| began a new training regimen. | started to develop quirks. Small 
ones, at first. Whenever | was with my friends, | would idly run a 
matchstick through my hair, until | eventually found myself doing it 
alone out of habit. | began eating a dozen clementines daily, and 
never wore sleeves if | could avoid it. Where before the community 
at large had largely ignored me, | now found myself getting a 
reputation. | started to stand out. The dynamic within my group of 
friends started changing too. They started looking to me for 
suggestions. | would usually decide what to do and dominate the 
conversation as we did it. One day, months after | had abandoned 
my physical training, my friend and | fell off of a bridge. | somehow 
managed to catch the edge of the bridge with my feet and my 
friend’s ankles with my hands and | swung us both to safety. 


It was impossible. But it had happened. | had done it. 


From there things started moving quickly. | found myself getting into 
the same predicaments as before, but genuinely by accident, and 
sometimes in much more dangerous circumstances. Every time | 
made it out without a scratch, and | learned to laugh off the danger. | 
started acting superior around my friends, embracing the leadership 
role, and they all just folded up and fell into line. Even when they 
objected to my treatment of them, they never once seriously 
challenged me on it. This power was amazing. When | finally 
exhibited my first truly impossible ability, breathing gale force winds, 
| started laughing uncontrollably. | couldn’t believe it was possible! | 
couldn't believe what a rush it was! | started to understand why They 
acted so happy all of the time, before the memory of my mother’s 
blood splashing on my young face brought me back to Earth. | knew 


then that it was important to never let my power turn me into a 
monster. 


| apologized to my secondary characters for all of the things | said to 
them. Every single one of them reassured me that they loved me, 
and that they knew | just acted odd because my mother’s death 
traumatized me. With my position secure, | continued to accumulate 
powers randomly, until finally my personal reality was stretched to its 
breaking point. | felt the complete knowledge of the universe flow 
through me, and learned how to bend it, change it, even erase it. 
And at that point | knew that it was time to move on the final phase 
of my plan to save the world avenge my mother’s death. 


To beat Them, | had to join Them. And | did. | have all the power of 
the Senior Staff now. | have all the power | need to take them down. 
And why shouldn't it be me? | have their damn tragic backstory, | 
have a driving reason! | have the pure heart to resist the siren call of 
this cursed power! The Senior Staff made an enemy the day they 
killed my mother right in front of me, and | intend to make them 
regret it. 


My mother wasn’t dead before 


Deus Vult 


The full moon shone brightly upon the dense canopy of the virgin 
forest, faint beams of moonlight reaching through to the earth below. 
A gentle summer's breeze raked the treetops, warming the 
creatures that had gathered in the clearing by the lake. Hundreds of 
animals had formed a semi-circle around the great rock which 
ancient paws had carved. The air was full of the chatter of countless 
species, producing a din the likes of which were seldom heard in 
those empty lands. Wolves and bears rubbed shoulders with deer 
and horses while rats and weasels scurried underfoot. In the trees, 
the creatures of the air perched attentively—eagles and pigeons, 
hawks and gulls, falcons and crows, owls and bluejays. A few of 
those animals that could do so carried torches, for the benefit of 
those animals whose night vision was not as keen as the rest. A 
silence fell over the assembled beasts as a wolf, ancient and 
scarred yet almost regal in its disposition, approached the rock and 
began to howl and bark at the assembly. Any man who happened to 
pass through those woods would have heard nothing more than the 
cries of an animal—but courtesy of whatever miracle had brought 
these creatures together in ancient time, the animals who stood in 
that clearing understood every syllable from the wolf's maw. 


"Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye!" howled the wolf. "Bishops, abbots, 
earls, barons, justiciaries, foresters, sheriffs, stewards, servants, and 
to all bailiffs and liege subjects of the realm! It is my honor to present 
to you, his Royal Highness, by the Grace of God, King of the Forest, 
Lord of the Plains, Duke of the Grand Fir and the Undergrowth, 
Count of the Swamp, Margrave of the Hills, Warden of All the 
Streams and Rivers, and Lord Protector of the Cities of Man, 
Defender of the Faith, and so on, and so on, and so on, King 
Andrew the Fourth." 


The animals assembled on the ground fell to their knees and laid 
their heads on the ground, and the birds tucked their heads into their 
breasts, as King Andrew IV trotted into sight atop the great rock. The 


king was a young fox, having barely been a yearling when his father 
Eugenio VII was killed by barbarians the previous year. He wore no 
adornments but a simple crown upon his head, the same that had 
been passed down from king to king since the days of the Exodus. A 
moment passed in silence as Andrew surveyed the crowd before 
him, and gestured for his herald to come near. Those who dared to 
look upward at his majesty would have seen a look of awe and terror 
on the wolf's face as Andrew chuffled silently to him. 


"And may | further present," the wolf cried hesitantly, "as his 
majesty's guest for the evening—His Holiness, Bishop of Rome, 
Vicar of Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme 
Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and 
Metropolitan of the Roman province, Sovereign of the State of the 
Vatican City, Servant of the Servants of God, Pope Innocent the 
Twenty-Seventh." 


The contrast between Andrew and Pope Innocent could not have 
been more obvious as the deer climbed to the top of the stone and 
stood beside the king. Unlike the simple crown Andrew wore, 
Innocent was covered head to toe in elaborate vestments, the finest 
that the raccoons and apes of the land could sew, and a miter nearly 
half a meter tall, bedecked with gold and jewels, rested between his 
antlers. The assembled animals rose to their feet with reverence as 
Andrew nodded, and Innocent touched his snout to his chest three 
times, making the sign of the cross as best he could. 


"Our friends!" Andrew began, barking as loud as he could so that he 
could be heard by all the animals. "Knights, nobles, peers of the 
realm, and peasants and serfs alike—hear us this night, for a threat 
has come to our lands that imperils not only our nation, but all of 
Christendom itself! Not since the time of the Exodus have our 
people known such an enemy as the heathens which now return to 
this land to resume their ancient debaucheries—the vile forces of 
the nation of man." 


A commotion arose from the crowd at the mention of that last word. 
Cries of doubt and skepticism arose from the masses. "Who among 
you recall the tales you were taught as children?" Pope Innocent 

called out, silencing the crowd. "As surely as every word of the Holy 
Scripture is true, so are those stories true—for before the coming of 


plagues and the scourging of the Earth, every corner of the world 
was ruled over by the kingdom of man. Though they claimed to 
follow Christ—for Christ Himself delivered His Gospel first to man 
before we of the forests came to know it—they had grown bold and 
arrogant, and knew not the true teachings of the church of their 
fathers. And believing that nothing existed that could not be seen, 
they enslaved your ancestors, the true followers of Christ, and kept 
them in their prisons while sinners and Protestants roamed free 
across these forests. 


"But your ancestors kept the faith, and God rewarded them. For just 
as He scourged the Earth of wickedness and spared Noah, so He 
cleansed the Earth of mankind, and again we were free to sing the 
songs of the Lord and be fruitful.” 


"For six hundred years," King Andrew proclaimed, "no man has 
been seen in our forest. But not a fortnight ago, the Duke of the 
West Reach and his knights vanished while surveying the eastern 
reaches. Baron Simon and his eagles were dispatched to seek out 
any trace of them—and when they caught a whiff of roasted venison 
—"he paused as the animals reacted to the horror of imagining the 
good Duke roasted for food—"he spotted the men who had taken 
our knights and cut them limb from limb, to roast alive and feast 
upon, and the great heathen temple they have erected—forged from 
the wood of our own trees which they have felled, and built on the 
very spot of King Edward I's final victory over the Protestant horde!" 


"The humble mice who scouted their shrine have witnessed the 
proof that even the divine wrath of God was insufficient to convince 
these men of their sinful nature," the Pope shouted. "They have built 
a thing of mockery, in the style of the ancient cathedrals men built 
before they lost their way—but this is not a place of God. They 
worship a man who they claim died and rose again, but this man 
was known to your ancestors during the Captivity as little more than 
a conjurer of cheap tricks, his only gifts coming from a simple trinket 
that no doubt was forged by the Devil himself! They have made idols 
out of their ancient books that they parrot without understanding, 
and wear the icons of the ancient despoilers upon their gowns! 
These men are no friends to Christ or to Christendom—and with our 
nation, there can be no hope of alliance." 


"The east has fallen to these heretics already!" Andrew shouted. 
"They have already slain the good Duke and his knights. If you 
permit them to continue thus for awhile with impunity, the faithful of 
God will be much more widely attacked by them! They will make this 
land their own! They will take from us that which we have for 
centuries tended and built! They will give no quarter for women and 
children, and nothing shall await you but the plow—or the spit! 
Whatever petty quarrels you have had amongst yourselves, this is 
the time to forget them—for now we face a greater foe!" 


Pope Innocent lowered his voice as he exhorted the crowd. "Let 
those who have been accustomed unjustly to wage private warfare 
against the faithful now go against the infidels and end with victory 
this war which should have been begun long ago. Let those who for 
a long time, have been robbers, now become knights. Let those who 
have been fighting against their brothers and relatives now fight in a 
proper way against the barbarians. Let those who have been serving 
as mercenaries for small pay now obtain the eternal reward. In 
ancient time, the righteous among mankind waged wars of the cross 
against the heathens of their day. |, or rather the Lord, beseech you 
now—take up tooth and claw, and prepare for crusade! So your 
Church wills it!" 


"So your king wills it!" cried Andrew. 
"SO God wills it!" responded Innocent. 


"God wills it! God wills it! God wills it!" The cry of the crowd reached 
from treetop to treetop, echoing throughout the forest. 


The grass crackled under Brother Gareth's sandals as he trod down 
the overgrown trail that had, centures before, been a massive 
highway. His eyes darted constantly along the treeline, watching for 
any movement in the undergrowth. He was not accustomed to 
loneliness, for Overwatch was always teeming with hundreds of 
doctors and priests and D-Castes. Out here, loneliness was both a 
curse and a boon, for at least it meant he had thus far eluded the 
enemy's spies. The Holy Amulet, wrapped in a strip of hide for his 
protection, drummed against his chest under his thick brown robe. 


He held his hand against his chest to steady it, tracing its patterns 
through the fabric as he said a quick prayer to the man within. 


It had been nine days since Cardinal Andrews had told him to leave 
Overwatch Cathedral alone and take the Amulet east to Shyton for 
safekeeping. Thanks to the Neutralizationist zealots who had 
breached the Peace of Westmont when they attacked and reclaimed 
the Seventy-Third chapel, the tensions between the Holy Foundation 
and "the kingdom of Romania Nova", as the "liberated" men whose 
homes had fallen under its rule called it, had erupted into the sixth 
crusade in thirty years against the animals and their strange religion 
that honored neither the Lord Bright nor His saints and prophets. 
The animal forces had gained ground and had been within a day's 
march of Overwatch itself when he left. That the Holy Foundation 
would win the day, he had no doubt; but the Amulet was not safe so 
close to those creatures that regarded it as no better than the rest of 
the demons that haunted the world. 


Gareth paused a moment and sat on a log to drink from his 
waterskin. His body ached from the long walk, and his head was 
heavy. There were not known to be any of the demon-possessed 
beasts in these woods, but one could never tell from appearances 
whether the crow or the deer or the mouse skittering along the road 
was just concerned with its next meal, or whether it was watching 
and reporting to its superiors. He had rested little, and slept even 
less. A few more days and he and his burden would be safe behind 
the great walls of Shyton, the sea at his back. Safe to relax, and 
rest, and... 


Gareth recoiled in shock and horror as something touched his 
shoulder, awakening him from the slumber he had fallen into. He 
had slipped up, and it had cost him. Dazed by the midday sun as his 
eyes darted open, he stumbled around to face the thing that had 
accosted him, reaching as he did so for the knife on his belt. 


"Forgive me, friend,” said the traveler in black who stood before him. 
"| meant only to ensure that you were well." 


"I... I'm sorry," Gareth said as he lowered his knife. "| haven't seen 
anyone on the road in days. | feared | was under attack." 


"Understandable," the man replied. "These are... dangerous times, 
and few would dare this lonely road. What brings you this way?" 


"lam..." Gareth searched his head for a lie to conceal the nature of 
his mission. "| am a humble sculptor on my way to Strait City, in 
search of work and a patron. There is little call in the western lands 
for a man of my profession, on account of the war." 


"Indeed?" the traveler said. "It is the war that calls me westward. 
What news have you heard from the front?" 


"Very little," Gareth said, hoping to put an end to the man's 
uncomfortable questioning. "I try not to concern myself greatly with 
matters of church and state." 


"You must have some opinion," the man said. "Are you one of the 
Traditionalists who holds that the Scripture is inerrant? Or are you a 
Neutralizationist, believing that the Holy Containment Procedures 
must be rewritten, and the church ought to destroy the demons 
rather than imprisoning them? Or perhaps your sentiments lie with 
the animals and their God?" 


"| Know nothing of the theological disputes the church is having 
amongst itself, friend," Gareth said. 


"lam all too familiar with them, sir sculptor," said the traveler. "Many 
years ago | was occupied all my days in observing and recording 
their petty squabbles. But now | am... free of that obligation." Gareth 
noticed for the first time the notch carved into the man's left ear—the 
mark of a slave sold to the Foundation, or an outlaw taken by its 
knights for his crimes, and pressed into the D-Caste. "Now | am 
engaged in a different sort of occupation." 


"And what might that be?"