Implode ~ Prologue!

*Ooph!*

The humans had returned as conquering heroes—at least in their minds—so being forced to their knees was the last thing they expected. When they hit the ground and felt the pain spiking through their limbs, their moods shifted directly from confusion to fury. Four of the six began mouthing off, yelling at the people they had been expecting rewards and gratitude from.

The Elves didn’t waste a single breath on explaining themselves, instead slapping the humans the rest of the way to the ground, then driving long blades through their torsos to pin them there. The angry shouts became gasps of pain, and the two that had remained quiet allowed themselves a moment of smugness when they were left merely kneeling. Only a hint of amusement, certainly, as neither wanted to draw the sudden and confusing punishment onto themselves.

“Prepare yourselves for the words of… the Ascetic,” one of the guards announced in a sonorous voice, almost as though he were singing praises. After he bowed thrice, he personally pulled out a series of earplugs and pushed them into the ears of the captives—a move that had the guards muttering with indignation that one of their own needed to provide service to the humans. “Though they will be granted to you through a quadruple intermediary, be warned that even so far removed from their source… the words of one that speaks for the Pantheon are not easy for the ears of mortals to bear.”

A High Cleric stepped into view, materializing through the quartz walls and trees that composed the buildings of high officials in the Elven Capitol. “The Ascetic sends both praise and pity. Their words are as thus: Your work both superb, and subpar. The main mission complete, your failures replete. A blessing, a boon, and a trial you earn.”

The ears and eyes of everyone present, including the Cleric that was speaking, had begun to bleed. The Cleric took several deep breaths, composed himself, then began his own speech. “We have interpreted the words on your behalf. You have completed your main mission, which was to overthrow the Dwarven Oligarchy. For that task alone, all of the rewards that you were due are to be granted. Noble titles, advanced Classes, everything that was promised… is yours.”

A few people decided that they wanted to cheer, but the blades pinning them to the ground turned their efforts to wheezing, reminding them that they weren’t here to speak, but merely to listen. The Cleric ignored them and continued his ponderous oration. “Here is the blessing that you have earned: you may choose a single target on this Zone in the opposite faction. You will be able to damage this person twenty percent greater, fail to land blows on them fifty percent fewer, and all debuffs you place on them will last thirty percent longer.”

“Yes.” One person couldn’t hold in his glee for a moment longer, letting out a hiss of pleasure. The attention of the Cleric came to rest on him, and the Elf gently lifted a hand to keep a guard from stabbing the human, then paused to take in the odd choice in garb.

“Trenchcoat, welder’s goggles, and far too much black leather for the high heat and humidity.” The Cleric nodded sagely and took a step closer. “I was told to speak to you directly for this next part… Herr Trigger.”

“You have all of mine attention.” The slight German accent that the man feigned colored his words, and the wide smile on his face brightened the area. “As you know, we are ready to do whatever the Theocracy requires of us. No matter who it is that needs to be… silenced.”

The High Cleric tilted his head slightly to the side, as though trying to understand something. “But you failed. Why is it that you consider this to be a happy day for you? Your main task was important, but the Ascetic herself had granted you additional tasks as directly as your mind could handle.”

“The… side quests? They were labeled as optional.” Herr Trigger’s brow furrowed, and a slight hint of nervousness touched him for the first time since he had been forced to his knees. “They were also near-impossible, as the little Hamlet was on high alert due to the loss of the Oligarchs. I died trying to achieve my goals!”

“Everything in life is optional, is it not?” the Cleric wondered aloud, a hint of a sneer peeking through the calm facade. “We can choose to eat or starve. We can choose to advance or stagnate. We can choose to complete the tasks given to us by the Chosen of the Heavens, or we can give up because… it is too hard.”

Herr Trigger’s eyes narrowed at the obvious mockery, and he clearly forced himself to refrain from saying even one more thing. The Cleric shook his head sadly as he watched the internal struggle. “The Hamlet is lost to us. All memory and recordings of its location have been hidden. Search your own memory; where was this battle? Where did the Royal Family die?”

“It was the…” Herr Trigger’s mouth lost its wide smile, twisting into an ugly frown. “How is this possible?”

“Who can say,” the Cleric stated lightly. “Your trial follows next. You, your team, and our representative are to continue your work as a strike force. The Ascetic has seen that an enemy, whom you know personally, is currently creating a stronghold that is otherwise hidden to us, bringing the refugees to a new, protected land. This man will be in unprotected lands at least three times over the course of this cleanup our opponents call a war. By the time the Bifrost has opened, you must have either captured this man and ensured his captivity until the High Clerics take responsibility for him, killed the human enough times to make impossible his timeline of the final mission, which his pride forces upon him. The target must be slain at least three times for this outcome. The final option? Slay a Dwarven Grandmaster that he is attempting to convert to his cause.”

“This person is…?” Herr Trigger had a few ideas, but he wanted it to be stated clearly.

“His name is Joe, the Chosen of Occultatum.” The Cleric’s statement restored the smile to Herr Trigger’s face. “To ensure that this task is possible and will be done correctly, allow me to introduce our representative. Mirak, if you will?”

An Elf appeared even more suddenly than the Cleric had, and Herr Trigger realized that the man had been there the entire time; his mind simply hadn’t been able to register his presence. “High Cleric.”

“Trigger, Mirak has been assigned as your party leader. You will follow his commands, and he will ensure that you are where you need to be.” The Cleric once more gave the human an order, something Trigger hated with a passion. “He may choose to aid you in combat, or not.”

“My apologies, Cleric, but how can I not be in charge and yet still be held accountable if we fail?” Trigger glanced at the Elf, who remained motionless in his kneeling position. “He may be able to hide in broad daylight, but that means nothing to me. How will we find our quarry? What will happen if we fail to find them, and what if they get away? Will I have failed?”

“You are being moved across the board based on the orders of the Ascetic.” The Cleric’s emphatic tone carried a clear warning to the bounty hunter. “As a result, you do not need to worry that you will not find them. What you do from there is your issue, though I have little doubt that you will have any difficulty tracking them after the first time you locate their trail.”

“How so? Is our new party leader a Druid that will have the land whisper into his ear as we search for tracks on broken rocks?” Herr Trigger’s mocking tone caused the blade at his back to shift forward slightly, the guard almost ready to ignore the Cleric’s attempt to keep things calm.

The Cleric himself appeared to be trying not to laugh. “He is that, and more. If you look to your left, you will understand why you won’t lose the trail, and also why you should make sure to be very friendly with your new team leader. Meet Ron, the bonded beast of Mirak.”

Herr Trigger’s head swiveled to the side, and he flinched as his gaze was met with teeth. Long and metal, they were clearly razor-sharp and ready to tear flesh. He started to raise his eyes to see how large this beast was, but a wash of hot steam rolled over his face—along with a spattering of mucus as the nose of the beast blew out, then in… savoring the human’s unique scent.

Ron the Razorfang Direwolf. Level: 28.

“For now, I…” The Bounty Hunter swallowed and turned back to the Cleric. “Have no further questions.”

“You may address me as ‘Your Grace’.” The High Cleric shook his head sorrowfully, waving at the guards to take the unindoctrinated humans away. Moments later, blades were torn from bodies, and the bleeding humans were tossed out of the courtyard.