Roars, howls, death cries, all the screams of battle sounded around Malan, peddler, healer and harbinger of change. The latter recently added, and starting to grow on him.

Prost, god of the first tribe of Kolune he had found, had provided the location of another clan. It had been a day travel of running to find and make contact. The meeting had gone extremely well, all thanks to the Heon. The second clan was even worse off than Prost, due to its nature and the god it had brought into existence.

A god of conflict and violence. A fitting form given the simple minds of the Kolune that worshiped Stron. They hadn’t been careful with their encounters with the Heon, which led to repeatedly ambushes and unfavorable fights.

The same could be said for the current battle going on, but this had purpose behind it.

Around him, in haze of movements, Kolune clawed, bit and pummeled groups of Heon. In turn the hairs riddled the Kolune with spears holes and deep stabs wounds with their stone knifes. Some of which broke, leaving behind pointed edges that would fester if left unattended.

While the Kolune were killing many - a swipe from their claws enough to rip a person right open- the Heon had them greatly outnumbered and out armed. The spears were taking their toll, and the Heon weren’t that bad at throwing them either.

Point made as a Kolune to his left roared in rage and surprise as one sailed forth and rammed into his back. The projectile went through muscle around bone and almost took out a lunge. The poor soul tried to rip it out, but the weapon was lodged in a spot he couldn’t reach. That and death was drawing closer, the Kolune had many wounds spilling out his life blood.

He wasn’t the only one either. Before Malan was a proper skirmish, dozens of Heon, against twenty Kolune. Or had been, they were down to seven, no six, one just got his throat slit.

Yet even with them clearly losing, the Kolune refused to retreat. They had a purpose, a mission, besides they wouldn’t have outrun the hunting parties.

All interesting detail sure, but it held little of his attention. Area was thick with spilled blood, with Devotion slipping away. Malan got to work, spending some of what he already had, he performed the arcane miracle; willed the unclaimed Devotion to him.

Glowing tendrils surged into him as the place began to be drained of power. The dead watched, Kolune and Heon. They remained distant though, even the most hateful. They were terrified of him thanks to their instincts granted them some sense, and keeping them from trying anything foolish.

Instead, majority turned their attention to the battle. At first they had tried to fight each other, rage still coursing through their beings. But that quickly feel away as their strikes did nothing, they couldn’t be harmed, destroyed, or killed a second time.

Only a few, goaded by their emotions, had tried to deal their hate at the living. They had attempted to claw at them, only for their forms to pass through unnoticed.

Soon the dead would have feed upon the life around them. Trying desperately to hold on to enough strength to interact with the realm.

But such an act was denied, he was here and all that was spilled was his to claim.

So the dead watched, and comforted those who joined them, let them understand the limitations of the Glen. It wouldn’t be long though, the pull to reincarnate was taking its toll, already some began to depart, heading towards their people.

Malan had his attention pulled away from the departed as one of the little crazed killers shouted a call of triumph. The Heon slayed another Kolune that had been swarmed and punctured with spears.

“See my feats Glor!” The Heon yelled. “Empower me so I may add more to your collection.” This Glor responded, Malan felt a presence fill the place and power go into the worshipper.

Muscled bulged, eyes went wide and crazed. The endowed hunter leaped away from a cooling corpse and in blur rushed towards another Kolune. Said Kolune swept at the haze but was too slow and taken by surprise. The Heon rammed his spear into the warrior stomach. Even made of wood the strength behind the act had the weapon go cleanly through.

But the Kolune was no fool, he grabbed hold of the spear, kept it in place as the Heon at first tried to pull it away. The Heon abandoned the weapon, pulled out a stone dagger instead and moved to attack from the side and climb upon the large foes back to stab him to death.

But to the shock of the bestowed, the Kolune matched his speed. The Heon found himself grabbed by the arm. The Kolune, mouth open wide, bit into the neck shoulder region and in one quick pull, tore a large chunk of flesh from the Heon, who instantly died.

This turn of events was the act of a second god, Stron. He had been carefully bestowing blessings throughout the skirmish. It was the reason so many Heon were dead, and that there were any Kolune left.

The victor of this brief duel dropped the corpse and readied himself for more to come. For the Heon to avenge their fallen. And they did, also because of the glory they would earn for killing one who had bested a blessed.

Stron responded again, all of the remaining Kolune surging with strength. They charged head long into the horde of spears, the act sending Heon flying back bleeding as claws and teeth undid flesh and fur.

Malan - tail slightly wagging no matter how hard he tried not to - watch, inwardly gleeful to feed upon a battle of this size. It also let him see what the opposition was capable of. Which to say, wasn’t much.

While the gods had reserves of power he couldn’t match. Their knowledge and skill to use it was abysmal, everyone was still too young, still trying to understand the scope of what they were capable of and still being formed by their religions.

Right now, from both sides, he only saw the enhancement of strength. Pushing mortal frames passed the limits imposed upon them for a short time. There were no demands on creation, the ignoring of rules, the shaping of elements. Nor did either god manifest themselves into the realm. It was only slightly uplifted mortals against others.

The more he saw, grasped the limitations of the new, the more he craved to act, to uplifted these feeble minded, bestow them the knowledge and infinite wonders he had excess to. If only he had the power, had excess to a Source Core again. Things he could, the society he could craft.

Alas he had neither, but at least the former was slowly building. A few more skirmishes like these, and he could flaunt his master over the realm, show these fledgling gods what an old one could do. There was the temptation to do it now, perform a miracle and sunder this clan of savage hairs, but that would be the act of a fool and a youngling.

Such a feat would only have him marked as the threat. The foe to look out for and band together against. He would not fall for that trap, not again.

This time is would be this entity named Glor, let him extend his reach, attack all around him, he would learn the folly of it soon enough.

The Kolune, deadly foes even without being clothed and armed with nothing. Killed a couple dozen more before they were butchered.

Their limp bodies were fell upon, all of the Heon eager to have a trophy.

They tore them apart.

The fur was skinned and readied to be turned into cloaks. The meat and muscles were quickly cut and bound in wrappings of leaves. Bones and claws were fought over especially the Skulls. Heon dueled each other over the rights to them. Duels that weren’t to the death. Like those of old, these Heon still had a tightly knit communal attitude towards one another.

The fights were violent, intense, but afterward everyone got along.

Such traits should have him worried, and maybe if he were younger, he would have. But he knew such strength and unity would make them all the more a threat, something to be used to bind others.

It had already worked in gaining Stron support.

Which he should be getting back to, the skirmish was done, and with one last miracle he sucked the land dry of Devotion. The warriors had fulfilled their purpose, the hunters from Glor were suitably distracted by all the materials they could use to make trophies. They had forgotten there was a village nearby, another target to be attacked. Or would have been if the place hadn’t been abandoned.

While the majority of the fighting males stayed behind to die for their tribe. The rest, women, children and young males. Had departed, heading for Prost people.

The march wouldn’t take as long as it normally would have, Prost followers had moved closer to Strons.

The change in destinations would give them peace for a time, since the Heon would have to find them again, and they would, the little salvages needed the fights since their culture centered around it.

They were the perfect tools for him, a force that would constantly generate battles to feed upon. He just had to make sure the savages didn’t kill off the Kolune before they had a chance to become a counter force.

‘An infant pantheon should do the trick.’

Strons aggression, and Prost defensiveness was a good balance. Would keep the united tribe going once the Heon found them again.

‘And if not, I can always contact this Glor character, make a deal with him, guide him to other gods.’ Either way he would get his battles to feed upon.

-------------------------------------

At a hurried, but cautious pace, Stron followers had reached their new home within three and half days.

The distance wasn’t as great as one might have expected, the terrain and dense forest slowed travel. Gone were the days of paved roads and well-worn paths. There was only the rugged march and pestering branches to look out for.

A fact that would fluster the Heon as well, and make it harder for them to sneak up on warry Kolune.

Prost had also listened to some of his wisdom. Once they arrived Malan saw the bone god tribe had cleared the area around their makeshift settlement. The place was barren of densely packed bushes and grass. No Heon, or hunter of any sort, would be able to hide themselves nearby. The downside was the cleaning also made it easier for any scouts to spot the village from afar. But that was a fair trade; the Kolune would be found eventually, and would be prepared.

The Heons reach with their spears had to be curtailed, which meant the Kolune had to be enlightened ever slightly.

To achieve this, he had offered to Prost the knowledge of making rudimentary shields. At the price of a day’s worth of collected Devotion from its following. A simple show of what the shield could do, their purpose, had gotten the god of bones to accept his deal without protest.

Marching behind the refugee group, their number twenty-five. Malan caught sight of warriors new equipment, the size of them was enough to hide half of their body. The shields were made of wood, and bound together from tightly woven vines.

It would do, and was the best the Kolune and their god were capable of. Getting Prost to remember the details had taken numerous attempts, and in the end Malan himself aiding with the vision to bestow the clan leader with insight.

Prost for all his open, well thinking mind, was not by any means a scholarly god. To foreign of concepts were forgotten the moment the visions was done. It had been a trial to come up with a version of shield that the Kolune and their god could remember enough to construct.

But they had succeeded, and when the Heon came, spears in hand, they would find themselves in a great deal of trouble.

The sight of the wooden shields, along with the clearing around the village, had the members of clan Stron gazing with wonder filled eyes.

Wonder, it was quite amusing, the things he could show them, the power they could have if they were his people. But they weren’t, and with trained patience Malan kept himself from trying to convert some of the mortals into his religion. While Prost had become relaxed around him, kind even, that all would vanish the moment he tried taking followers away.

Speaking of which, with the new arrivals in sight and the clan becoming aware of them. Prost formed himself within the Glen, so did Stron.

The god of conflict and harsh lessens had a form riddled with scars. The wounds were deep and impossible to miss thanks to the added detail that Stron fur was black as night.

A fact all the more blatant to see since unlike Prost who had pelts that obstructed some of his form. Stron was proudly nude, a fact no one seemed to notice. Only Malan, he was the odd one here, a cultured soul within the wilds of an untamed age.

The Kolune gods approached each other as the two clans began discussions. An amusing endeavor, since Stron people were primitive in language. They mostly used body language and the occasional lone word, completely at odds with Prosts who had a verbal means equal or near enough to societies of old. Though with massive knowledge gaps in concepts that were entirely unnatural.

But clan Prost adapted well to this after a few exchanges, repeating things often and mimicking Strons people movements. Discussions were well underway, with no signs of tension between either group. Both were relaxed since the meeting of their peoples were brought about by the desires of gods.

Happy with the progress Malan took note of the two Kolune deities.

Stron spoke first. “Odd place,” he said eyeing the area. “Odd things.” He added while looking at the shields Prost warriors carried. Some had become marked with sigils to Prost, the beginnings of a religious symbol.

“Gifts,” Prost spoke, gesturing to Malan. “From our mutual friend.” Stron looked back, and again eyed him up and down. The conflict god always did, he suspected it had to do with the fact Stron couldn’t see his body and that troubled it.

“Odd friend, yes” Stron said. “Ashamed of body, hide like pup, or runt. Yet not weak, knows things.” The god gazed into his eyes. “Does things.”

Prost nodding his head. “An oddity, but not a foe. He has kept my children safe, provides visions of the enemy that seeks to end us both.”

“Have seen,” Stron said returning his gaze back to the god of bones. “Suffered wrath,” the god added running a finger down a scar on his chest. “Followers kill mine, make trinkets.”

“Mine as well,” Prost said, the two sizing each other up. For Kolune gods thing were going extremely smooth, cordial. These Kolune, much as with the Heon, were not like those from the session before. Still intimating, obsessed with a muscular form and physical prowess. But they weren’t belligerent and didn’t expect to be revered.

He had first thought it due to Prost position, but he saw now that wasn’t the case, it wasn’t woven into Prost frame work at all. The Kolune weren’t like that anymore, didn’t expect to rule others beneath them.

Something clearly seen from watching the two tribes, while Prost people had the upper hand, they were polite. Welcoming to the refuges and made a point to be non-threatening.

They were civil barbarians, if nurtured they would flourish. Bring about some stability that could either lead to order, or the foundations of Wonder.

But for now, they were another tool, a piece to bring about the battles he desperately needed. A means to keep the emerging gods in check while he built his power base.

“Will we watch each other’s backs?” Prost asked, extending a hand towards the other. “Since our enemy comes for us both.”

Stron fur ruffled with amusements and clasped the offered hand with his own. “Brother made; enemy shall die.”

Their bodies shimmered slightly, a connection formed, a fledgling pantheon brought into being.

‘How easily it is to get people to come together when mutual destruction is in sight.’ It must have been effortless for the Pantheon of Nature to come together and beat down his father, to so eagerly sunder an open threat.

‘It’s no wonder why we lost.’ His people had made the realm its enemy, and the denizens of it had answered in kind. Now Glor would experience the same fate, once Malan brought together a few more tribes.

Speaking of which. “Sun shines on this moment,” he said gaining their attention. “And will radiate brighter once more have been brought into this coalition.” He gazed kindly at Stron, maintaining his friendly demeanor, one that could be a lie or a truth. It all depended on how they developed. “As agreed, your people have been offered safety, and now I ask for the sights of others you promised.”

Stron let out a grunt as he smiled, and with a wave of hand the visions Malan wanted played within his mind.

Another tribe of Kolune, one occasions dealt with and seen. The following he saw had a affection for wear masks of rock or clay.

“They odd group. Like you.” Stron said standing shoulder to shoulder with Prost. “Make land,” Stron gestured to the ground. “Do things.”

Malans ears perked up. ‘Arcane weavers?’ Now that was a group close to his heart.

“They cowardly though,” Stron added. “Keep to selves, flee from trouble. But strong,” Stron tightly closed a fist as a point. “When choose to.”

‘Stronger than you probably realize.’ Malan thought to himself. And if the god of that tribe was smart, then it would make sure to avoid showing its true potential same as him.

“Now would be a time to be strong,” Malan said. “And if they have mighty warriors to hide behind, I’m sure they won’t flee.”

Stron grunted in amusement, eyes moving to the joining clans, appraising them. “Yes, mighty warriors.”

Malan bowed. “I’ll be off then, and do my utmost to bring this tribe to you.”

Devotion flowed from Prost, a line of power that headed his way. Malan accepted the offering that was greater than the amount he had gained from the death of Strons twenty warriors. “May fortune favor you harbinger.” The fatherly god said.

“May it favor us all,” he said in turn and left.

---------------------------

With a decent amount of Devotion dwelling within him, and a long enough report to justify the cost. Malan, as he marched through the overgrown forest, sent a report to his fellow gods of Wonder. Outlining the state of his area and the oddities he had noticed. He asked for similar visons in turn whenever they were able, eager to see what problems or fortunes they had come upon.

After, curious of the strangeness Stron tribe had present. He began to look back at the state of clans. Prost and Glor clans weren’t normal, both were too developed in ways that made no sense. Especially Glor since his Heon have developed weapons before any other tribe had shown signs of doing the same. Nor did they really need to.

The Heon had claws and teeth deadly enough to kill prey, and their ability to out breed extinction was well displayed. Yet they had knives, spears, a developed language, one full of hole sure, but compared to Stron people; it made no sense.

Which meant an outside force, and he had his assumptions.

He thought of perks aimed at affecting followers. He found within his mind a very long and troubling list. A few added details and he found the sources causing these discrepancies.

One perk allowed a Sovereign when they took hold of a godly mantle, to bestow knowledge that would allow the people the ability to make weapons. But only one, which meant this Glor character had selected this perk twice. Along with another that endowed the population with higher cognitive thinking. That was a very pricey perk to unlock, which made sense. Smarter followers, grander imaginings, the more complicated the god and its abilities.

Knowing this put Glor in a different light. The deity wasn’t an accidental threat that had come about by luck, but a Sovereign with an unknown number of perks activate.

Thankfully only three of these perks aiding followers could be used at once. At least for Malan, there were other unlocks that increased the amount to five, but the cost of doing so… well he just prayed Glor wasn’t that far ahead of him when it came to merits.

The truths spurred on his already hurried pace, Glor had to be dealt with, a counter formed to keep it from growing to quickly and solidifying its hold over lands. The latter of which was already happening, as he ran, he came upon more and more Heon.

Hunting parties were everywhere in the areas Stron tribe had been, the Heon knew that the Kolune had fled, their prey nested in new places. And the groups were looking desperately to find them.

It wouldn’t be long before Prost and Stron were found. The new village wasn’t that far off from the previous one, and with the number of hairs running about. They would stumble upon it at some point.

He didn’t except it to take long, but that estimation changed the more he traveled to the places Stron had shown him.

The number of hunting parties went up drastically, and were all in a rush. They headed in the same direction, he followed them, their numbers growing with each passing hour.

‘Rock faces’ was commonly used as he listened to the hushed chatter. The Masked ones had been found, and apparently were putting up a strong enough fight to gain the attention of the Heon as a whole.

Males were racing to be the ones to kill and claim the bodies of such worthy adversaries. The news had Malan racing ahead, running passed the many groups of hunters as he hurried towards the location all of them were centering on.

Battle had already taken place, the land dis-levelled and forest broken. The arcane work these masked ones used focused solely on ground manipulation. The way rock was shaped and used- stones walls, and spikes were common- left little doubt to him. There were no bodies though, and the life blood that had been spilled had flowed away and consumed by the land.

So he headed deeper, following the path of destruction and Heon. It took him to a small hill covered in trees and vines.

Heon surrounded it, many looking for an opening. They knew their prey was inside; and by the sensation he felt, it was clear Glor was watching through its following. The god of hunts wanted this tribe dead, or maybe like its followers, it found the Kolune of warping stone to be opponents worth fighting.

Either way it wasn’t looking good for the Kolune hidden within the hill. Glor was empowering its hunters, their muscles bulged and veins glowed with divine blessing.

Emboldened and going a little mad from the rush, he watched as mortals hammered and clawed at the hill, slowly burrowing their own way in.

The Kolune answered this act harshly, from those spots where hunters began to make way, the stone warped and in a blinding rush surged and speared the groups of Heon digging.

The hunters went still as the surprised shouts from their dying kin echoed. Some clawed at the spikes for a handful of seconds before death took them and they hanged lifelessly. The mortals stared at the dead while Malan himself began consuming the Devotion spilling out.

The souls of departed separated from their ruined vessels and simply stared at their corpses. The swiftness of their deaths stunned them, but it didn’t last. The surprise and shock that had taken all gave way to anger and eagerness.

Heon clawed at the hill, calling out for blessings and receiving them from their god.

For a moment Malan waited for the answer of stone again, for Devotion to be spilled and him to feed. But as the minutes passed curiosity had him moving. He to approached the hill, but unlike the mortals willed himself through. If there had been some form of sigil or domain in place, he wouldn’t have been able to do so without cost. But the hill was normal and unprotected by such things.

A few steps through and he entered into a small chambered, no light, though he could still see everything perfectly. The place was empty, both of people and their mortal made tools. All there was to look upon was barren rock, the sight made him chuckle.

“They’re not going to be happy when they find this.”

Looking around, his eyes aimed at the floor he studied the surface and found some, unnatural distortions. It wasn’t something the mortals would pick up on, but as a stone carver himself he saw the oddities.

Sinking into the floor, head first. He came upon a thin tunnel that led away from the hill. Entering it fully he hurried his way down the passage, noting at the shoddiness of the work. The walls were rough, and ununiform, not the perfect arch paths his roots of Wonder had been. Also the thinness of the tunnel was a bit claustrophobic, but he supposed those making them were in a bind and didn’t have the time to spend on craftmanship.

A fact made more prominent the further he traveled, the stone became more forcefully pushed rather than guided into shape, and the hall itself become even smaller. If he were a mortal he would have been walking half turned and horribly crouched. But as a denizen of the Glen, he continued to walk unbothered as his form phased through the walls like air.

A few minutes into his walk he came upon the tribe, what was left of them.

Huddled together in a tight chamber, all breathing heavily, they sat on the floor. Most had taken their stone masks off; maws open wide as they sucked in air. He saw mostly women, half of whom were pregnant. There were children, ranging from infants to half grown pups that could walk on their own. The only males in group were of youth, not quite grown enough to be consider adults, but close. It was they who were still on their pawed feet, but barely. Two pairs were working on the stone, slowly shaping a path. But their miracles kept petering out and it wasn’t because of a lack of Devotion.

Their bodies were at their limit. They had pushed against creation too much, and now creation was pushing back. Taking its toll on bodies that weren’t designed to sway the realm like gods.

The young males still tried though- against common sense- and suffered for it. One began to cough up blood and fell to his knees, others went to his side. The boy wasn’t going to die, yet, but one more try on his part and he might.

Another male, older looking than the others, slammed his fists against the stone before sighing defeated.

“Rest,” said the leader. “We too soft, too weak.”

The other two males slumped to the ground, soon joined by their leader. Seconds went by with nothing of note as the chamber echoed with the sounds of tired breathing.

He approached, wanting for a domain to appear any moment for him to smack into. But nothing barred his path as he came to stand in the middle of the chamber, and inspected the remnants of the mask wearers. There was forty-one Kolune in total, half being of, or near adult age. Like the other Kolune he’d come in contact with these didn’t wear clothing. But they did have trinkets of stone, earrings, arm bands, rings, the usual affair mortals deemed luxurious.

Humming he looked about, searching and quickly finding the woman wearing the most. She was given space, and of the lot the least tired. Cradling in her arms against her pregnant stomach was a shrine. It was a perfectly craved cube, with godly sigils on each of its sides. Glowing light of Devotion pulsed from it rhythmically within the Glen.

“Search for us,” the woman and clan speaker said. “God aids them, they find us soon.” The chamber filled with unease and dread. The mortals were at their limit, more Devotion wouldn’t help them personally. If they had been his people, he could save them, uplift their mortal frames, ascend them closer to godhood, where creation wouldn’t be able to crush them under its wrath.

But this god of stone didn’t have access to such abilities and knowledge, nor was he even sure -if he was willing to share, which he is not- that the entity would be able to hold on to the secrets he could provide.

“Pray,” the speaker said. “Beg for salvation,” she held the cube closer as she closed her eyes. The rest followed in her example and soon the room filled with light as the cube reacted; its sigils coming to life and beginning to glow.

Devotion was being readied, power condensed for a purpose, it caused waves in the Glen and creation. Something unnoticed by normal mortals, but those with higher senses would feel it as much as he. The masked ones had just given away their position and if Glor was after them personally, he now knew their location.

The chamber trembled and small pebbles fell from the ceiling. It happened again and again, shifting his sight he gazed upward and saw the source. The Heon were amassing, and those already above were punching and clawing their way down.

“Save us,” said the Speaker. “Myock, molder of realm, save, please.” Others voiced these words, the Cube glowing brighter and brighter. The chamber stopped shacking, it began to shift instead and harden. With a gasp, eyes open but distant, the speaker let go of the Cube that floated and rose into the air.

Malan stepped away from it, arms parted and stance one of submission. An act of care on his part, even though this Myock didn’t given him a speck of notice.

The Kolune watched their god with reverent eyes, and desperate conviction as the runes flashed with blinding light. the Cube shot upward and stone followed it as the roof moved like water.

The ground on the surface bulged and before any of Heon had a chance to flee, it warped into a plane of spikes. Corpses were carried away as the roof to the chamber broke off. The land began to break apart, floating upward to form with the growing mass around the Cube.

An avatar of stone came into being, its form that of a hill sized wolf.

It roared, the land trembling as it landed heavily on ground that rippled. Heon tried retreating but the ground under their feet shifted, became that of mud where their paws sank into. Stone spikes came after, piecing through chests or stomachs, they were barbed so they held and carried the bodies upward into the sky.

Myock wasn’t content with just that, leaping and bouncing about it slaughter Heon with claws, teeth, and the sheer weight of its frame.

The battle had shifted, the Heon were now at risk of being undone.

At least that would have been the thinking of someone less knowing. But when it came to battles between people, of beliefs, in the end it came down to gods.

Myock had formed itself, consolidated its power in one place, and displayed open challenge to those who had come to slaughter its people.

Glor answered in kind.

The realm rippled with the weight of power, the act gaining the attention of elemental. Thrillful laughter echoed in the air as that power came together, surging blurringly fast at the wolf.

Stone shot up, making a wall, yet it wasn’t enough. The being smashed right through, but the wolf was giving enough time to dodge as the figure flowed passed.

A chuckle and the entity turned, pawed feet digging into the dirt to slow its pace. That was when he got a good look of Glor. A male Heon with sand colored fur, ordained in tributes of bone. He wore the skull of a Kokune- one polished clean - over his head with eyes of power that gazed through the empty eye sockets.

He surged forth, his weapon of choice in hand. A spear of wood but one artfully made, and covered in sigils. The tip was intricate, yet still wood, but the shaped gave a sense that it could have been painted metal.

The wolf made more walls, tried blocking Glor as it worked the ground. But Glor was too fast, and too light on his feet, he didn’t sink into the ground, and easily sailed through the air with powerful leaps. Myock answered with javelins of stone shot from multiple directions, but Glor dodged them or with his weapon knocked projectiles away.

At the moment things were at a stalemate, but Malan know that wouldn’t last. Glor had intelligent planning eyes, was tracking everything and making ground. Myock on the other hand was all thoughtless action. The difference of gods was shown before him, one simple, the other complicated. One that thought, planned, and one that merely acted.

Even if they had been on the same scale of power Glor would still win. But the scales weren’t even, Malan could feel it, the density of Devotion, Myock was lessening, while Glor was become more.

The Kolune were going to lose, a god was going to die.

Laughing loudly, Glor touched ground, his spear radiating light. He did not leap again, did not dodge, he lunged forward his weapon leading the way. Wall after wall he shattered through, a vertex of power shielding his front, he was a blur, and this time Myock didn’t have the time to evade.

The two gods crash into each other, the battle closed. The spear sunk deep into the chest of the wolf, stone cracking apart, but the form held, and the wolf tried biting off the head of Glor. He retreated, spear leaving with him, only for both to appear from the other side in a blur of movement.

Again the elemental god tried to counter, but Glor was too quick, stone couldn’t reach him. Raged, Myock let out a might roar, the realm around it coming undone. All the earth warped and surged upward, a plane of spikes.

Glor jumped high into the air, avoiding the devastation, and from his high up angle the Heon god collected power into his weapon. Twirling about, the Heon throw the spear, sent it racing down. The air hissed and rippled as it sliced through the space and eventually pieced through the wolf, the force making it slam into the ground.

The rock formation trembled, struggling to get up and hold its shape.

Power pulsed from the spear, undoing the rock.

“I see you!” Shouted Glor from above before he fell upon the immobile wolf. Intricate dagger in hand, he sliced through stone like air, cutting away rock and digging deeper as the spear kept the avatar from acting.

“Got you.” He yelled and plunged the dagger down.

Malan felt a mental cry echo in the Glen. The wolf crumbled apart as Glor removed his spear and leapt. Attach to the dagger was the Cube, Devotion leaking out of it.

The sight had Malan eyes squinting. The Devotion that touched the land was up for grabs, if one knew how to take it. that wasn’t something that happened before, and the sight was both intriguing and unsettling.

Glor threw the rock upward and in a seamless move speared it.

the Cube shattered.

Devotion radiated outward bathing the area in power. Enough that if it remained it would cause life to bloom and bring about things that could one day become gods themselves. Or a symbol to lure in followers to finish the process.

The land filled with cheers, the Heon chanting the name of their god as he surveyed the ruined plane. Malan lowered himself back into the chamber and reentered the tunnel rather than remaining in the center of the exposed room. The Speaker was still, lifeless in a way. She stared at the floor with dead eyes; She knew what was to come.

With a mighty leap Glor traveled the length of the destruction, landed at the edge of the hole. He stared down at the defeated Kolune for a few seconds, before joining them in the chamber. Kolune pressed themselves against the walls, giving the deity as much room as possible. He paid them no attention, no his eyes moved and centered on Malan.

Quick as in the fight, the spear lunged for him, pieced his chest… but nothing occurred

He knew that would happen, still he felt a rush of concern. Things were different, maybe the act could have caused him to lose his Devotion. But no, he was in the Glen, an observer nothing more.

Glor didn’t seem to understand this though, his brows furrowed and his confident smile fell.

Malan found himself stabbed at several times, Glor growing increasingly annoyed that he couldn’t be slain.

‘I’m not alive,’ he thought. ‘Nor contained within a material form.’ There was nothing to slay nor destroy.

Due to this fact and Glor’s speed, he didn’t bother trying to dodge or flee. He simply stood there, letting the god have his moment. But he did glare at Glor and fold his arms to make a point that the god was wasting his time and making himself look like a fool.

To the mortals watching the sight it must have been baffling, the god was attacking thin air to them, gone mad, not the best appearance.

With a grunt of frustration, Glor stopped and slammed the butt of his spear into the ground, making the tunnel shudder and rock crack. The god wasn’t done though, next he punched at Malan, even clawed, both acts passing right through him.

Glor hissed and straightened himself, then they stared at each other for a good moment or two. The frustration on Glor slide away leaving behind a smug Heon. “You’re a tricky one.” Glor said with a laugh as pointed a finger at him. “But I’ll find a way.”

“I’m not a foe.” Malan said back.

The Heon laughed. “Well of course you’re not, you’re prey.”

This was not going to go well.

“I’m not that either.” He said back.

Seeing the dangers of forming an avatar, he had no inclination of doing such a thing.

Glor rolled his eyes, mocking smile on his lips. “Well, you’re not a Heon, nor part of my tribe, you’ve been skulking around my hunting grounds, helping my prey get away. Don’t think I don’t know that. I may not understand what you are.” Glor looked him up and down. “But I can tell you are not one of mine. So,” the Heon gestured with a hand. “What else are you but prey? I mean, you’re not a threat that’s for sure.”

“An observer.” Malan said wearing a practiced smile.

“Observer hu?” Glor said before leaning closer, the smug smile replaced with a scowl. “Then you best go observe somewhere else.” He waved to the troubled Kolune, while they had talked, Heon had arrived, spears pointed down. “Kill them my children,” Glor spoke and waves of cheers echoed.

Malan made a point not to watch, there were children in that group and unborn.

“You know since there isn’t anything else left to observer here.” Glor added before turning away from him and joining his people.

The Heon were quick were their work, they dragged the bodies out and began dismembering them.

Malan himself left the tunnel, and gazed upon the land ruin by two gods. Counter to what that rude Heon had said, there was in fact something left to study. Slowly he approached the remains of the stone wolf. Large chucks of it were still whole, the largest piece being its head. The Heon were having trouble with it, they- like the rest of the pieces - aimed to take it to their village. A tribute made from a slain god. Which is why he stared at it so intently.

“Jealous, aren’t you?” Glor said, tired of waiting on his mortals and hefted the head up himself to carry. “Weak little curiosity that can’t do a thing.”

Malan remained quiet; his enemy would get no words to think on. Glor received only silence as he gazed upon the stone corpse.

In the session before, an avatar destroyed would dissolve, leaving nothing behind. Yet the rocks, even though they had originally been part of creation, had been worked into the avatar. They should act the same, yet here the corpse remained. And the rock was not just stone anymore, it was more. Extra and potent energies and hues wafted from the material in the Glen. It was special, the stone could be used for things, he wanted to experiment with the pieces. Found out as much as he could of the changes the Celestials had brought about.

But Glor wasn’t going to allow that, he eyed the stone with equal interest, and was making sure every speck was being gathered.

“Get your own corpse weakling,” Glor said to him as the work finished and those of the great hunt began to leave. They had gathered their dead, the corpses laid side by side and stripped of their trinkets.

The mortals began a funeral of sorts, gave praise to those lost, recited their deeds. Those especially fond of were gather by the living, made ready to be carried back to the village. The others would be left to the land, their trinkets used instead as an item to be given to loved ones or passed down.

It was clear the Heon didn’t want to leave anyone behind, but too many had been lost. And those that remained lacked the tools, even knowledge, to make a cart that would help them carry the dead.

The souls of the departed didn’t mind, honors and respect had been given. The dead were at peace and gathered around the living, keeping close to those who held their trinkets.

Glor saw this to and with one last glare aimed at Malan, had the hunting party leave.

He didn’t follow them, their destination was obvious, and Glor was already annoyed with prolonged presence. It was best not to sow the seed of deep hatred.

Besides there was something more important to be done. Malan performed his miracle, sucked the land dry of Devotion spilled by god and men. It was quite a gathering and helped sooth his soured mood.

He was going to have to broaden his search, even do it blind since Prost and Stron didn’t know the location of any other tribes.

‘They might not be willing to help.’

If he found tribes to far out, they might think themselves safe, regardless of the visions and warnings he would give. And he would, every tribe he found would know of Glor, of his intentions and open hostility to all.

Prey or not prey, that seemed to the mental frame of which Glor and his followers saw the realm. It would be their undoing; he would make sure of it.

‘I just hope it doesn’t take a decade or two.’ He thought as he began to leave.

‘Help,’ echoed a foreign thought, a sending. Malan went still. ‘Help,’ it repeated and he tracked its source with hurried strides. A distance away he came upon the echo. A small pebble with a pulsing hue, it was trying to get his attention, and so it did.

Bending his knees and leaning over it, he stared at the speck of rock that had been part of the Cube.

Myock still existed, even with all its followers dead, it clung to this form. A rare thing, he’d seen gods dissolve the moment they lost all their mortals.

‘Is this another change?’ He thought. ‘Or the Sovereign refusing to let go.’ Myock was the same as him now, a god without a source of power, a mantle nothing more.

“There’s not much I can do,” he said to the stone. Again, it sent the request for aid, but with a broad intention, any help would do.

So he gave a sending of his own, the cost nothing given the distance between them. He showed Myock images of Prost and Stron, the two clans becoming one and how they had wanted its tribe to join as well. He showed that this could still come to pass, that they may welcome it.

Pulsing’s from the stone ceased, almost dormant as the being clinging to that speck of material thought.

“What do you say Myock?” He asked. “Will you help us, so we can help you?”

A long silence fell.

‘Revenge,’ echoed a sending and its intentions.

He smiled at the rock. “Revenge will do.”