.
Meanwhile, Caturix began to shake, the pace of his breath increasing steadily as he took in the sight, his worst nightmare come back to haunt him. ‘Dammit, I knew this would happen, I knew that if that form was released it would be the end for all of us.’

He remembered that day as if he were living it. The day when the true God of War was decided.
The great battles of unification had taken millennia, dozens, if not hundred of God’s staking their claim as the one true God of War. It was an intense and bloody affair, but at the end, it had come down to two men, two unbroken warriors; The Battle King, Caturix and the Untameable Flame, Camulus. It had been a battle that had been brewing for centuries, and in Caturix’s mind, it did not disappoint.
For days, the two warred, battering each other bloody with everything they had in their arsenal.
[Magh Ithe]
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[Cicollui Clothesline]
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[Helvetii]
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Caturix hit Camulus with every attack in his arsenal, yet the kid refused to fall, refused to yield. Instead, the young God only used each blow as motivation to hit back harder
[Colchester Crash]
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[Gae Pretannia]
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[Sacred Fire]
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Blow after blow, each stronger than the last. But just as Camulus refused to fall, neither did Caturix. Even [Across the Channel], professed by many to be the knockout blow against him was not actually enough to drop him, not on it’s own. In fact, as the battle drew to it’s close, it seemed as if Caturix was finally beginning to get the better of his rival.
He hit another [Magh Ithe] flush into Camulus’s chest. How many he had hit at that point was lost to Caturix, he lost count after 36. But this time, after so much punishment, Camulus finally looked as if he was about to drop.
‘Just one more.’ Caturix thought tiredly, yet hopefully to himself. ‘Just one more hit, and he might finally go down’.
Caturix moved in, charging up a final blow, ready to finally put an end to this.
“Eat this! [Europa: Overlord]”
He launched the move with full might. The mere force of the group rending it asunder.
Only to find a fist connecting squarely with his jaw.
Now, Caturix had endured the feeling of a punch countless of his millennia of combat. He had endured countless punches in this fight alone. So it it is all the more notable that this punches, out of the uncountable masses, was the one he recognised about all others. He remembered it for one simple reason. Never before, and never since , had any one blow struck him as hard as that one punch.
At that moment, Caturix knew one painful, and consuming truth. He was going to lose.
The Camulus struck with [Across the Channel].
Whilst the first one had been impactful, this second flurry carried with it far greater speed and power, too great for even the battle king to withstand. It was as if Camulus had gathered a second wind, twice as strong as before. The final blow smashed into Caturix’s temple, sending his brain spinning through several dimensions as the battle king, after so long, finally fell.
Camulus was the victor. Yet he did not stop.
Instead, Camulus leapt upon his foe with ferocity, like a rabid animal tearing at a carcass. He began to pummel the battle king mercilessly, wanting his pound of flesh from his opponent. It was here, up close, that Caturix could see the change his opponent underwent, the strange blue markings that were spread across his body like war paint, and his deeply bloodshot eyes. The beating was relentless, as the new monster sought to punish Caturix for daring to challenge it.
He knew he had to do something to seal this monster that had been unleashed from with Camulus’ soul, lest he rampage throughout the Realm.
[Sheathing of the Blade]
Caturix stabbed into Camulus at specific spots with the spikes on his gauntlets, finding the vital points where energy was drawn from, and sealing them. He would not know whether it worked in the moment, as he passed out a second later. It would only be when he awoke days later, did he find out his success.
It would be the first and last time he would fight Camulus for the top. Not because he saw himself as lesser, but because he did not want to risk unleashing that terror again

And now, that terror was staring him in the face once again.
He could see that same all-consuming desire for blood and destruction. He tensed preparing to fight the one thing that put fear into his heart.
He was bought out of his thought by a loud WHAM that shook the stadium as Thor rose to his feet. The God of Thunder stared down at his one challenger, ready for that long awaited rematch.
“Ah, w-well...” Heimdall stuttered, still feeling from the chaos that had just occurred, “It would appear that the winner of Round 1 is...”
Camulus’ Attention was now laser focused on Thor, tensing as he prepared to leap towards a new opponent.
“The Celtic God of War...”
Ready, set-
“Camu-”
A breath could be heard from the rubble.
It was a quiet, rasping breath, yet it could be heard with clarity across the entire stadium. Everyone froze as they realised where that breath came from. The rocks shifted as out from the rubble emerged the battered, but still living form of Henry V.
“Damn, that was too close for comfort!” Lancelot huffed, still trying to get his wits about him, “You almost got pasted there, and that means we both would have died, you damn fool. Not like that matters much now...”
Camulus’ head turned to regard the bloodied king, salivating with demented glee, ready for the continued brutality.
“Since we’re gonna be dead in a few seconds regardless.”
As Henry lay there, broken and bloodied, he could hear voices from the audience.

“HENRY!” his father yelled, “Don’t you give up now, boy! You are the best of all of us! Show that god what's what?”
“Let that god know the might of the English!” Henry VII shouted.
“Show them what a real warrior can do!” Richard Lionheart roared.
“C’Mon dad, you can do this” Henry VI cheered.
Hotspur stepped forward, gathering his breath before screaming to the Heavens, “MONMOUTH! What do want to do?! What is your one true desire?!”

“To win, my way.”
Pushing off his good arm, he strained to sit up, collecting his breath as he did so. “Never surrender, never retreat.”
“Oh sure,” Lancelot responded, the sarcasm layered on very thick, “and how exactly are we supposed to do that.”
Henry slowly stood, carefully balancing his weight between the sword and his weary legs. “There is one thing we can do... just one.”
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Closing his eyes, he focused deeply, bringing out every thought every emotion he had ever had, then let all of them flow from his mind. He let complete and total calm take hold in that moment. There was no emotion, there was no doubt or second guessing, there was only truth. Absolute, irrevocable truth. The deepest instinct, the greatest of them all.
“[Royal instinct]”
Less than a second later, Camulus had leapt to within striking distance, ready to end his foe. But whereas Henry was completely overwhelmed before, now his clarity was absolute. He knew exact what would happen, how each and every muscle within Camulus’ body would move before they even did so. Henry knew what Camulus’ second move would be before he even began his first.
Camulus shot out with a wild punch, which the more focused Henry deflected with ease. If he had use of his other arm, he may have even followed up with a punch of his own. Instead, he simply let Camulus’ momentum work against him.
The god overshot, and was sent crashing into the ground a few times before slamming into the wall.
As the crowd looked on in shock at what had just happened, they turned to look at the man who had done it. He had change, it was clear to see for all through the change on his eyes, once filled with brown tones, now a crystalline, pale silver. The sword had morphed to reflect this new state, reflecting the mind of a king. Whatever this was, it had shifted the tide of battle yet again.
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“Damn! What is this?!” Lancelot cried, “I feel my head is full of everything and nothing at the same time!”
“[Royal Instinct]! A fine tuning of the instincts within all of us. By using this we, can reject all unnecessary thoughts and information, both new and old, as well as higher awareness and clarity of vital information. On the absolute truth of the situation will be known to us, truth we’ll know before the lie can even be made.”
Camulus soon broke his way free from the rock and charged. He leapt forward again, this time with an elbow, again deflected. Again, Camulus skid across the rocks for several metres, but this time, he was able to right himself and charge in again. But again, the resulting attack was deflected.
This repeated several more times, each attack and recovery was faster than the last. But Henry parried them all with perfect clarity, as he bided his time for the perfect moment.
After another parry, Camulus righted himself and prepared the blast into Henry at full speed, all thought of technique gone from the raving gods mind. Henry readied his blade for his own strike.
The mere tap of Camulus’ foot sent shock waves through the ground as he rocketed forward and max speed. But Henry was undeterred. Swiftly parrying the blow, he brought his arm in and then swung out. The pommel connected directly with Camulus’ temple, sending the force of the impact through his head, almost seeming to paralyse the god, as he crashed and skidded across the ground limply.
For the first time since the transformation occurred, Henry had seized the advantage.

‘Where the hell am I?’ was Camulus’ first weary thought after being shocked back to sanity.
‘Ohhh fuck, my head hurts worse than that time me and Cna went drinking at the place the humans called Mamucium.’
Taking a moment to clear the thunderstorm in his head, he scanned over the decimated arena, his dizziness turning to confusion. ‘OK seriously, what the hell happened here?’
Pushing himself from the rubble, he survey the situation, trying to understand what was going on. Then suddenly, his skull felt as if it was about to burst, and his eyes swan with illusions and distortions of reality, hearing voices whispering behind his ears. Camulus clutched at his head, forcing the thoughts down. After a minute of excruciating pain, he finally returned to reality.
'Dammit, what's going on with me? Focus! You have a fight to win!'
“Damn, we might have knocked him out cold. I’m loath to say it, but I think you were right, we may have a chance after all.” Lancelot commented, almost in awe of the current situation.
Henry chuckled, “Wouldn’t have figured you to be one to admit when you were wrong.”
Lancelot froze for a moment, before scoffing at Henry’s comment, “Just because you were right doesn’t mean I was wrong, jackass!”
For a moment, Henry laughed at Lancelot’s Haughtiness, before that cheer was replaced by boiling pain, as he dropped to a knee. Lancelot was confused for a moment, before he felt a warm liquid pour from his eyes. As he dabbed at his eyes, he saw the crimson colouration that quickly gave away what that liquid was.
Blood.
“What the hell is this? What’s going on?!”
Henry stammered as he spoke, still trying to get his wits about him. “A-ah yes, t-here is a cost t-to using the form.”
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“And what would that be?!”
“Working the mind at such an acute level can result in overload if stressed too hard, or used too long. I’ve been used to using against humans...”
“...and you just now used it against a god.” Lancelot finish.
“Y-yes”
“Jesus Christ,” Lancelot mumbled, “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!” he them screamed.
“I’ve made peace with the fact that even if I win, I likely won’t live much longer anyway. So right now, in this moment, I don’t care how much damage I do to myself, or how much time I have left is eaten away. As long as I have enough to win this fight, long enough to bring humanity, and the people I care for, one step closer to salvation, it matters not.”
Both Camulus and Henry stood, readying their guard, their bodies battered and bruised, yet their spirits unbroken, they both knew one thing. Win or lose, this fight was nearing its end.

Hello again everyone, I’ve decided to put the baking tips here this time. This is one that has been a huge help for me when it comes to cutting cakes. It’s much easier and cleaner to cut a cake when it’s been chilled for a few hours. So, once your cake has baked and firmed up in the pan (about 15-20 minutes, you want to make sure it’s set but still slightly malleable), take it out, let it come to room temperature, and then cover with foil or plastic or something to prevent it from drying in the fridge. Let it cook for a few hours to finish solidifying, and then cut. Also, if you have the means, a sheet cake cooks and cools a lot faster and more evenly and a cutter can be used to make perfect even circles.
Now, it’s a bit strange to start with the baking tips, I know. But, those are saved as a reward for making your way through my ramblings about youth and glory and adventures. This time, I wanted to put it here as a sort of apology for what’s to come. The last two stories have been very positive, very upbeat, very fun. However, the next century of my life I’m about to share with you all…
I wouldn’t blame any of you if you looked at me differently, I’ll just say that.
I’ll stop beating around the bush, and get right to the point.
So, my immortality was secure, I’d have my perfect body for as long as time existed or until I was killed by a stronger, more capable opponent. I had a good group of friends who knew they could depend on me whenever they needed help with something, and I got to kick the ass of a lich! I had accomplished so much in just over 100 years of life, and now I had a supposedly infinite amount of it to spare if I played my cards right! I felt unstoppable, and wanted to help others like I had helped my companions.
I became a mercenary, a witch for hire for adventures that might be too dangerous for parties. I stopped lying about my strengths, making sure it was known I held Master rank in two magic fields. Most people do not like to play the role of support, and it’s never a bad idea to have extra healing, so I started to hone my craft in Healing and Protection magic as well. I was a force to be reckoned with, and I would make sure the world knew it!
I had wished to continue adventuring with my previous companions, but each of them had decided to take their own path in life. Har decided to take a more involved approach with his church, Ralin returned home to overtake her brother as chief of her clan, and Vex was heading back to the mountains to further hone her building expertise and learn to become an artificer for enchanting! It was sad parting ways, we had been together for such a short time but we had accomplished something so impressive! Oh well, that’s life, you know? I made them promise to keep in touch, and we did for the most part! Har became a bit hard to reach at times due to moving around, so it was always a treat to see him when I could.
Anyways, I soon began to gain some fame. I was a topic of conversation now who had been promoted to expert in the matter of a month after I helped some newbies on their quests. I was someone who everyone knew was dependable and talented. Best of all, I was a cutie, and everyone loves to have a cute witch on their team!
I had all but abandoned my previous life’s calling in favor of glory seeking, which is something I still look back on with regret. I was becoming more selfish, more focused on building myself up instead of using my powers for the good of those who might not be able to ever have access to these powers. The Phoenix Rebirth had become a popular spell among us in the community, though, so people were still getting help. I had published it free to all magic shops, all magical teachers, even sent the entire process and methods for casting it through the OrbNet before I left to go on my mission to fight the lich. I just wanted to be sure it was in the world, pending the potential worst. It was at a huge loss, but it has now become the platform by which a lot of Gender spells are cast, so it was all worth it.
My time as an adventurer was amazing, I met so many cool people, fought so many horrifying and awesome beasts, even got to kiss a dragon! They don’t have lips, so it’s not the best kiss, but it’s still something worth bragging about. I felt so good helping people in a different way, and I was becoming more and more popular through the years. I was now Catherine, Lady of Flames, Master of Forms, a stable in the adventuring party call list. It felt amazing.
The excitement lasted for about 15 years of being called to help on missions, but then it was quickly soured after a single mission. Nobody mentions this, but once you become a powerful enough fighter, you start to garner the attention of those in need of protecting. This is definitely not a bad thing, especially when it is someone who is in genuine need of it, but that is not usually the case. Particularly, you garner the attention of the wealthy, who believe all problems can be solved with money. I would liken them to devils or demons, but that isn’t fair to them…devils and demons at least have codes they follow.
Anyways, one such noble approached me. Well, not actually her, one of the elves she had employed in her service. Her name was Duchess Cordelia, Lady of Farlon, Heir to the Rose Throne, Daughter of Zavier Goradel and Collector of Fine Arts. Yes, she made you say each one of those every time you addressed her, and in the correct order. She was…there’s a word I don’t like to use to describe her, a word that to me is very offensive but to others means nothing. I’m sure you can guess the word of which I speak, I simply refuse to say it outloud. She was, though, and a massive one at that.
She had called upon me after an omen in the sky had warned her of an invasion by some of the forces of hell. It was something we all saw, and while it was a terrifying experience, I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t the coolest and most spectacular shit I had ever seen. Whoever had cast it had placed some illusion magic to make the sun look like a flaming skull that called specifically her and her family out. I still remember what it said because it was just that cool.
‘Cordelia, Zavier, Helena…you have toyed with forces beyond your control, and for that you will be punished…My legions will march on your town, turning it and everything your pathetic hands have dared to touch into naught but a fine ash. You cannot stop me. You cannot persuade me. You cannot survive…’ and then it was over, the sun was back to normal. Fucking baller move, right? That’s how you threaten some assholes’ life!
So, I was called, along with Magnus Haradel and Desdamona Torres. Magnus was another high ranking member of the guild, an older Drow chap who still remains the most talented sword wielder I’d ever seen. His white hair was always tied into a neat bun, and he dressed simply. His armor was enchanted, but looked similar to any generic armor you could buy. He held a very respectable air about him, a sense of power that told anyone he could easily defeat them, but a calming sense that assured them he would only do it if he was threatened.
Mona was an alchemist who concocted and brewed the strangest potions I had ever seen. Some of them would cause an opponent to explode, some would freeze them in place, some when opened and poured onto the ground summoned these giant venus fly-trap looking creatures with razor sharp teeth that would devour whatever she commanded. She was a half-goblin, parents being a full goblin and an elf. Their genes worked together very well, because Mona herself was truly stunning. She has black hair, lime green skin, and wore a long back robe that flowed down her slender body. More impressive, however, was that she was Archmage levels in her Alchemical field, the highest one could get back in the day.
It was our job to protect Cordelia and her parents, Zavier and Helena. They would not share any information with us about what they had done, how it had pissed something off, or what to expect, but they did tell us we’d be ‘handsomely compensated should you survive’. Assholes…we needed information to do our job! Holes in information leads to holes in strategy, holes in strategy leads to unnecessary risk, and unnecessary risk leads to uncertainty and potential death! Ugh, whatever, it was just one job, then hopefully we’d never have to deal with them again and they’d descend into obscurity.
So, the job was set. Magnus, Mona and I got better acquainted with each other and started to plan our defensive means and offensive responses. We had no idea what we were facing, how many it would be, where it would be coming from, or when! We had one of the five answers we desperately needed, so we had to do the best we could. Magnus suggested we employ the help of additional adventurers; clerics, paladins and the like who are good at protecting and supporting. Their job would be to round up the town to a safe location and watch over them until one of us gave the all clear. Mona and I agreed, and I decided to spread the word that the people needed to be taken to safety and guarded until whatever was going to happen had happened; he did threaten the entire population, so better to be safe.
Mona started to lay a protective parameter around the Goradel mansion in the form of explosive concoctions that seeped into the ground and bottles of Acid Arrow that, when broken, would attack the nearest hostile creature. She had also managed to brew a few potions of invisibility for the townsfolk, given the guards potions of strength, mana regeneration, health regeneration and spell boosting, and gave herself, myself and Magnus potions of regeneration, potions of Free Casting (basically downing one allows you just have a reserve of mana to pull from without worry), and potions of Iron Skin that would give us amazing defense without slowing us down. She was a really, really talented Alchemist, even crazier was that she was only 30, very young for a half-elf/half-goblin. She definitely had a gift.
I, meanwhile, decided to try something new. I had been toying around with a few things in my off-time, and with my knowledge of Shifting Magics I decided to try out something that could prove beneficial. I had come across many beasts in my time, some of them easy to understand and study, others so wildly complicated that it took me years of dissecting, studying and charting to get a solid understanding of what the hell was going on internally. I had taken some lessons from Grandmaster and Archmage Shifter’s who were willing to teach, and with enough practice I was finally able to harness the form of other, less common creatures! I had mastered the standard offensive animal forms like tiger, wolf, bear and eagle, but didn’t know how dangerous our targets were going to be, so I decided that we needed to go hard, fast, and leave no possible room for error.
I downed the two bottles of Free Casting that Mona has brewed, and began my shift. I had again mixed my Phoenix Rebirth with these form changes, so the only pain I was receiving was to my mana pools. However, thanks to Mona’s amazing abilities, I was able to shift without trouble!
I got down on all fours, and soon my size began to expand. My teeth turned from their normal human color to a stained and dark brown. My face started to extend forward into a muzzle, my teeth being replaced by sharp, deadly fangs. My canines extended further than the rest, creating a deadly row of fangs. My lips retracted back, and my face began to turn scaly and red as my face became more and more canine. The only thing unchanged on my face was my eyes, as they were my Keepsake (many Shifters have a certain aspect of themselves they keep permanent, no matter what, to remind themselves of their true form).
The scales continued down, a large, fleshy tail sprouting from my back and extending out. From snout to tail, I was now 30 feet in size, but I was not yet finished. The scales extended down my whole body, but they looked more like regular sinew and flesh as my body was covered in a protective coat of blood red scales. My legs began to crack and bend as muscle appeared to support my now larger weight and size, and my toes extended a double set of claws on each foot. The form was complete, now for one final touch.
All across my red tail, bones began to jut out like my sharpened fangs, covering it from my hindquarters to the very tip of my tail. It was definitely an easy target should something decide to attack my tail, but the shards and spikes allowed me to slice through weaker enemies that dare to try. Even better, I could slam my tail against the ground to loosen some of the shards and fling them towards my target. I was a true beast, an imperfect dragon known as a fanged drake. While not near as strong as a true dragon, I had seen first-hand the damage and strength they possess, and now it was all mine. Magic was a bit harder to cast in this form, but I still had access to Apprentice level Pyromancy and some support spells like Enhance Speed, Feather Fall and Enhance Ability.
The stage was set, we were ready to fight whatever came our way. Magnus had enchanted his greatsword with every enchantment he could cast without overloading it, Mona held potions in her hands, and I stood at the front, smoke coming from my body as I waited. We were ready, we were going to defend these poor villagers and the shitty people who barely even gave a shit about their safety!
We waited, and waited, and waited. Seems I had used my change too early, and turning back would just be a waste of mana, so I decided to travel into town and help with carrying or leading others to safety. I had modified the vocal cords of this beast to be more in-line with standard humanoid ones, so it allowed me to speak. It was just not very fun, given my voice was incredibly gruff and deep due to the creature's size. I ran to the guards, my now muscular legs allowing me to jump great distances, my long claws able to help me climb with relative ease. It didn't take long to find the groups and their protectors as they were leaving town.
I jumped down to check and make sure everything was okay, and even got to meet Har again! He looked so much more mature, his black hair and green eyes showing a bit of age, but it seemed he was happy. We used a few minutes of walking time to catch up, and I got to hear all about his journey.
After our mission, he made it his job to find undead who had been driven mad, and help them see the light again. He had seen many undead who had been brought back against their will, and many who suffered purely because they weren't allowed a choice in their rest being disturbed. He had helped them find peace, shown them the light of Theia, his goddess, and allowed them to return to their peaceful slumber in their designated afterlife. He had even married the cute man at the bar that I had convinced him to chat up, and they had a daughter named Athena! Apparently she was 7 years old and the sweetest thing, according to Har. I told him he better let me visit her once this was all over, and he happily accepted.
Our sweet reunion was cut short, however, as the clouds in the night sky started to swirl and gather. Once again we saw the decrepit and harrowing skull that we had seen yesterday appear again. Except, this time it didn't talk. It merely let out an ear-splitting screech that rattled your very soul. A few of the people were so terrified they had fainted, so I yelled at them to carry all they could, and run! Fast! They were quick to agree, those who could carry grabbing the unconscious and those from my back with haste so that I could rush back to the mansion.
I arrived right in the nick of time to see absolute hell spewing from the mouth of this skull. We heard horrid shrieks and cries of birds, the hissing roars of giant snakes, and the unholy screams of Abyssal Spiders.
The birds were like Corvids, but towering in height. They easily reached 30 feet in size, their beaks sharpened and rigged with teeth-like bumps running down the entirety of their beaks. Their eye sockets were sunken and shallow, small eyes giving off a haunting and piercing glow. Parts of their body showed their exposed, fleshy bodies underneath. Their skin was red, and covered with scars, exposed bone and sinew from what looked to be countless battles.
The snakes were unlike anything I've ever seen, they were black and blue striped, with arms and legs, and stood upright! They were not as tall as the Corvids, only measuring 15 feet tall, but they possessed a whip-like tail that flowed almost the same length as their bodies. Their mouths oozed a green venom that coated their fangs, and their necks were able to flare into hoods like a cobra.
Finally, were the spiders. Along with being giant, like the size of a Clydesdale giant, they possessed hundreds of eyes across their entire body. Their fangs dripped with venom, and thick hairs were present across their entire bodies. Each hair on their back was able to pierce skin and inject with the same poison in their fangs, and their webs were known to carry a necrotic slime that would eat away at skin.
We definitely had our work cut out for us, this horde of creatures was coming right for the Goradel residence and they were ready to kill anything and everything in their path. The crows rushed through, their massive size crushing smaller houses and easily breaking through larger ones that were in their way. The spiders simply crawled over them, leaving a trail of webs and venom in their wake, and the snakes…apparently their tails were going to be quite the problem, as not only were they long, they were sharp enough to slice trees, wildlife and building cleanly with just a single slice of the tail.
We were truly, without a doubt, up a fucking creek with this one.
We sprang into action as quickly as we could. We saw our foes pouring out, and our objective was simple protection of the village, her people, and the asshole nobles that caused all this. I ran right towards the spiders, knowing that they were the threat that could cause the most damage with their necrotic webs and flesh-melting venom. The smoke coming from my mouth started to turn black as I approached one of them, letting out a blast of fire from my mouth that quickly set it and its attempted web in flames. It shrieked as it skittered and writhed in pain, trying to attack me in retaliation. I was quick to slice one of its legs off with my claws, and sink my teeth into the back of its head. It gave a few more twitches and finally fell still.
I threw it to the side as I continued doing my best to draw them towards a common area, minimizing the potential risk of them running out of town and tracking down the other parties currently in hiding. It worked very well, as once they notice a threat, they will continue to attack! The problem was, it worked very well, and once they noticed a threat they would continue to attack until it died! The horde of spiders was gaining on me, all I could do was use some flames to burn the webs they attempted to ensnare me with and use my claws to slice any that came from the front. I was not doing well by any means, but I was now at least within sight of my companions.
My joy was quickly cut short as I felt a burning string of web wraps itself around my tail. I had gotten careless, and was definitely paying the price. If you’ve never been hit by necrosis, allow me to explain the feeling as best I can. Imagine a hot knife being thrust deeper and deeper into your body and feeling your cells, muscles, tendons and fat dying around it. Not just cut, or severed, dying with little chance to repair it without some heavy magic. If it goes around a vital part, like a shoulder, leg or neck, you will start to slowly feel yourself losing all feeling as it just falls. It’s a truly horrible experience, avoid it if you can.
This is to say, I was currently in for absolute hell as I felt this experience being run through the part of my tail that carries most of my projectile spikes. I could feel each tendon snapping, my skin burning away, and the discs of my now expended spine starting to crack and rip. I had to make a choice, fast. My desperation led me to only one single solution; I knew the tail had to go.
With a pained howl I raised my claws, and sliced clean through the tail on my back. I cannot explain how truly horrible of an experience this was, mostly because I think my mind has blocked it out to protect itself. It fell to the ground with a wet squelch, blood pouring out of the open wounds on my back. I sent a breath of flame onto the spider and his silk, and sent another onto my nubbed tail. Again, another experience I believe my mind has blocked out to protect itself!
Don’t get hit by necrosis, kids.
I ran to Mona, who was currently being swarmed by a group of Corvids, and offered my assistance. I was pissed, I was angry, and I wanted to kill! As one of them dived down, I jumped onto its chest and sunk my fangs directly into its neck. It let out a pained screech as I felt its blood fill my mouth, my claws wildly slashing at its chest through skin, flesh, bone, whatever I could scrap and slice, I did. I had truly let this creature’s feral nature take over my mind for the time being, but I did not give a damn, we needed to win.
The beast fell back to the ground, and I let out another challenging roar to the other beasts nearby. My claws and fangs erupted in flames as I continued to wildly attack the ones threatening Mona, knowing I needed to protect her as she concocted and threw brew after brew onto what she could. Magnus was doing absolutely amazing, without a doubt the best of us. He was handling the snakes by himself, expertly dodging and slashing at them each time they tried to grab him, bite him, slice with their tails, or trample him. He would wait for them to attack and in the blink of an eye, whatever they tried to attack him with would be gone. Heads, tails, legs and arms started to litter the ground near him as he showed absolute power and authority.
Mona, meanwhile, had been mixing something special while I distracted the snakes and corvids. Her alchemical traps had mostly been activated already, melted and bubbling piles of what were some of our enemies scattered through the warzone. She yelled at me to give her a boost, and I managed to snap free from my feral state. She held something in her hands I cannot even begin to describe. It was completely dark, but…empty. The energy that came from it was unlike anything I have ever seen since, it was like staring into the nothingness of space while being surrounded by it on all sides. She slammed it onto the ground, and the darkness surrounded her.
Flesh and feathers from the Corvids started to break from their destroyed and lifeless bodies, attaching itself to her back and clothes. One of their skulls burst into pieces as it flew towards her, reassembling itself onto her face in a makeshift mask. Their bones and talons began to collect into her hands, and within a matter of seconds she was holding a powerful, pulsating scythe. In that moment I saw something I truly hope to never see again. I saw death. The truest form of death was standing before me, and its energy chilled my very soul. I could feel the contempt the energy had for me, as if it knew I had extended my life outside of its natural reach.
She ordered me to come, and I knew I had to obey. I grabbed her with my fangs, and placed her onto my back. Her body was cold, I was terrified of what I saw before me, but so was everything else. I felt a hand rest onto my head, and I could feel…warmth. Mona reassured me that it was going to be okay, and pointed her scythe forward. I collected myself again, and sprinted towards our enemies.
Mona sliced and slashed them each with one clean swipe from that scythe, each of them falling dead in our path. I used my flames to burn any webs that had been placed, focusing on the ground while she focused on taking down these enemies with the grace and power of a god. As I saw this, I truly understood how far the gaps between Master and Archmage truly were when it came to the arcane arts. I still had so much to learn…
Our combo attacks came to a screeching halt, however, as we heard a pained scream from behind us. We both looked to where Magnus was, and we could see that he had been injured. One of the snakes had managed to sink its tail through his shoulder, and another currently had its fangs embedded into his side. We let out a scream as we charged towards them as they bit, stabbed, and slashed poor Magnus. I tackled one of the snakes off, sinking my burning fangs into its neck and ripping its head off in one solid motion. Mona jumped from my back, holding her hand out as she said…something, and the snake was turned to dust.
Magnus fell to the ground, howling in pain as he regained his footing. I cried out that he needed to be healed immediately, and begged Mona to throw him something from her belt. He paid me no mind, and just ran back into the fight. He was so badly injured, but that did not stop him for a second. He continued fighting as if nothing had happened, and we knew we had to do the same.
The fight lasted for hours, the hordes of enemies seeming endless. The town had been turned to rubble at this point, any signs of life save for the Goradel mansion had vanished from this now tarnished and barren land. As the sun rose on the next day, we saw the warzone in fresh light. Mona had returned to normal, her breathing short and labored as she laid on the ground. I had turned back to normal, wounds covering my body and in desperate need of healing, but I didn’t care. I saw Magnus sitting on the corpse of one of the Corvids, a cup of ale in his hand and blood pouring from him. I rushed to him, begging him to let me help him, but he just shook his head.
He took a long, slow sip of his ale, let out a deep sigh and motioned for me to sit with him. I got down as best I could, every instinct telling me to heal me, but he continued to refuse. Eventually he spoke as we stared at the sunset. ‘Catherine,’ he said to me, ‘everyone has a torch to burn. Some burn longer than others, and we don’t get to decide how long they burn…’ He leaned against his sword with a smile, taking one last sip of ale. I asked him what the hell he was talking about, but as I looked at him, I could tell…
He was gone…
The light had gone from his eyes, but that smile remained on his face. As I saw this, all I could do was cry. I had lost people before in my life, but I was always able to help the ones that could be helped from injuries! I just hugged him as I sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. Even worse was having to heal Mona back to consciousness with the remainder of my magic and share the news with her. We cried together; we hadn’t known each other for more than a day, but we all held a deep respect for each other. Knowing that we had failed him and caused his demise, the town being destroyed, our barely achieved victory…none of it felt worth it in the end.
As we cried, we heard the doors to the Goradel manor open. Out stepped Zavier, Cordelia’s father. He looked at the scene, nodding as he saw our handiwork and commended us. ‘Weren’t there three of you?’ he asked as he looked at us with such lack of regard. ‘Magnus…he’s dead…’ Mona said as I helped her up, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘Hm, pity…very well, would you like his share? We had already set aside 3 payments, we will split it between you both should you wish’. I still don’t know why what he said caused me such anger, but I could feel my blood boil. Our comrade that had been one of the best members of the guild, the one who had fought to defend his worthless ass, the reason he was standing here right now and not a pile of meat being devoured by beasts didn’t even give a shit that he was gone!
‘This isn’t fair’, I thought to myself, ‘we protected them and they are treating us like pawns!’ Mona could tell I was getting angry, so she answered that we’d take his share and have it sent to our accounts at once. She pulled me away from this pitiful excuse for a human, and I just screamed in anger. She told me that she agreed, that it wasn’t fair to Magnus, or us, or the people of this village, but that we couldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain. With his share of the cash and ours, we could afford to build a new settlement for the displaced of this village. She managed to talk me down from my anger, she was really talented like that. I took a few deep breaths, patted my cheeks, and nodded. It would be better to use the money for good in Magnus’ honor, all the stories I had heard of his exploits usually ended with him donating a large portion of his earnings to those affected by disasters such as this.
Mona left to inform the survivors that the victory had been achieved, but at the loss of Magnus. While she did that, however, I began to plan. I don’t know if it was the loss of a comrade, the pain still coursing through my body, the stress and trauma of what we had just gone through, but letting it go was not an option for me at this point. I knew I had to show these fuckers torment, I knew that they needed to pay for the callous disregard for anyone who wasn’t themselves. So, I gathered samples. I had a bag of holding on my side and began to stuff it with the bodies of our defeated enemies. The spiders had all been burned and crushed beyond study, but many of the Corvids and Serpents were still able to be studied and understood. Once I had my samples, I looked at Magnus with more tears.
I was going to avenge him, I was going to show these rich pieces of crap just how insignificant they were, and I was going to make sure they paid the price…
There was no way I could carry his body with my strength, he was far too bulky for me, so I used my magic to carry him. Even with my weakened state I couldn’t stop myself from giving him a proper burial. He deserved it, he deserved so much more than what he got. I summoned a shovel into my hands, and began to dig. I think I made it about 3 minutes of digging before my body finally gave up on me, and I fell. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, I guess I had passed out from exhaustion.
When I awoke, I heard Har’s voice calling to me. I was so tired, my body aching and burning in such pain as I tried to move every muscle I could. I looked up, and we were in a cemetery. I could see Magnus’ body laying in a now dug grave, dressed in his elegant but simple armor, eyes closed and mouth still holding that same smile as I had seen before. A ward of protection was currently being cast around his burial grounds, designating this land as sacred ground that could not be touched by any means. No necromancer could get to his body, and no thieves could rob him of his belongings. I was sitting next to a patched up and tired looking Mona, and we both just sobbed gently as we watched him being buried.
Hundreds had gathered to pay their respects, all of those that Magnus had saved, protected, worked with, allied, even some who I later came to learn saw him as a rival. All of them were paying their respects to this true paragon of an adventurer, and all I could think about was getting revenge for him…
Ah, sorry, I didn’t realize how long I had been sending through the OrbNet. It might be best to end this part of my life here for the time being. Thank you again for reading, if you managed to find an old witch’s story interesting. Once I work up the courage to share the next part with you all, I hope you will continue to view me in a positive light. You will hear things that…well, you’ll see. Thank you for your time, I love you all, my siblings in the arcane.