Lightning flashed in the midnight sky, resulting in thunder that drowned out the rolling explosions of distant artillery impacts. The sparking clash of steel on steel between the Highlander and War fought to drown out the cacophony of the battle that raged in the distance. The two warriors blurred in a violent dance of survival, neither sparing a moment of attention to their respective allies that were locked in their own mortal struggles of brutal dominance.

The two warriors clashed in the center of the arena, rebounding violently off each other only to adjust their footing or grips on their weapons, then continuing their attempts at killing the other. Every collision of force resulted in shockwaves of power releasing in concentric circles of dust, leaves, and other detritus floating away from the duo. The Highlanders eyes glared blue with power and rage, while noxious vapors drifted lazily from behind War’s yellowed teeth.

Rain fell across the Highlander’s bare skin washing away the gathered dust and dripping blood from wounds incurred during the short but furious clashes with War. His muscles were like taught rope, he wasn’t draped in muscle like the Warlord. If one didn’t see him swinging such a massive crude weapon around with sound barrier shattering force none would know of the true strength that hid inside his compact frame. He wore nothing but a pair of ripped cargo pants, having preferred fighting with no armor since his time on the Isles. His class Skills provided the protection he required, as well as the massive amounts of Stamina needed to fuel his powerful Abilities.

War, on the other hand, was a study in contradiction. He might have been the largest man the Highlander had ever seen, though he was old, even by System standards. A scar from some long forgotten battle cut deep across his left brow down past his cheek, leaving a milky eye that somehow still seemed to track the Highlander’s movements. His remaining good eye was a brilliant green that clearly reflected the frequent lightning strikes that competed with their own battle. A gray unruly beard cloaked the rest of his face, framing chapped lips and yellowed teeth. He wore a black robe that concealed a full suit of equally black armor, of which the shoulders, elbows, and knees sported short steel spikes with which the man had attempted to strike the Highlander several times over. His sword was an oversized two-handed scimitar with a jewel encrusted pommel. The weapon grew impossibly from the much smaller scabbard on his hip when he drew it, as if it shifted to match the Highlanders own crude weapon of choice.

The warriors squared off as the rain began to fall harder, obscuring visibility outside of the arena. Slowly circling each other hugging the edges of the remaining crumbling walls. Grim determination was etched across the Highlander’s face, while War simply grinned in anticipation.

“C’mon boy! Even if you defeat me here, I’ll just rise again. On another planet. At another time. Such is the curse of the System. If you join me, we can dominate this world! Think of the glory! Imagine the power we could wield!” War called out to the Highlander, attempting to sway him to his side once again.

“No.” The Highlander, never one to be accused of being long winded, responded before launching across the arena with enough force to create a vortex of water to ripple in the air in his wake.

Thunder rang out at the same time their swords collided like a pair of freight trains slamming into each other. The downpour of water ceased again momentarily as if trapped in time before gravity pulled the errant drops to splash into the mud at their feet. War was shoved back slightly before pivoting away from the Highlander’s follow-up sound barrier shattering swing.

War countered with a horizontal slash that ripped through the falling rain, the Highlander barely bringing his claymore up in time to block the oversized cutlass. The force of the attack was enough to cause the man to recoil away, tumbling through the mud. He quickly gained control of his momentum, halting it in a three point crouch that dug furrows through the mud, his claymore held out parallel to the ground in his right hand.

War continued in his attempts to sway the man to his side as the frequency of lightning strikes increased in the background, “Forsake the Druid, Boy! He won’t be able to restore your mind! Only a true immortal like myself has the means for that! Rule this world by my side, Alan.”

The Highlander looked up from his position as a trio of lightning bolts reached down to connect with the tip of his brutal claymore. Skepticism colored his eyes as he launched into an ability he’d earned from becoming the Wandering Druid’s Chosen, [Lightning Strike]. The energy coalesced along the edge of his blade as it slammed into War with a wicked overhead swing. As he brought his weapon down a scrambling War he stifled a fleeting thought, I doubt Alan is even my actual name, not that it matters at this point.

Even though War managed to block the Highlander with his own blade, the hastily contained energy released in an explosion of white-hot light. It was War’s turn to tumble across the muddy arena, less gracefully than the Highlander himself just had. The much older man, if you could call him that, slammed through a crumbling column, hastening it’s eventual return to the earth with a loud grunt.

War exploded out of the crumbling column in a series of strikes that flung sheets of rain in graceful arcs to splash against the boundaries of the arena. The Highlander struggled to keep up with the suddenly increased ability of the supernatural man. The warriors danced through the mud and rain like a pair of tornados battling for dominance in the Iowa countryside, each determined to lift more dilapidated trailer homes into the air than the other. Through it all lightning crashed in the background, framing their frantic assault in sharp flashes of blue-white light.

Angry light cascaded out from War’s body causing the Highlander to raise his hand involuntarily to protect his eyes. After half a second the light faded as quickly as it had come, leaving the man called War steaming in the heavy downpour. Then the Highlander noticed that his opponent’s armor lay at his feet in pieces. The man’s wet robe billowed in the wind, revealing sickly gray skin, stretched taut across emaciated muscles. Black blood seeped from the numerous wounds the Highlander had inflicted.

Just as he thought War’s transformation was complete, the man’s sickly looking body suddenly bulged with an influx of new muscle. He grew half his height in the next moment, while his sword lengthened to be proportionate to its master. Which in practice meant War just doubled his reach versus the now much smaller Highlander.

For the first time in the fight the Highlander muttered something other than no, “Bollocks!”

Before he could process what just happened the Highlander was once again zigging and zagging across the rain swept arena attempting to avoid War’s much larger sword. Every time that weapon struck the ground gouts of mud and rain splashed high into the air, partially obscuring his vision. Then beams of golden light began erupting behind him as he ran, threatening to vaporize him in a single hit.

“That’s right! RUN! You can not face me, boy! I AM THE DESTROYER!”

The Highlander felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as War ranted to his right, then a malevolent heat began to form around him. With a panicked effort he threw himself sideways as five beams of golden energy condensed on his last position with heat so intense it managed to blister the skin on the bottom of his feet as he dove into the mud. Where the combined beam attack landed all moisture had been vaporized, leaving a thick wall of steam.

The Highlander was quick to his pained feet, noticing that the giant form of War had slumped slightly, heaving in big breaths that released large jets of acrid steam from his mouth. He didn’t hesitate to dive in with a heavy swing of his claymore across the back of War’s exposed knee. Black blood splashed the muddy arena as War howled in surprise. He locked his baleful eyes on the Highlander as he dropped involuntarily to his good knee.

The Highlander was already moving for his other leg when he was once again forced to defend himself from the massive cutlass that War swung with wild abandon. As he struggled for a way to bring down the oversized man a memory flickered in his mind. A child playing a game, the goal to defeat large creatures with equally oversized weaponry. In the memory he thought he saw the way through killing this massive creature.

He did a mental inventory of his Ability set, finding the one he’d rarely used, it’s utility of dubious value to him when fighting the wulver and other various creatures. So he began his assault against the oversized man, pressing to get inside the reach of the man's oversized cutlass.

As soon as he made his move he was thrown on the defense by an air separating overhead swing that he barely managed to catch on his own pitted and chipped blade. The force of the blow was so strong he had to brace the impossibly sharp blade with his off hand, the act drawing blood while simultaneously stressing his bones, tendons and ligaments. He twisted violently to the side while activating the skill he rarely had a use for.

“[Latch]”

A green rope of energy shot out of his torso to connect with War’s tree trunk sized upper arm, then he was snatched off his feet, pinwheeling his arms and legs through the air. War looked down his arm in shock as the lithe form of the Highlander landed with a quick swipe of his sword before drawing a short knife from his waistband and digging it into his shoulder. War howled in rage, swiping up with his free hand to knock the angry Scotsman from his arm only to find he’d already swung to balance precariously on his shoulder.

War twisted violently attempting to shake the Highlander from his upper back. The Highlander dug his knife into his collar in response while attempting to stab his claymore into war’s neck, a thing the oversized weapon wasn’t suited for at such close range. Black blood squirted from the knife wound, making his shoulder increasingly slick.

The Highlander finding the current situation to be rather untenable chose to shove off War’s back. The force of his kick pushed the larger man forward, dipping his head forward in response to the force of the maneuver. The Highlander’s claymore bit into the back of his neck at the same moment. Somehow the crude weapon didn’t remove War’s head, but it did bite deep enough to sever his spinal column at the base of his skull. Black blood sprayed out from the wound that opened wide as his head slumped forward.

War stood there for several pregnant moments, his right arm suspended near his neck, twitching as it attempted to complete the last signal his brain had sent it. Then it dropped limply to his side, another moment of suspense and his knees gave out as he collapsed to them, somehow remaining upright and seated on his feet, arms limp at his sides.

The Highlander, surprised at the quickness with which the fight ended, walked cautiously around to the front of War. The supernatural man was just as tall as he was, even on his knees in the mud, so the Highlander was able to look directly into War’s still blinking eyes.

“H-huh, y-you beat me, boy. I-I’ll soon return to the void. Your trial is complete. Congratulations. Hehehe.”

The Highlander stared at the oversized broken man silently, claymore propped on his shoulder. He considered finishing off the man, though that just seemed spiteful. Not that he wasn’t above being spiteful, he just didn’t see the need at this point. Add to that thought, a question was forming in his throat he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to.

“Is my name really Alan?”

War’s yellowed eyes glanced up at him, a sparkle of knowing flashing in those glassy orbs. The corner of his mouth turned up in a slight smile, then his eyes rolled back in his head to only show the whites. War died without saying another word, leaving the Highlander equally disappointed and frustrated.

The persistent thunder and rain ended a moment after the life left War’s eyes, then so did the sound of the tanks and artillery after that. He would later learn that as soon as War was defeated his hold over the thousands of people in his army was released. The majority of his warriors collapsed on the battlefields where they fought, even his acolytes that his own team had fought against ended their fights in the same manner. Though he had lost three of his team, and War only lost two.

The Trial of War has been completed successfully by The Highlander of the Old Ways, Chosen of the Wandering Druid.

War’s hold on all sapient beings has been released…

Calculating rewards and experience…

The Highlander nodded as he gained several hundred thousand UMC as well as two more levels, pushing him to level 23.

“Archie, what trials remain?” He asked his VPA.

The bobbing blue orb responded immediately, “Only Death, currently passing through the eastern edge of Siberia, and the Conqueror, who is still having trouble rooting out the last vestiges of Israeli resistance. Those people have been reduced to less than two thousand beings, the Conqueror has diverted a large portion of his forces to siege Cairo. Also…”

Archie paused, uncertain if he should mention the next bit of news he had gathered.

“What is it Arch?”

“Well, mana saturation at certain points across the planet has spiked dramatically. Apparently a couple of Minor Old God Manifestations appeared, one in the Congo, and one in Phoenix, Arizona.”

“Ain’t that where that Warlord fella’ co-opted the Trial of Pestilence?”

“Arizona, yes, Phoenix, no. Seems he was dealing with a hostile settlement while attempting to form an alliance with the other four settlements in that region. Seems the Manifestation was sitting underneath the city, his Refugees formed a Raid and barely defeated it. Only twelve of the one hundred that entered exited. Fortunately, I do not detect any other mana spikes beyond the one in the Congo.”

The Highlander looked at the images of the Manifestation, a fleeting memory dancing across his brain that hurt when he attempted to focus on it too long. Archie must have shared the info with the rest of his team, Sonja was the first to comment.

“Looks like a thing from a book I read once on Cthulu mythos. Called them ‘Old Gods’. Wonder if it’s only a coincidence?”

Archie chose that time to interject, “Well, many across the Verse also call them Old Gods. I suppose it’s time I fill you in on one of the oldest threats to the System in existence.”

And with that, all of their VPA’s unlocked information that wouldn’t normally be revealed until they had reached much higher rank advancements. Everything within the System was designed to be drip fed unless one discovered something on their own. Earth and the Sol System was currently facing the release of certain knowledge on a broken and accelerated time frame based on the unusual occurrences it was facing as the System took proper hold of everything it could wrap its mana laced tentacles around.