It was said that the time before the Progenitors was a hellscape for humans. The land had been a war-torn battlefield between humanity and the primordial chaos, the abominations and eldritch monsters that stalked the world. The beleaguered ancient humans blamed ancient evils and eldritch powers for their losses. It was only following the Ascension that humanity discovered that it was not eldritch powers that allowed the monsters to hold sway over them; it was the ability to Awaken, an ability that was not truly good nor evil. It just was.

Yet, looking at the primordial abominations that pulled themselves out of the darkness, Dharen understood some of the legends of previous ages. Undulating tentacles ripped at the ground, pulling hideous bodies forwards in spurts of momentum. A nightmarish combination of massed teeth and spikes rent forth from the monsters' cores, enough to make any man feel fear within his very bones. They moved with a brutal power, pulling free clods of dirt and tearing across the earth as if coasting on water.

Worse still was the difficulty in keeping track of the devilish beasts. While Dharen examined them, they almost seemed to flicker in and out within the cover of darkness. As if they were ephemeral horrors that were not truly of this world. It was no surprise that the villagers believed in the ancient superstitions of eldritch powers when terrors such as this stalked the night. Though he knew that these beasts were the creation of some sort of Awakened beast, those around him would not be so informed.

Dharen met the eyes of the guardsman at his side. The man gave off a surprising sensation of steadfast resoluteness despite the quivering in his hands. His back was stiff, ramrod straight as he gazed at the approaching enemy balefully. Though, admittedly, perhaps the majority of that was due to the “courage elixir” that dripped from his beard like miniature amber rain.

Pulling his crude bronze war-axe from its rope loop, Dharen prepared himself for a fight. He hefted the axe experimentally, flexing his grip on the haft. With a few swings back and forth, he accustomed himself to its balance. It was certainly not his weapon of preference, but he supposed it would have to do. Even had he a dagger at the moment, the monsters of this night would be more likely to succumb to a weapon more primal; he couldn't imagine that a small blade would be efficacious in the face of their many thick limbs.

It was fortunate, Dharen thought, that Awakening to Triumph had provided him with an increased strength and durability. Something that he seemed to still have despite his current role as Elath the Guardsman. It had been found that most humans, with few exceptions, had base stats of 5 across the board. Thus, every additional 5 attribute points was the equivalent of doubling the effectiveness of that stat. Dharen had barely dipped his toes in the pool that was Awakening, and he was already 60% stronger and 40% more hardy than he had been previously. In addition to that, he somehow had similarly increased agility and endurance - presumably due to his long years fighting for survival as a street rat. This was contrary to what he had always heard - that attributes could only be increased through the harnessing of soulseeds. It was a mystery to him, but nevertheless, he paid it no mind. hewould only grow more powerful as his Seed of Triumph developed.

There was not much complexity when it came to stats. Strength was simply strength of the body. Agility was body control. Vitality was survivability. Endurance was stamina. Charisma affected one's ability to influence others. Meanwhile, luck was a more amorphous stat coveted mostly by gamblers, though it provided surprising benefits on occasion.

The outliers were Spirit and Wisdom. Spirit was the pool of power through which humans could activate Awakening abilities, known as Boons, while wisdom affected the efficiency of that activation. Though Dharen’s Seed of Triumph caused an unfortunate loss in wisdom, he gladly accepted that loss in return for greater strength and survivability.

Dharen watched as a number of the primordial abominations approached a different section of the palisade. The guardsman stood staunchly, though he could tell by the tightness to their stances that they were deeply terrified. Tentacles stretched out from the beasts, ripping rough gouges from the thick wooden palisade. With ricti of disgust and anger, the defending guardsmen swung their axes at the nearby tentacles furiously. After a torrent of axe swings, the end of a single tentacle sheared off. With it came a spray of black blood that spun away from the mangled appendage. One guardsman brought a hand up to cover his face, shouting in surprise as the airborne fluid flooded his eyes.

In that moment, another tentacle swiped out. Wrapping around the guard’s waist, it tore him from his position atop the wall. He tumbled down onto the battlefield below.

The guards let out a collective gasp. Dharen thought for a moment. Technically, he did not have to participate in the defense. His main objective was only to escape the floor. If he desired, he could abandon the village now and search for the exit. Who could even blame him, when encountering such horrors? Especially when it was considered that this was all a simulation created by the Tower. These people were likely not real. Even if they once were real, they were long gone now.

Yet despite knowing all of that, he could not bring himself to abandon the people - whether they were figments of the Tower’s Challenge or not. Their plight reminded him too much of his powerless years. The years where he was lost, alone, and helpless.

However, he had no delusions of grandeur. He was not a peerless warrior, trained from birth. He was a street rat. He was nothing. But even street rats had their honor. And, well, perhaps he had been nothing before - but that was true no longer.

Dharen leapt from the wall. Hitting the earth with a roll, his newly strengthened muscles surged as he came to his feet. He pushed forward with reckless speed, small bits of earth ripping free in his wake. The fallen guard let out a scream as his skin was flayed from his bones by the monster’s sharp, spiked appendages. The tentacle pulled him closer and closer to the waiting monstrosity.

And then Dharen was there. Bronze axe gleaming in the torchlight, he raised it above his head. Then, it began to fall with the immutable inexorability of a meteor. Just as the axe was about to land, warmth flooded the golden Seed in his right wrist and he let out a Warcry. Strength and vitality flooded his veins as he roared his defiance, activating the ability.

The tentacle severed, split in twain. Before he lost his momentum, Dharen twisted his hips. Bringing the axe back up and around with one hand as he turned his body, he then met the haft with his other hand and continued the swing. The torque of his hips, the strength of his arms, and the effects of his Warcry served to culminate in a swing more powerful than he had expected. The war-axe buried itself deeply within the creature, eliciting a shriek of pain from the abominable creature. With a quick jerk, he pulled the axe free. Then, unwilling to press his (apparently lower than average) luck, he took the opportunity while the creature was dazed. He ran.

With the fallen guardsman in tow, of course. Seeing this, the other guardsmen behind the palisade let out a roar of their own, bolstered both by Dharen’s heroics and the still-lingering effects of his Warcry upon their stats. Managing to carry the wounded guardsman to the village entrance, he waited while the entranceway was opened.

“Bring him into the light!” A commanding voice shouted. With no reason to refuse, Dharen entered the pallisade and brought the man to the nearby torchlight, placing him upon a patch of grass abutting the wall. Within moments, a squad of 4 guardsmen surrounded them.

The man moaned, and the squad of guardsmen tensed visibly. Within seconds, his lips became tinged with blue and he heaved great, desperate breaths. He began to tremble violently, shaking his head with all the vigor of a feral cat that has captured a rat. Each of the guardsmen unsheathed their axes, faces turning grim. They cocked back their arms slowly.

With a start, Dharen spoke: “Wait a minute, what are you d-” He was interrupted as the wounded guardsman breathed a final, rattling breath.

A moment later, an ethereal form began to take shape above the guardsman's body. It twisted in the still air, drawing the very shadows themselves along with the remainder of the dead man’s life force into itself, forming tendrils of ephemeral shadow that flickered in and out of reality. In the next moment, it solidified. Just as vicious spikes and teeth began to sprout, four axes came down upon it. Then again. And again. Over and over, until the fledgling abomination was naught but a pulped and bloody mass.

A guard with an insignia etched into his armor spoke. It was the man from before, the one who had commanded the now-dead guardsman to be carried into the light. “It was a valiant effort, Elath. But it was too late. He was already dying, doomed to become one of them.” The man looked away, as if uncomfortable with the recent loss, before motioning to his fellow guards. "Perhaps we will save one eventually. But not this time."

With that, the group of men walked away, leaving Dharen alone with nothing but his thoughts and a mangled corpse. He stared unblinkingly at the remains of the man he had exhausted his body and mind to save. Bone-weary, both physically and mentally, he fell to his knees.