With a frown plastered on his face, Peter regards the notification screen in front of him, his eyes reading down the Qualifying List. Everwall appears to be the only city that he would be able to reach within the seven days, effectively blocking his entry into the Trials. Well, that’s not exactly true. There was one other option available, but going there was the last thing Peter wanted. Slamming his hand down on the map table in his tent, he swears in frustration.

Ever since Cael told him about the position of Primus, he hadn’t been able to get the concept out of his mind. Hunting the creatures around his camp lost its previous excitement as he found himself dwelling on the change he could enact with the power. His hope for his people, the resilient men and women who had become his new family, lessened as he considered their position. They existed at the edge of civilization, protecting trade and travel routes like the mercenaries they were. Should someone achieve dominion over all of humanity, however, his and his family’s freedom would be curtailed and they’d become nothing more than puppets.

Peter refused to let that happen. His life before the change had been nothing but an endless repetition of monotony. Genesis had been a shock, but it had revealed the core of who he really was, and he liked what he’d found.

“CRAIG!” he yells out, his loud voice making sure the entire camp can hear his words. It takes a few minutes, but his second finally comes running into the tent, sweat dripping down his forehead. It’s obvious to Peter that Craig had almost certainly been with his girlfriend, a young woman they’d saved who had managed to catch his eye, but he couldn’t care less at the moment.

“Wah you need, boyo?” he pants out, gasping for air between each word.

“Spread the news to the camp. We leave in one hour. Leave behind anything that can’t be carried in a running march.”

His eyebrow raises in a questioning gesture. Peter was not one to accept criticisms or questions of his actions, but he usually gave Craig a pass. The man was intelligent, savvy, and, most important, respected him. It hadn’t taken long for Peter to realize the importance of having a good second, and so he forgave Craig’s habits as long as they were alone.

“No doubt all of you have seen the notification about the Primus Trials. I refuse to let the Hunters become a useless puppet. We have 7 days to get to Farringham. It’s time to challenge that old man for his seat.”

Craig’s face pales at Peter’s words, nodding his head and quickly stepping out of the tent. The sound of shouting and rushed packing begins to fill the camp as the news spreads like wildfire. He’d been hoping to avoid Farringham permanently, focusing his attention on serving Everwall, but apparently that was no longer a viable option.

Plans were meant to be changed.

Han Yang sat on the cliff overlooking the town of his birth, his eyes unfocused as he read the notification in front of him. A predatory grin begins to unconsciously unfold on his face as he reads further and further. Quickly checking the Qualifying List, he sees that his town is just above the cusp of qualifying. He’d thought he’d felt something whispering in his ear when he had decided to spare those fools who walked in his way. There was a good chance that his decision had allowed his little kingdom to qualify.

The cliff he sits on lies only a mile north of the town, and he sits in a lotus pose above a 500 foot drop. The signs of the change are evident around him. What was once an endless bed of greenery and diverse wildlife is now dotted with craters and lifeless portions of dead land. Some were caused from the initial effects of the change, but even more had been created by Han Yang.

Looking out over his domain, he considers his life before Genesis. Life had become … boring. He’d always sought out challenges and intrigue, becoming a rising dragon in the underworld of his country. It hadn’t taken him long to reach the seat of power, and he had ruled over a criminal empire that stretched for thousands of miles. But, as with all things he conquered, it eventually became boring. The challenge was gone, as all those who posed a risk were killed. The intrigue was replaced with sniveling sycophants.

It hadn’t taken him long to make his decision, but he still smiled as he remembered the fires that had raged in their headquarters. He may have become bored with his position, but he had no intention of letting anyone else hold his seat. Better to burn it all down and let something new rise from the ashes.

Smiling at the pleasant memories, he hops off the cliff, falling down fifty feet before pushing down against the air below him. Instead of falling further, the push shoots him further up, arcing himself towards the town. This pattern continues for a few more minutes before he lands in the center of the town, the citizens immediately falling into a kowtow.

Oh yes, he thinks to himself, this could be very fun indeed.

The man with the knives walked through a desert, a trail of dead creatures behind him. A cursory inspection of each creature would lead the average person to believe that they were sleeping, but a more thorough examination would reveal the truth of the situation. Each had been expertly killed with a single strike to their weakest point. The strike was so small, so accurately cut, that it was extremely hard to discern unless one knew where to look.

Of course, the man cared nothing about this. He focused on nothing but his path, taking each step and casually eliminating anything that had the misfortune to get in his way. A small part of him loved the ease with which he could kill, growing in influence with each wanton elimination, but the larger part of him ignored the distractions, endlessly repeating the mantra that had allowed him to survive the hell of his past.

Get Stronger.

A notification distracts him for a second, his vision filling with the fated news. He’d been waiting for this particular update since he came back. Everything he’d done since then had been based around this particular notification. Killing the arrogant man in Everwall, the murder of the townspeople in the frontier town, removing the Guardian of Hamlet, culling the weaklings on their way to Farringham, and dozens of other actions had all been done with one purpose in mind, and one purpose alone.

Get Stronger.

It is for this reason that he frowns upon reading the notification. His saviors had never mentioned the need for towns. Was … was it possible that they were wrong? Dispelling the thought, he admonishes himself for doubting the saviors who had given him the mantra. They had seen the power in him, the sleeping Class that waited buried in his soul, and had given him the means to rise above his past. To overcome the torture that had been visited upon him and to ensure that it wouldn’t happen again.

Get Stronger.

Opening up the Qualifying List, he finds a town, one whose size fits his methods, which he can reach within the seven day limit. Never stopping his endless march, he changes directions slightly, heading towards a town called ‘Olympia’. As always, blood will be spilled, but it will have the same result it always has. Those who remain will become stronger to remove him and those who died were obviously not strong enough to live in this new world.

Get Stronger.

The saviors had perfectly explained it to him. Without conflict, none can rise. Without strength, none can stand. Without an enemy, none will remain.

Get Stronger.

He had to become that enemy, to push his people towards the strength that would allow them to stand on their own. Either they would survive his methods or they would die. The man had no fear of his own death, occasionally actively seeking it so he could end his tortuous existence, but he refused to betray the saviors. They only sought what was best for his people and he would carry it out.

The Lord stared at the notification in front of him, ignoring the worshiping cries of those who prostrated themselves around him. The people of Geneva had long since passed their casual admiration of the Lord, their feelings becoming closer to worship each day.

A smile breaks out on his face as he finishes reading, speaking the words that take him into the competition. His people let out cries of happiness at the sight of his smile, interpreting it as pleasure at their actions, but he doesn’t hear them. No, he is lost in his mind, imagining a world where he sits upon the throne and millions worship around him. Clad in luxuries beyond imagining, he would rule with an iron hand and punish all those who ever brought back memories of the bad place.

Standing up, he walks out of the hall, stepping onto the back of one of the worshipers as he refuses to alter his path. Letting out a gasp of pain, the worshiper thanks him for the honor but the Lord doesn’t hear the words. How could he? All those who worship are so far below him that responding would be a waste of his time.

He steps out onto the main street outside his hall, smiling as all the citizens fall to the ground in supplication. This is the way it should be. People should be awed by his greatness, not resistant and angered by it. His thoughts drift to Lilian for a second, the last holdout of the village whose presence had kept him from influencing his complete control. A warped and cackling laugh escapes from his mouth as he remembers her final moments. So long as he lives he’ll never forget the sweet sensation of letting go of her arm and the satisfying crash a few moments later as her body hit the water.

The citizens around him feel their moods improving with their Lord’s. They cannot comprehend the reason for his happiness, but its mere presence makes them feel better and happier about their lives. A few of the stronger villagers still harbor a small part within them that screams with frustration and impotence, but that smaller part is nothing compared to the controlling influence of the city’s leader.

Smiling to himself at the memory, the Lord walks over to the house that holds the only people freed from his particular influence. It had taken them a few weeks to find Geneva, but it was as he said. Birds of a feather flock together. The damaged and warped souls had made their way to Geneva and, while initially disappointed that he couldn’t control them, he had become elated to realize their similarity. Like him, his three ‘Divine Guardians’ had sought control and dominance over others, albeit in a very different way. An arsonist, a serial killer, and one whose crimes were unspeakable, they followed him not out of blind love but out of mutual interests. As long as he provided them with what they wanted then they would follow him anywhere.

Stepping into the house, he curls his nose at the blood on the walls. A snap of his fingers brings one of his servants forward, a bucket and washcloth in hand. The Guardians had … healthy appetites, and he’d learned early on that the one thing they did not share was his desire for cleanliness. It did not matter, however, as their usefulness far outweighed their annoyances.

Realizing that their boss has arrived, the three men step into the living room and face him, curiosity evident on their faces. It’s obvious they’ve seen the notification.

Looking at each of the men, feeling pride in their gluttonous desires, he speaks, ignoring the servants that throw themselves onto the floor at the sound of his voice.

“We will be on the top. If we succeed I will make sure you all get everything you want and more.”

The three men all smile, a disturbing appearance that would fill a normal person with disgust and fear. All the Lord feels, however, is excitement.

The snow falls around Astrid, piling up as she looks down at the two men in front of her. The tranquil silence of the snowy land is interrupted by their muted sobs, the full comprehension of the consequences of their actions finally settling in. Each gently trembles due to the cold and white flakes coat their thin bodies.

Taking a deep breath, Astrid steels herself for what must be done. “The two of you have been found guilty of four charges of rape and spousal abuse, as ruled by the Council of the Elders. You have passed beyond the bounds of human decency and shown yourself to be no better than the monster, hiding as Ein Jævel’s in human flesh. Do you have any last words?”

One of the men begins to cry, shaking his head in sorrow and regret. For him, Astrid feels nothing but guilt. Were his crime any less severe, she would advocate on his behalf, eschewing their harsh punishment in favor of helping him reform. Rape, however, is a crime with no chance of redemption. She silently mouths a prayer of forgiveness for what she must do to this regretful soul.

The other man just glares at her, spitting at her feet and refusing to make eye contact. Unlike his friend, Astrid has no issues ending the life of this kuk. He has accepted his place as a criminal and must die as one.

“I, Astrid of Grimstad, hereby proceed with the execution of two forgotten souls. May the Allfather forgive your souls, for we cannot.”

Raising her hands in the air, she looks to the sky and begins to murmur her prayer, only waiting a short moment before the Allfather’s son responds. A familiar feeling of energy flowing out of her body accompanies the gift, the Lord of Thunder taking his price for the spell, and lightning begins to form in her hands, a giant ball arcing out to grow larger and larger.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers as she casts it their way, the ball exploding upon contact. Small bolts of lightning light up the snowy field and would have blinded Astrid had she not already closed her eyes. She opens them after a few seconds to find the charred corpses sitting in the snow, slowly becoming covered in the white silence.

Just as she’s about to turn back, a notification appears in front of her. A frown appears on her face as she reads, growing more pronounced with each word. She minimizes it upon completion, not sure on what her actions should be. Trudging back to the Grimstad, she imagines what the Council of Elders will want. It only takes her a second to realize that they will make her compete, becoming their proxy to lead the world.

She sighs again. If only some other soul could have heard the voices of the gods.

Sitting high above the planet, floating in the near-empty void of space, The Watcher sits with open eyes, taking in every detail and processing it instantly. His brother had alerted him to some disturbance in this particular planet, but he sees nothing of immediate concern. Bine’s involvement is a worry, but without evidence of his crimes, Uriel’s hands are tied.

Another concern is the higher involvement by other outside actors. Uriel had Watched thousands of Primus Trials, always keeping his eyes open for those who would infringe upon his brother’s sacred duty, but very few had ever reached this level of involvement by other Waves.

What is it about this little planet that has interested so many? To Uriel it appears as nondescript as the thousands before it. Perhaps a few more returnees from Dungeon Worlds, but not outside of reasonable possibility. Certain species survived better than others and they were certainly not the best he had seen.

Was it their lack of technology? Their planet had been hit harder by the Limitation than others in its Wave, but certainly not the worst case that Uriel had ever seen. The Biwa Hoshi’s planet had been completely eradicated, but the species had managed to survive. This little planet was nowhere near the levels of desolation that Uriel had seen in the past.

Unable to figure out the specific reason, but still concerned about the possibility, Uriel quickly forms an Eye to leave above the planet. Other duties call him away, but he suspects that there is something different about this world, something that carries it down a different path. Turning away from the planet, he opens a portal to another place, stepping through and beginning another assignment in his endless Watch.

As soon as the portal closes, another quickly opens, thin tendrils of energy reaching out and connecting to the Eye. It takes a few moments, but the construct is quickly overtaken, false signals being sent back to its owner. A soft voice carries out of the portal. “Not this one, Uriel. You can Watch many, but these will be free of you and your brother’s chains.”