“On Esun, the Demiurge created but one species possessed of the Spark: Humanity. Though there are many facets of humanity: Demons, living, breathing embodiments of sin, the depth of their own depravity long devoured them, are one variant. Another are the Bound, magically chained servants crafted, at great expense to a of considerable power, from humans, willing or otherwise. They are perhaps even more tragic than Demons, for at least Demons choose their fate. The fourth variant I know of are the Skytouched, people chosen by Archons for a special, higher purpose, blessed with the gift of effortless flight, and the physical power of ten men. I know there are other subtypes of humanity that await discovery; I simply must find them.”

Oreanen Vainen, on variants of humanity across Esun

Level 14!

Helena felt the level up ring out in her brain as she slew a third of the six Bound chamber guards. Two swordsmen and one archer remained. The swordsman were sprinting towards her, but they were slow. She had , and they had nothing to counter it; Bound leveled drastically less than normal humans; their passion and ability to grow was gutted by the ritual that made them what they were. It was likely that her levels alone equalled the three remaining Bounds’ combined levels.

Still, they were tough, not being able to feel pain, and they had a stolid, unwavering determination that made putting them down difficult. She had to switch to a blade as they barreled towards her-- if they got past her, she knew they’d sound the alarm. She winced internally, took up a battle stance-- and stepped aside as Greg, gardener’s cap firmly on his head, strode out of the nearby hallway. The two swordsmen Bound, expecting a battle with a amateur swordsman specializing in archery, instead got Greg, moving like a crashing cascade of color as flowers made of light bloomed in the air around him and vanished as each blow landed.

“.” The two Bound stumbled backward, surprised and overwhelmed by the ’s onslaught.

🟌

Across the Palace, in a medium-sized training room, with Saral Falorn and Ronald Jay Stillbottums, of all Esultare, just having left, Tomas Calendom, a unabashed brute of a man, faced off against a bruised and barely conscious Prinner Wilholm, who had casually asked a simple, if profound, question, and had been rewarded with a stay near death’s door.

Prinner fell into Position One, a basic offensive battle stance, and surveyed his opponent, as Calendom was doing to him. Prinner outmatched him by three levels. As for Talents, Prinner knew from the arcgem readings they had undergone regularly that Calendom’s best were , , , and, of course, they both had , though the last would not be very relevant, as neither of them wielded magic of any kind.

Prinner himself had as his most potent Talent (with not being of much use in this circumstance), though he didn’t really know what it meant. He sure wasn’t feeling confident about his chances, that was for sure. But his alternative was death at the hands of the arrogant, thick-skulled thug across from him.

The battered ’s blood began to boil at the thought of Calendom standing victorious. As he thought about it more and more, his rage built like a wave of burning bile, coursing up up his heart and into his aching, pained neck and shoulders, then searing up to and settling behind his dark, bloodshot eyes, tension flaring through his body.

He dropped his sword and charged at his opponent, roaring out a rasping, hoarse, wordless declaration of his pain and rage. His fist slammed into Calendom’s nose, and felt something crunch.

Blood spurted out from Calendom’s nose, and he took a step back, lashing out with his blade at Prinner, who stumbled back and fell onto the ground as the full force of the connected. Calendom stalked closer, blood mixing into his beard and flowing into his mouth, his movements unsteady, his pain terrible.

“I’be gonna kill guh.” Calendom spat through the blood and broken nose.

No. Not like this. He was better than this. He was Prinner Wilholm, a . He had been, up until a handful of minutes ago, one of the five closest allies of the most powerful man in Esultare, arguably the world, and still had the potential to be that again. He was the second man in the last hundred years to learn , and it had taken him a week what had taken Stillbottums years. He was BETTER THAN THIS, ARCHONS DAMN IT!

As Calendom brought down his blade for a final, deadly stab, Prinner shifted, and the blade, made of some of the purest steel to be found this side of the Steeps, shattered against the desperate man’s breastplate, sending shards of metal everywhere. Struck dumb with shock, Calendom was left open for Prinner to scrabble to his feet, grab a shard of the blade as it fell towards the ground, and stab Calendom brutally, mercilessly, until all movement ceased.

Panting, covered in viscera, Prinner felt a notification go off in the forefront of his mind.

Level 17 earned!

Talent —

He could feel the bruises on his throat fading, and it was much easier to breath again. He sucked in air, standing there, considering what he had done, and felt his pride grow.

🟌

Bim Selkis, and , stood at the bottom of a set of stone spiral stairs, a five foot long glass case on a two foot tall stone plinth mere feet away.

Bim walked forward quickly, pulling out a small hammer from a hidden pocket in his dress coat. He was just confused-- sure, the Bound had been a problem, but there hadn’t been any other real security measures as he’d expected. It all felt… too easy.

As he, carefully as can be with what time allowed, shattered the glass containing the shining, three and a half foot long length of glittering, otherworldly metal, and moved to haul it up and run, he froze. The hairs on his arms straightened, a chill going down his spine as the temperature in the already chill room suddenly plummeted by fifteen degrees.

“I thought you’d be here, Selkis. Or Hughes, or whatever name you prefer to go by. You truly are very predictable, and your erratic usage of that damnable Talent gave me time to pinpoint where you were spending lots of time. I made preparations and put things in order.”

Frost engulfed Bim’s right hand, causing burning, ice-cold pain to spike up from his hand and through his arm. He felt his breath being sucked out of his lungs, felt his legs weaken. The sword! It was so close! If he could just reach out and--

🟌

As Prinner stepped out into the hallway outside the private training room to meet Saral and Stillbottums, a messenger sprinted up, waving down the two. “Sir! My Lord! There’s been an incursion at the gates! Some kind of woman as tall as a building and a mob of angry rioters have broken through the gates! The garrison is already moving to intercept, but some of them have gotten through the gates and are in the Palace!”