Levels, not equipment matters. Of course, you could get magical equipment, swords that light on fire, cloaks that can make you light as air, but no piece of equipment dramatically gives you power over others. It’s all innate, based on of how you best use your party that creates power. The gods balanced us well. Level 100s can be taken down by others. All you have to do is try.

Thrace’s fist crunched the helmet of the man he punched, the metal caving into his skull. He fell backwards dead into a plume of snow.

“Thirty-Seven.” Thrace muttered to himself.

His cloak was off now, revealing his tank top underneath, his exposed arms steaming from exertion. Around him, three more guards stood around him in a circle, spears forward, but they did not move. They were traitors. Commons who served as the foot soldiers of the Supreme One. If a rebellion were to spur up, the Nobles, too proud to deal with rabble, would send their Common armies to quell them. It was always successful. These men were well trained and could deal with mob armies. However, someone like Thrace was too much even for them.

He huffed, trudging forward towards one of the guards. The left one stabbed with his weapon, but Thrace grabbed the tipped and bent it with his fingers. The other attacked, only for his weapon to be yanked from him. The final man charged, only for Thrace to side step him, driving a spear into the guard’s stomach. He slumped over, gripping the shaft as Thrace drove it into the ground right through his body. He screamed and screamed, but Thrace still drove onward, letting his rage fill him as blood poured from the man, his friends helpless.

And one moved. He drew his dagger, and plunged into Thrace’s back, the metal digging deep into his flesh. Thrace roared, spinning around and breaking the man’s neck with punch, a sickening crack echoing as he spun into the snow several feet.

“Thirty-Eight. Thirty-Nine.” Thrace huffed, looming over the last.

“Supreme One… have mercy…” The guard quivered as the gigantic man stood over him, his gnarled hands wrapping around his neck.

“My Lady…listen very carefully.” Thaim whispered as the Hand walked down the hallway. “I will distract him. But whatever you do, you must not use any skills. He will find you the moment you do.”

Merrill nodded.

“Go quickly. Into one of the backrooms. Be silent.” Thaim waved, standing to compose himself as Merrill skittered away.

The Hand stepped out of corner, his seven-foot frame standing over the small man, a grizzly steaming grin plastered permanently on its face.

“Oh, ancestors give me strength…” he muttered to himself, trying to stop his knees from shaking.

Merrill had hidden in the closest room she could find. It was a small meeting room, with a table of minimal arrangement at its center. The walls were plain, laid with gray brick, a small flickering lamp hanging at the room’s center.

Merrill placed an ear to the door, trying to see if she could discern any conversation. She could make out Thaim’s shrill voice, stammering and stuttering. And she could hear… something else. Something almost… demonic. Like how she imagined an Ice Wraith would talk like. A gnarly voice, like an old man choking on smoke. It seemed more like a beast growling than someone speaking, and yet Merrill could just barely distinguish coherence to the voice. It made her shiver.

She crouched, looking under the door for movement. She felt it before she saw it. Heat. Overwhelming heat, like a furnace, first starting at the far end of the room, and growing hotter as the figure moved closer. A boot hit the ground outside, stopping in front of the door.

It was overwhelming. The creature’s gaze was like the sun, sending a plume of hot air into the room. Merrill covered her mouth, sweat drenching her as the room steamed.

The goddess awoke, nearly letting out a cry as Merrill reacted, locking her in a hold. She squirmed a bit, but soon passed out from the choke.

The presence was gone. The room had begun to cool down. A few minutes passed before the goddess awoke again, her golden eyes gazing up at Merrill from where she laid on her lap.

“What was that presence?” The goddess asked.

Merrill shook her head.

“Where is this? Who are you?”

“Not now. I’m just getting you out of here.”

Footsteps stopped outside the door. Merrill panicked, drawing a dagger. However, the room remained cool. A soft knock came on the door.

“Thaim?” Merrill said through the wood.

“We must go my lady.” Thaim’s voice called.

“Come on.” Merrill said, picking up the goddess. “Put this on.” Merrill took off her cloak, wrapping it around the blonde woman who was dressed only in a thin dress.

“Many thanks.” She said, wrapping herself in it.

“Agathe knows about the commotion outside.” Thaim said as they scrambled up the staircase to the throne room. “He was… laughing.”

“He didn’t want to stop us? I don’t doubt he could’ve killed everyone.” Merrill said, tugging the goddess by the hand.

Thaim shook his head. “I do not why he has done nothing.”

This is bad. He wants to hunt us. I know it. Merrill thought to herself.

“I must leave you here. I cannot afford being seen.” Thaim said as they stumbled out into the throne room. “Best wishes my lady. I will keep in contact.” He said, turning to look at the goddess in disdain.

“Thank you Thaim.” Merrill said, pulling the goddess with her.

“What is this place? The Demon King’s palace?” The goddess asked, glancing around as they stepped into the long hallway.

“This is the Capital Hearth. It’s the Supreme One’s palace.”

“Capital Hearth? Supreme One? Has the Demon King taken on a new title?”

“I don’t know who the Demon King is, but the Supreme One is pretty close to one I’d imagine.” Merrill smiled.

“Snow… Are we in Chelmer Mountains? The Issrian Tundras?”

They ran towards the gate, which was gnarled and twisted open from earlier. Thrace leaned against it, Milli at his side, healing his wounds. Severus and Anton stood a little away, watching for more guards.

“Boss. You’re back. This is the target I’m guessing?” Thrace said as she approached.

“Hand! We have to go. Now!” Merrill said.

Anton turned to her upon hearing this, fear swelling up in the pit of his stomach.

Thrace nodded, scooping up the goddess and Milli into his arms, before turning and charging away. Merrill ran out, nodding to both Anton and Severus.

Anton just stood there as the other two scrambled away. He looked out at the destruction. Bodies numbering close to a hundred, scattered amongst the snow. Broken spears and pieces of armor decorated the blood red streets. Some men were still alive, groaning in pain as the snows fell on them, burying them. A white grave.

Anton shook off his fear, and ran, disappearing into a back alley.

Agathe saw him from the Hearth spire. He smiled, steam pouring from his mouth. He memorized his face and would know it forever. He was excited. It had been so long since there had been an inquisition.