With the forces arrayed against them broken and beaten and the bulk of the Sultanate’s troops having been either consigned to an early grave or spread so thinly across the ever-shrinking Sultanate domain that they could not provide their masters any help, Darksol was left to do as it had always done and crush any resistance it came across. As the armies of the Empire swept across the land, they came to a rather welcome realization. Despite the zeal of the ones who sought to defend their crumbling nation, the majority of the civilian populace just wanted their freedom back. As it turns out, even the originally die-hard proponents of the New Sultanate ended up chafing under the new regime’s ultraconservative theocratic bullshit.

As you might imagine, these people had thought that the new regime would be a welcome change, bringing order and stability to a world they saw as chaotic and filled with excess and vices. Unfortunately for them, the new order that they permitted to rise viewed much of the things that these same people liked and even loved as blasphemy and heresy. To name one example, poetry was once considered a rather risqué pastime, but not one that was overly looked down upon. Hell, most of the best stories that had been written were penned by people who got their feet into it by writing poetry. It was a pastime for all, but the nobility had higher standards.

Then the extremists came to power and not only was poetry outlawed, but it was also punishable by having your tongue cut out, your ears removed, and your eyes plucked out so that you would never be able to observe anything ever again. Their reasoning for this draconian punishment was that the only verses that should ever be sung were those pre-approved by the Church. After all, if you sang of any beauty save for that of the Golden One, you were insulting him by saying he was less impressive than something else. And that was one of the lighter bits of absolute fuckery that the extremists had been able to enact.

So, when Darksol came in, people were apprehensive but also rather hopeful that the propaganda that the zealots had been attempting to use was in some ways partially true. After all, the cultist demagogues had claimed that Darksol was, and I quote, “A lair of sin and vice, where men sing of things other than The Golden One, drink alcohol, think of things that deter them from knowing the True God and allow women to be equal to men.” Is it at all needed for me to tell you that the people of the Sultanate found this to be a better potential deal than what the cultists were forcing down their throats?

Sure, they thought Darksol would be a bit cruel in some ways, but could you imagine their surprise when all that Darksol demanded of them was that they shift their allegiance from the current Sultan to the Abominable King and his wife? They were halfway prepared to have to engage in ritual human sacrifice (or beastman, elf, dwarf, or tiefling sacrifice, but you knew what I meant), but the fact that they would essentially just be a satellite state that was treated as an equal was a way better deal than they expected.

Of course, with each place that fell to the might of Darksol, the same whole song and dance had to take place, with the same result emerging from each one. The people would be somewhat scared, the Mortal Auxiliary would assuage their fears, people would party like it was 1999 and then a small group of people would remain behind to help with the transition. It was a bit of lather-rinse-repeat, but that suited the living soldiers of Darksol and its satellites just fine.

…

On the other hand, there were a few people who were none too pleased about Darksol seemingly having no resistance as it took province after province and left the people alive and free. You can, of course, guess who these people were and are. I mean, if you’ve read up till this point without skimming (which, if you do, shame on you) you would know that the Sultanate’s leadership either were fanatically devoted to the extremist cult dedicated to the most common God of the old Sultanate or were pretending to be so that they could hold more power and influence. There was, however, one among them, one with a very high position (at least on paper) who truly believed in the cause.

This leads us to the situation where we are now, with that very fanatic and idiot, Nimroad I (first and soon to be last of his name), marching down to the holding cell where his predecessor was still locked away. Arcail IV had not been treated well, but despite that, he was still remarkably healthy. It was almost as though he had a God on his side, empowering him so that he could live through this time of trials and tribulation and emerge as its true voice on the other side!

But surely the Golden One, whether he existed or not, which he certainly did, would have put its almighty support behind the ones who were trying to, as they put it, “Bring His Light to all through any means necessary”, no?

The previous sentence embodied the thought process that was going through Nimroad I’s head as he stood before the opened cell of his former Sultan. Ironically, every bit of Nimroad I’s understanding of the situation, all of it predicated on that one prior sentence, was completely and utterly wrong. This was because, in this world, Gods do exist, but just not in the way most people tended to think. What was a God in this other world other than an Idea given power and form by the masses? Either this Idea had the power to make itself a God, as was the case with Kain and Alexis, or it was granted that power by the hordes of followers who made it, which was the case for the majority of Gods in this world.

Nimroad I was wrong in his assumption that Solinaye was on his side. No, the first God of the Sultanate, one made by the First Sultan as a way to keep people from killing each other and keep the nation he was building together, was siding with the person that was still fit as a fiddle and staring daggers at the person who robbed him and his people of everything. Now the two Sultans were face to face for what was to be the last time, and while Solinaye had indeed built up a metric fuckton of power over the centuries from all the worship, he still couldn’t do everything.

Now, all he could do was watch as his hope for the survival of the Sultanate, the one he hoped would somehow keep the nation from being utterly erased, was dragged away to be burned alive.

…

As the Golden God watched on in sorrow from its lofty perch, a voice echoed through his domain.

“Well, that is most unfortunate. But, you know, I happen to know a guy who could very well give you what you want. After all, he doesn’t want to destroy this place, just to have it as a satellite. No need for you to die, no need for this nation to die. Just make a deal with him and who knows? Maybe, just maybe, the last legitimate Sultan can rise again to rule on both your behalf and that of the Greater Darksol Empire.”

The man-made of gold turned around to see who had intruded into his realm and saw a curious sight. An odd… person, if one could call this thing that, was standing there with a hand outstretched.

“You can call me Lord Wolfenstein, my boy. May I introduce you to someone who can help you keep that kid down there from fully kicking the bucket? Trust me when I say he’s a nicer person than rumor makes him out to be. Come, let’s see if you can strike a deal with the Abominable King himself before it is too late for your precious chosen champion.”

Solinaye looked at the outstretched hand and, without a moment’s hesitation, took it. Immediately, the Golden God felt something encroach into its very being, as if tendrils were running beneath its metallic skin and pushing its divine flesh into an altogether different form.

“Well, that was quick.” Lord Wolfenstein said, his(?) hand still clenched tight around that of the squirming God. “I did not expect him to make such a decision so quickly, but I guess that man can surprise everyone occasionally.”

Solinaye was nearly unable to think straight as the power and authority of a being exponentially greater than itself wormed its way through every facet of its being. The golden rays that jutted out from around its head like a crown melted as the God’s head burst open and ejected a plume of flame that replaced the former baldness of the transforming God. The God eventually finished its transformation, and the mysterious interloper released its grip on Solinaye’s hand. The Golden One felt… amazing. This… this was the kind of power and authority it needed to save that which it was created to protect! As it thanked its new master, the Golden Man, now with entirely new and different features, decided that staying up here was not going to cut it.

The Arbianans needed to be taught exactly what they were dealing with, and what better way to make absolutely certain that his commands were being met than by taking a mundane body? Its champion, Arcail IV, was about to be set alight. Now would be the perfect time for a dramatic entrance. Solinaye may now have had someone to answer to, but being loyal to someone who was willing to, for the most part, let you do your thing in exchange for such minimal service was a damn good bargain.

It was time for a God to descend.