“Stab, stabedy, stabby, stab.”

***The World***

***Paladin***

The man in dark leather looked down on me, curling the corners of his mouth in disgust. Half of his face was hidden by a hood, but that couldn't hide the utter disdain he felt. He would have been the perfect image of an evil sorcerer, weren't it or the white kitten he was holding protectively in his hands.

Or was my death causing hallucinations? No. I had seen people die because of wounds in their guts plenty of times. It was neither painless nor quick, and it was a death sentence if not treated by a skillful healer. Yes, they would start talking mad stuff, but that was only after fever and infection had driven them mad.

Without wasting another second on me, the man turns and vanishes in a shower of sparks.

A mage! The man was a mage and he had left me to die with a barbed spear in my guts! A spear that was cursed with the ability to banish the victim's mana. I was as helpless as a child right now and that man who could have saved me with a few seconds of his time just left me to die. To become food for the carrion eaters!

“Oh, darkness!” I cursed. “The light truly abandoned...”

Suddenly, the man reappears, still holding the kitten. His mouth opens in obvious surprise as he looks around. I gape myself, despite the pain in my guts, astonished at his return.

Then his gaze falls onto me and he reaches out, pulling the spear out of me in a single, smooth motion. The very same moment, I can feel healing magic pouring into me, restoring me with a power I've never felt before!

“Stop!”

He stabs the spear right back into my stomach and I suck in a sharp breath, too surprised by the pain to scream.

“Praying!”

He pulls the spear out and this time I do scream, feeling every barb rip through my flesh.

“To!”

Healing magic washes over me and I sigh in blissful relief – but the speartip falls again and relief turns to agonizing pain as the maniac twists the weapon in my guts. It feels almost as if I can sense the hooks catching onto my intestines.

“Me!”

Then he vanishes again, leaving nothing behind but a trail of sizzling energy.

Raising my head, I inspect the damage, only to find out that the maniac left me in a worse state than before. My guts are spilling out of me, blooming from my belly and fanning out around the spearshaft like a horrible flower.

“Holy Motherfucker! The light truly abandoned-” I stop mid-curse as the man reappears. Without hesitation, he reaches for the spear.

“Nooo!” I call out, long past caring. “I didn't pray to you, you insane son of a bitch! Why don't you just end me!”

He kneels down, getting right into my face. “If I kill you, there is nobody who can tell the other mortals not to pray to me! You have to live for long enough to tell them to summon me is a very bad idea.”

“But- I- didn't- pray- to- you!” I hiss out between my teeth. “All I did, was cursing the light!”

His eyes widen and he gets up, mumbling to himself. “That means that the world enchantment doesn't just react to prayers. It reacts to anyone and everyone who despises my opposite just strongly enough.”

An arrow plunges into his left thigh, and he looks down at himself. Looking up, he scans our surroundings as if realizing just now that we are on a battlefield. Spells are flying, men fighting, screaming and dying. Though, none of them seem to pay attention to us.

Drawing the arrow out of his thigh, he breaks it, veins bulging on his hand. Hovering at the edge of consciousness, I notice that there is no blood.

“Those were my favourite pants!”

And that's when I realize for the first time that this man isn't just a maniac with magical powers. A dense weight settles down on my chest and an aura of blue magic appears around the stranger. It gains in intensity until all I can think of is man's presence and his power. The pain fades into the background of my mind as red tendrils of pure magic wash in waves out of the man.

It's as if I am facing the sun and I suddenly know that this being could wipe out everyone on this battlefield with a wave of his hand.

The fighting around us stops gradually as the awareness of this presence spreads. The feeble-minded crumble first under the weight, but soon enough there is complete silence as men fall to the ground, something within them crushed like an ant beneath the boot of a man. The weakest of them simply drop dead, their spark of life blown out like candles in a tornado.

But if we are nothing more than insects to this existence, then what does that make him?

***The World***

***Ascathon***

“Puny, little mortals!” I reach out and rip the spear out of the man's guts. More blood and other contents spill out of the wound. Calling out, I address everyone around us, “You squirm and struggle in your puddles of mud! It's always the same. Each of you should be locked into a little cage of his own! That's the only way to stop you from killing one another! Not that I care! I stopped caring long ago.”

Reaching out, I cast a healing spell on the man who is responsible for my presence, the power behind the incantation strong enough to reassemble his body in a split second. The wound in his stomach closes abruptly, cutting off what was hanging out of him. Then his organs squirm beneath his skin as his body struggles to reform what was lost.

His pale complexion pales even further upon seeing the miracle.

“Get up, worm!” I order, and when he isn't fast enough, I pull him to his knees by grabbing the shoulder piece of his chainmail armour. “I'll teach you what it means to call upon me!”

“B- b- but I didn't do anything...” he whines, and a wet puddle forms beneath him.

That's when I realize that I got so angry that I released my aura in the presence of mortals. That probably killed most of the weaker ones among them. I halt for a split second, but brush the weakness of feeling sympathy aside. It doesn't matter, it's not like their lives mean anything in the great cycle of things.

Easing up a bit, I leer down at the shaking wreck of a man and drop the spear in front of him. “I said, get up!”

Trembling he takes the spear and gets to his feet, very careful to point the weapon away from me. Then he looks at me, fear in his eyes.

I survey our surroundings, searching for a first suitable target. A soldier in a similar outfit is still alive, just five metres away from us, so I shove the worm in that direction, towards the man who is half unconscious and foaming from the mouth. “That man, kill him!”

“But- he is one of my comrades.” The shaking man clutches the spear to his chest.

“What do I care!? I tried to leave, but I just appeared in front of some other poor beggar, then I was teleported back to you! Apparently, I have to help you, or I’ll be just teleported to the next sod!” I scream at him, causing him to flinch like a scolded child. “You called me to this place in order to kill people! Do you really think that the gods discern one worm from another!” I point at the incapacitated man. “Kill him!”

He steps back. “You should listen to yourself. You don’t make any sense.”

“I don’t make any sense!?” I look down at the incapacitated man. “He says I don’t make any sense.” Returning my attention to the trembling spearman, I scream. “I don’t have to make any sense to you! I am an immortal being beyond your comprehension! And because of certain circumstances, I am forced to listen to you!”

Bending over, I drop Fluffers to the ground and pick up the downed man at his chest piece. He struggles, but I break his arms like twigs and he screams. They all scream, but I learned to ignore it. I rip off an ear, claw away a pound of flesh. Sometime during my work, the spearman bends over and pukes on the floor. It takes me a minute, but when I am done, there are only bits and pieces left.

Fluffers meows and waddles closer to the puddle of blood, lapping at it and ignorant to the scene of me carving a mortal apart with my bare fingers as if he is nothing more than a piece of clay. “I already tried to change this world once. A thousand years of peace, of enlightenment and learning! And look at you people now! You are back to fighting each other with swords! I don't even dare to ask for the reason of this battle!”

Turning, I point a bloody finger at the spearman. “If you refuse another order, I’ll do the same thing to you!”

His face loses the last bit of colour and he nods, sinking to his knees in submission. “I have sinned, for I didn't recognize the bane of the Mirai. A thousand years of tyranny weren't simply forgotten. The stories all say that the Necromantic Empress had a familiar, a ghostcat. I called upon powers beyond me and this is what I reap. Forgive me for not recognizing you. I thought you are a woman, at least that's what the stories tell.”

“I am a man!” I kick the sorry excuse of a worm. “Don't question the affairs of those beyond you.”

“Forgiveness!” He falls onto his knees, worshipping me. “The affairs of the gods are beyond mortals. If the Necromantic Bane was a former avatar of yours, then I am not to judge.”

I ball my fists in rage and frustration. Great! Now, this worm thinks that I am some sort of gender-confused transvestite! I would like to see him being reborn as a female slave. In my opinion, throwing a temper tantrum against the world was a perfectly reasonable reaction! Not that I have anything against one gender or the other, I just feel more at home as a man.

Most of the time, a reincarnating soul also gets a vessel that fits. Like, nine of ten times you end up in a suitable body. But there must be some glitch in the system, because once in a while you end up fucked – quite literally!

Ripping the worm apart would be so satisfying. I could go through the whole battlefield, but without witnesses, the stupid amulet will just keep summoning me from one place to another.

I'll just end up in front of the next idiot. The sooner I teach them the proper amount of fear, the faster I get back to taking care of my own business. I'll break this idiot and make sure that those who find him see the terror in his eyes from a kilometre away.

Pointing somewhere behind the worm, I select the next closest survivor of my aura outburst. “There is another one over there. Get going.”

Suddenly eager to follow my orders, he crawls in the indicated direction before he gets to his feet. “H- how many will you have me kill before you are satisfied?”

I purse my lips and stretch out my senses, trying to sort the living from the dead. “Let's start with the five thousand and seventy-two people who survived my outburst.” I don't bother counting how many are already dead on the ground.

With that, we begin the gruesome work and I make sure to give the guy my special treatment. At first, the worm was reluctant to follow my instructions, which made me wonder how a person like him could end up on a brutal battlefield.

But under my tutelage, he got the gist of my intentions quite quickly. I explained in great detail what I would do to people who caused me to appear in front of them, be it because of a prayer or a curse.

Similar scenes repeated themselves throughout the following days, and as I was forcefully teleported around the world, I noticed that the unavoidable chaos which came with the advent of the gods slowly subsided. Some countries fell apart during those days and new powers used the opportunity to rise. I never paid much attention and only ever did the bare minimum to satisfy the amulet, leaving my so-called worshippers with the wish to never summon me again.

It took some time, but finally, the mortals got the hint that something world-changing had happened. The gods were real, and a prayer or a curse – spoken with enough devotion – could quite literally bring down heaven or hell on their heads.

After a few days – which felt endless to me – the stupid world enchantment finally decided that I should get some time off. Or rather, Tjenemit decided that he wanted to speak to us.

I appeared in Studio 7, among the other gods and with Tjenemit standing in front of us, writing something in his notes. Looking up, he quickly counts us with his pencil. “Perfect! All of your are alive! We had a few glitches with the teleportation settings. You probably noticed that the enchantment just kept teleporting you to your next assignment? That was intentional, of course.”

I look down at myself. There are mud and blood sticking to my clothes... and other stuff. I flick the torn off fingernail away. Intentional my ass! Someone fucked up the code. That's a grave oversight, especially when weaving a spell on that scale.

Pulling at my shirt, I give up on looking presentable. After two days in the field, I stopped trying to clean myself. How should I build a reputation which makes my followers fear to summon me when I appear in front of them naked because I was in the shower. Then there is the little problem that I never appeared in a nice place. Not once.

Taking a quick glance, I notice that most of the other deities in our little pantheon look tired and that their clothes aren't exactly in the best state. Though, some look decent, like Marigold and Nazareth... and the suit of armour, Myrm was his name? Not that plate armour would need more than a short wipe-down. Seria looks also decent, though her tight expression tells me that she is pissed.

Tjenemit continues his speech, “Seeing that most of you managed to build quite a reputation, I decided to ease up on the amulets teleportation conditions. Previously, the parameters for recognizing a 'devoted prayer' were set quite loosely. I tightened those a bit. Now, you should get a few hours of rest each day.” He nods and vanishes, taking a pathway to who knows where.

As soon as he is gone, Seria screams like a fury and hammers her fist through the table in front of her. “I was teleported to sick and dying people all day long! Not to mention the births!”

Nazareth wipes a pearl of sweat from his forehead. “Wayshrines all the way for me. I had to tell lost wanderers the direction they should take. Do I really look like a navigation tool?”

“Something similar happened to me, brother.” Marigold pats the gnome on his back. “I had to guide the uncivilised races on their path to war. We are both nature-oriented deities, so this usage of our time feels quite offending.”

Other gods join in, sharing their own stories of how they had to suffer and endure the presence of lesser beings.

Myrm nods, his movements seeming tired. “Yes, but didn’t any of you notice how much bad stuff is happening in that world? I know that the place is a crossroad of pathways, and therefore has a lot of strong souls in it, which in turn leads to a lot of battle and strive. But I was teleported from one horrible event to the other, some of them potentially world ending! First a battlefield with an insane paladin who murdered all his comrades and tried to create a bloodrite on an epic scale. And it didn’t end there. Necromantic plagues, mutated wizards whose demon summonings backfired, a mad scientist who tried to use magic to create a nuke!”

“I actually was fond of that guy,” I interject. “Hope you didn't kill him. If there is one thing for which I can forgive people summoning me, then it’s the pursuit of knowledge, so I told him where he went wrong.”

The room falls silent and I realize that I spoke out loud.

Myrm shoots to his feet. “You told him to blow up the elven capital!?”

I raise both hands in defence. “I did nothing of the sort! I just told him how to get his device to work! How should I know that he wants to use it against his own people?” Or that he has no idea what would happen if it activates. I might have forgotten to tell him that there is no limiter on his matter to mana conversion tool. “That aside, who cares for elves? They always get the snotty souls. And before you blame me.” I point at myself. “God of Chaos and Magic. Is it really my fault what others do with the knowledge? I just answer questions.”

“Yes!” Myrm calls out. “The people on this world aren’t ready for nukes or any other weapon of mass destruction! Especially not when the Council just turned their world upside down by making gods real! The world is in chaos because of us.”

I dismiss the argument with a wave of my hand. “I know, I know. And Prometheus was chained to a stone for bringing the mortals the fire. I have seen that particular world go through centuries of strive. It’s an unending cycle that can only be halted temporarily.”

Seria groans and gets up. “Sit down, Myrm. As insane as it sounds, that’s why Tjenemit gave Ascathon this job.” She looks at me, pulling down the corners of her mouth. “He is just too good at it, and I hope that he will try to avoid doing world-ending stuff.”

I nod. Seria may not be my official boss, but I know that she has connections to the Council. Better not to draw the ire of someone like that.

Then she addresses the whole room. “As much as we dislike it, we are in this together. Let’s at least try to work with each other. The Council set this up so that we are forced to get involved in the world, but nobody said that we have to make our lives miserable for each other. Maybe, just maybe, we manage not to step on each other’s toes?”

Sighing, I lean forward and place my face on my table, which is situated to the far right of the room. “Wake me up when you are done… or when the stupid amulets start teleporting us once more.”

I must have fallen asleep, because when I wake up I am falling forward and only my quick reaction saves me from planting my face on a dirty street. Groggily, I try to understand what’s going on. Then I remember the amulet around my neck and the ordeal it caused. The stupid thing must have teleported me somewhere. Again! Will I ever get a few hours of rest?

At least it isn’t another battlefield, or some dirty ritualist’s cave.

Though, my current surroundings don’t look much better. I am on a wide street between two large, wooden buildings. Apparently, the locals are using it as some sort of market place. There are countless vendors shouting their goods and prices while a steady stream of people meanders in both directions.

Most of them look poor in their shabby clothes, but there are also those who are clearly upper-class citizens in their fine robes and with expensive jewellery. Without exception, those individuals are guarded by several guards as they busily pursue some unknown goal.

Turning, I notice a frail girl in a small cage right next to me. Her aura is strong, but she is still a mortal. The collar around her neck and the shackles leave me without a doubt what the random assembly of cages and the wooden platform in front of me mean. On the platform, a mean looking fella is lounging on a stool like a king, waiting for someone to show interest in his goods.

Nobody seems to have noticed my arrival.

“They didn’t lie,” the slave in front of me says. “They said that the gods have returned and that they now intervene in the mortal world.” She grabs the bars of her cage and presses her face against her prison. “They were warning us not to pray or to curse, but I didn’t listen. For a whole week, I wished for you to be here.”

“Oi, kiddo.” I shake my head. “Do you have any idea who you summoned? I am not the hero in shining armour. I don’t do saving.”

Her eyes flash in anger. “I don’t want to be saved! I want them to hurt. I want them to suffer! And I don’t care if I go with them as long as I see them scream. You have the power to do that! I thought for a long time about to whom I should pray. To Myrm, who fights for the light and the law which landed me in this cage? Or to Seria, who can only ship me to the afterlife? Or maybe to the one who burned down this world and built a new one from its ashes? They all curse you, you know? But my mother was a teacher before we lost everything because of our debt. She showed me the true historic accounts, and the Mirai were a great people. They had strict laws, yes, but no slavery.”

I study the girl who can’t be older than fourteen. She is a real blabbermouth for her age. My eyes involuntarily wander into the distance as her situation reminds me of one I found myself in. Being a slave is no fun indeed. I notice her swollen belly, probably to be expected in a situation like hers. Most of the slavers I know like to test the goods if there isn’t a promise that they will sell for much more in an untouched state.

The seller notices me and gets up from his stool. “Hey, no talking to the goods. Either you buy, or you leave.” With a lumbering step, he approaches and I smile.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a gold coin and fling it into the air, catching it with ease. “How much? I am afraid that your sorry excuse of a merchandise will require a lot of change.”

The man’s eyes are drawn to the shining metal, gaining a glint of their own. “Fifty silver. She may be used, but she is young. You will also get two for the price of one if you buy her now.”

I look down at the slave. “I may get two, but one of them will be a useless mouth to feed. As I see it, that lowers the price significantly. How about giving her to me for free?”

“Just kill the lil bugger when it’s outside and you have no expenses,” he suggests. “Or pay a good healer and cut it out.”

I study the coin in my hand and fling it from one hand to the other, deciding that I’ve heard enough.

While the asshole’s eyes are still following the piece of shiny metal, I reach out and grab his throat, squeezing his windpipe shut. It takes a great amount of experience to do it just right, allowing the victim to breathe just a little bit while ensuring that he can’t scream and not doing any permanent damage.

There is no sound, but he struggles as I pull the sharp edge of my special coin down his forehead, over his eye, and along his cheek, blinding him. He flails, with twitching urgency, but it's like holding a toddler. I repeat the process for his other eye, creating two deep ridges of rapidly decaying flesh in his face.

Then I pull him closer and whisper into his ear. “Tell the world that those who darken it have to answer to the gods.”

I notice that it’s far too quiet around us and that people are looking in our direction. The closest of them may even have heard what I said.

Man, I am way too good at this stuff...

I let go of the slaver’s windpipe and he starts screaming while clawing at his face. Rolling over in the mud, he tries to get away as pieces of darkened flesh flake from the cursed wounds. Getting up, he blindly runs down the road and the people part in front of him like water.

I pay the subsequently panicking masses behind me no further attention. They are of no consequence to me. Instead, I kneel down to get to eye-level with the girl. “Don’t take this the wrong way. As I said, I am not the hero in shining armour, and I am not going to save you. What I did to your keeper was simply a result of him interrupting us. I don’t like being interrupted.”

She nods.

“Good.” I raise the bloody coin so that she can see it. “I’ll give you a chance to save yourself. Actually, you have three choices. Either you send me away now and never summon me again – otherwise, I’ll kill you. Or you let the coin decide. Heads, I’ll kill you now. Tails, I’ll give you the power to escape.”

“Why the game?” she asks, suspicion clear in her voice.

“Because I like games, and I won’t just help you for free,” I reply, playing with the slippery piece of metal.

“I am much better with dice. If we increase the odds, would you be willing to grant me the power to punish all of them?” She looks me straight into the eyes.

I huff and use force magic to shape the coin into a twenty-sided dice. “I’ll kill you from one to fifteen, from sixteen upwards, I will grant you more and more power.”

“How much power?” she asks.

I raise both eyebrows, getting annoyed with how long this is taking. “Do you really have the time to question whether I’ll help you or not? I am sure that the city guards are on their way, and if this place gets too annoying, I’ll just up and leave.”

She considers the dice for a moment and then takes the slippery object out of my fingers.