"Very good." The old man grins, "Your training shall commence soon enough. Now, you will be fed every once in a while, we have some animals out back that you can feast from, if you want. But you certainly won't be getting human blood, haha."

Regardless of your reasons for accepting the devil's bargain, you can't help but find him horribly irritating currently. You sigh, realizing that the only thing you can look forward to this week is the blandly colored room and the sneering priest. "Goodbye, then, Vampire of the Light."

The priest happily shuffles away into the clinking gear-based doors, and your mind wanders...

Days pass, and you'd be lying if you said that you weren't surprised that the withered old geezer wasn't mentoring you himself. Of course, this makes sense-- the rest of the Church would probably lynch him if he declared you 'AOK', but it's more surprising how spry the man is. He spends the next few days teaching you boring protocol, not-as-boring use of standardized C.E. weaponry, and a quick, refined crash-course through some-sort of martial art. Surprisingly, he doesn't bother you with the gospel of the Zealots, but you're too busy working on yourself in order to reflect on that.

Within a week, he manages to transform you into what he thinks is a Creation killing machine. And it's then when he reveals the plan you were already somewhat familiar with. "It is necessary that we raid the Wolf hideout, and completely eliminate the Wolf threat once and for all, when they least expect it. We have found their coordinates, finally," he hands you a tablet, showing a mapping of the surrounding desert, "And can now make sure they can no longer harm themselves or anyone else anymore. So, Vampire-Of-Light, do you think you're ready to take on the Demons, as is your holy mission?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

He grins, then outfits you with standard Zealot equipment; armor, rifle, and various gadgets used for communication.

"Now just wait here while I get the rest of the Zealots ready. Tonight, you will banish the evil in our own backyards! Godspeed, soldier." With that, he leaves, finally leaving you alone.

Ah, the open air and the cold night sky. Beautiful in many ways, and-- wait, I'm outside! I can run away from this place! I can't believe they're letting me out unsupervised like this...

You fulfill your duty as a Zealot of God.

Indeed, you stand in the cold more stalwart than you've ever been, an entire outlook changed. While the Church may have its faults, blaming it for the world's destruction isn't true. It all boils down to the Professor and his deviants, like myself. Unless they wish to repent, then they have no stake in this world.

Suddenly, you begin to hear an odd sort of chant or jingle being sung  from behind you. You turn your head to find at least fifty armored Zealots in formation, marching along with their flashing chests and a surprisingly optimistic attitude, as described by their songs. "Soldier, what are you doing out here so early? What's your name and rank?"

Crap, I just got called out, "Err, Father Tomas knows. Where is he? I thought he was, uh, coming."

"Nope, he's staying back for morale reasons." The person who called for you gets out of the formation, and runs to catch up with you. The man, espeically shown through the armor, is huge-- probably the biggest Zealot you've seen thus far. His voice is pretty heavy, but he sounds surprisingly intelligent for one of his size, "Wait, are you new? You look young..."

"You could say that."

He laughs, misunderstanding, "Right then, I'm Chief. If you need anything just ask young one. This'll be much easier than you think. We'll steam-roll the hell out of those Demons with our newly refined weapons."

"Oh?"

"All silver, baby. It cost a lot to build, and we're the only Zealots aside from Karat- you know, they guy who persists to wear white armor," Who or what the hell is he talking about? "Who have this new design. The Father says this stops them from healing, so we have no chance of losing. Don't be scared, now. I'll get you a seat in formation, give me a sec."

Your stupid grin at the kindness of the head-Zealot is thankfully concealed by your helmet. He stuffs you in his position-- the front line, while he leads out in front. Just as well, you think, I don't think this will be as easy as he says, so my being in the front should help. I think.

And this begins you ascent into God's plan, whatever it may be.

The march is treacherously long, and if you're admitting to that then you can't imagine how the others are with all the heavy armor. Thankfully, the curse comes with its blessings, and those blessings are obviously a reason why God's plan for you involved this. That, or we're all doomed. You shove that thought away for the moment, though.

Eventually, you reach the end of of the journey, and you find nothing but more desert. "Uh, Chief? Where is the Wolf hideout?"

"Literally, underground." He laughs. He takes out his rifle and screws off the tusk, and from his armor he withdraws a crafty little shovel-head. "Samuel, Zadok, do the same. We need to open this up quickly."

Two of the larger Zealots come up from behind you to help shovel the certain mound of sand, and while you find it  amusing at first, it soon becomes apparent that this is the place when you hear a metal clanging sound.

"This is it!"

You look into the ditch, and find an odd metal disk embedded into a round concrete tube, large in diameter. Maybe a well?

Te man labeled 'Zadok' changes his rifle's end again, back to the tusks, then hollers for everybody to get back. Everybody complies.

With a large grunt, he prepares his rifle to shoot at the plate, then a large sonic-boom erupts, and the green lightning sets the plate to turn red, in heat. Samuel sends a heavy kick, which is just enough to send the disk out of its place, opening up the well.

"For God's glory!" Chief yells, and they repeat after him with enthusiasm.

"FOR GOD'S GLORY!"

The big-three Zealots jump in one after each-other, and after that it's a beeline to get into the concrete sewer below. Finally, when it's your turn, you manage to find foot-holds to climb down, rather than just jumping down aimlessly and without stealth. Of course, stealth is thrown out of the window whenever these lovable tools are in the equation. They're still chanting, and the light from their armor is the only thing lighting up the cavern!

Your squadron of fifty or more begins a march through it, still as loud and boisterous as ever. But, suddenly, the mood changes. Something's not right...  Where are the Wolves?

Slowly, as the Zealots move inside the maze of hell, you notice more and more of them disappearing. "Chief! We're losing men as we speak!"

The Chief looks around, his armor working as  a flashlight, "Huh? But I don't see any of the Wolves?"

More and more Zealots disappear, with barely anything but a gasp at best. What the hell is happening?

After a small while of Zealots pleading for the Chief to turn back, you get the horrible feeling that you're next...


"Nobody touches my Creations."


You have been killed by an unknown player...