‘They stole Gneil!’ Disbelief filled me, quickly replaced by horror, then outrage. ‘What do I do, Ket?’

I knew the answer even before she replied, ‘Creation. Quickly!’

I tried to stay calm as I blinked open the Augmentary once more. If I’d had hands, they’d have been shaking badly. Luckily, I needed only my thoughts to negotiate my way through to the blueprints, and a moment later I had the fox before me once again.

Scanning through the other options, I picked the one that stood out to me the most – the cave spider – and selected it, ready to combine with the fox.

Not quite knowing what to do next, I hurriedly cried, ‘Creation!’ and dragged the blueprints together.

Nothing happened.

‘Foolish rock!’ scolded Ket. ‘You don’t have enough mana right now to mix vertebrates and invertebrates! Weren’t you listening to a word I was saying earlier?’

Truthfully, no, but her tone suggested that admitting as much might be the last thing I ever did. ‘Verter-whats?’

‘Bones, Corey. The mana cost for combining creatures that have internal skeletons with creatures that don’t is much higher than you can afford right now.’

Well, that’s inconvenient.

I reconsidered my options.

‘Hurry!’ Ket moaned.

‘I’m trying!’

The cave spider was now out of the question; without a larger creature to combine it with, there was probably no way it would be capable of bringing down a squirrel, let alone a kobold raider.

Speaking of squirrels…

‘Now, Corey!’

‘Ugh!’

I mentally gritted my teeth and selected the only remaining option that made sense: the squirrel.

Just like when I’d cast Growth, I saw – and felt – my mana rush out of me as the two blueprints combined. Even though the Augmentary showed me exactly how much mana the ability would cost me in this particular instance – precisely one globe’s worth – I still felt a twinge of panic as I watched it drain away, leaving me with barely a fifth of a globe to my name.

As my mana poured into them, the two blueprints entwined, merged, and then began to change. The blue lines and symbols moved faster, faster, blurring and brightening until they became a blinding silver mass. I recoiled weakly, but remained focused on it, hoping, pleading.

Please be the size of a fox. Please be the size of a—

The glowing mass spat out a creature. It dropped to the ground, landing lightly on all fours and then sitting back on its haunches. Russet fur coated most of its lithe body; its belly, throat and pointed muzzle were white. The legs – long and slender – were black all the way down to its clawed feet, as though the creature had just waded through tar.

All in all, it looked very much like a fox, though perhaps not quite as large. The only concessions to its squirrel parentage were the beady black eyes, furry finger-like toes, and tufted ears sticking up vertically from the top of its head. Oh, and the tail. To call it ‘bushy’ would have been an understatement; it lay curled around the creature’s feet, almost the length of its entire body, and looked fluffy enough to be harboring several baby birds.

Disappointment quickly began seeping in.

It doesn’t look very dangerous.

The creature sneezed, falling over its own black-fur-tipped feet to plop onto its rump, a surprised look upon its face.

We don’t have time for this. That kobold still has Gneil!

‘Ket, how do I make it go?’ I asked.

The squirrel-fox – squox? Forrel? – quirked its head to one side as though listening.

‘Can… can it hear me?’

Its eyes narrowed.

‘Go!’ I commanded it.

It cocked its head to one side, back legs twitching as though about to spring. Then it lifted a leg to scratch behind its ear.

‘No! What are you doing, you half-witted ball of fluff?!’

What if that kobold fancied an afternoon snack en route and decided to chow down on Gneil? My disciple might be being devoured at this very moment!

I focused all my mental energy into flinging the command at my flea-ridden creation:

‘Go.’

The raised leg jerked back to the ground and the squirrel-fox sprang forward. Muscles bunched and stretched beneath sleek red fur as my new creation sprinted down the tunnel in the wake of the kobolds.

I followed, and was several feet into the passage before I realized: ‘I’m outside my Sphere of Influence!’

‘No, you’re not!’ Ket sang back happily, easily keeping pace with me and my squirrel-fox. ‘Each time you Ascend, your Sphere of Influence expands.’

Splendid!

The squirrel-fox – forrel, I decided – showed no signs of slowing, not even for corners. When it encountered a bend in the tunnel it leapt up and ran along the wall, toes splayed and claws somehow finding purchase on the damp rock.

Within seconds we caught sight of a distant silhouette. Its shoulders were burdened with a lumpy shape and it jogged awkwardly, as though limping. A thrill ran through me – we’d caught the bugger! – and I urged the forrel even faster.

‘What happens if I go outside of it?’ I panted to Ket. I wasn’t actually exhausted or out of breath, of course, but old habits die hard, and it seemed exercise had never really been one of mine. ‘My Sphere of Influence, I mean. What if I leave it?’

‘You can’t leave your Sphere. It’s not possible.’ She said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘If you or any of your god-born creatures tries—’

She broke off with a gasp as the forrel smacked into an invisible barrier and rebounded, tumbling over and over from the force of the impact.

‘—that will happen,’ finished Ket.

I gaped at the squirrel-fox as it staggered to its feet, then I eased myself along the passage to the point where it had been repelled. True enough, I found my own way blocked by an unseen force, like a stiff, transparent curtain. I pushed myself against it, tentatively at first, then harder, but it was no use. There was no getting through.

‘What now?’ I watched helplessly as the kobold limped further and further away. We were so close!

‘I was saving this for later, but… use your Augmentary. Look underneath Creation.’

‘What?’

‘Quick!’

I skimmed down to the bottom of my list of abilities. There, nestled beneath Creation, was what appeared to be some kind of sub-ability.

‘Avatar,’ I read hastily. ‘Tier three ability; no mana cost. Choose one god-born creature to become your avatar.’

‘Do it, Corey!’

‘Wait! What’s an avatar?’

She made a strangled, exasperated noise. ‘It’s… it’s the physical incarnation of your divine will. Your representative, if you like. Now hurry!’

‘This thing? But it’s just a forrel!’

I stared down at the fox-like creature. It flicked one tufted ear at me and swayed on its haunches, still dazed from its impact with my Sphere’s boundary. This was to be my champion? Really?

Ket made a noise almost too high for me to hear, and I immediately tried to recoil. The sound hit me like the mental equivalent of a backhand slap.

‘Corey, are you seriously considering letting Gneil’s kidnapper get away, just because you think this… forrel… isn’t impressive enough to be your avatar?’

The sprite was right: I was considering it. But I was also watching half of my entire source of worship moving further and further away on the shoulders of a limping kobold. There’s always a choice, I’d told Ket earlier. Now, it seemed making this thing into my avatar was the only smart choice available to me.

‘Corey…’

‘Fine. Fine!’

Unsure what to expect, I focused on the confused-looking squirrel-fox and thought, ‘Avatar.’

Immediately, its appearance began to change. Its forelegs bent into elbows, now resembling the furry arms of a squirrel more than the legs of a fox. Its back legs lengthened; it writhed, rolling onto its back, where I couldn’t help but notice ‘it’ was actually a ‘she’. Then, with one smooth movement, my new avatar flipped herself upright so that she was standing on two legs.

I gaped as she took a few tottering steps, her bushy white-tipped tail curling up to compensate for her lack of balance. Her dark eyes shone with intelligence as she surveyed her surroundings from her new bipedal vantage.

To my delight, the avatar tentatively began moving down the tunnel again without instruction. Once she passed the point where she had previously hit the barrier – in other words, once she’d left the limits of my Sphere of Influence – she broke into a run. Forgetting my own limitations, I instinctively tried to follow, only to meet the same invisible resistance that had knocked the squirrel-fox onto her back just moments ago.

Trapped, helpless, I watched anxiously as my avatar sprinted off into the distance.

She moved a little unsteadily on her new legs, but the avatar was still far quicker than the injured kobold raider. In a matter of moments she had caught up to the distant enemy. I squinted from afar, but could see nothing more than a sudden entangling of two-legged silhouettes, hear nothing but the scuffle of bodies and a series of furious barks which could have come from either combatant.

Already accustomed to seeing everything with my god’s-eye vision, I found this new blindness unbearable.

‘What’s happening, Ket?’ I moaned. If I’d still had hands and a head, I’d have been pulling my hair out. ‘What’s happening?’

If Gneil was lost, I’d have no means of gaining the power I needed to escape from my gem. I’d be stuck in the Grotto forever – if the remaining gnomes didn’t try to smash me first, that was. Superstitious buggers.

A pained squeal tore me from my thoughts, apparently signaling the end of the fight.

All was still. No movement and no sound came from down the tunnel.

They’re all dead, I thought despairingly.

‘Corey,’ said Ket softly. I barely heard her.

My first worshiper, dead. My avatar, dead, and only minutes after I created her. What sort of a god am I?

Stupid universe. Why put me in such an unwinnable position?

‘Corey!’

Snapping out of my maudlin reverie, I scanned the tunnel for whatever Ket was trying to draw my attention to. Given my current luck it was probably more kobolds, returning for another raid.

But the two-legged shape emerging from the darkness was not a kobold.