Far to the West, deep in the mangroves where the water turned from black to a sickly, algae-choked green, Swift-Tail and Moss-Eye lay flat on a mossy branch.
They were tired. They had been running for twelve hours. But what they found below made them hold their breath.
In a clearing surrounded by twisted roots, a tribe of Lizardmen had gathered. There were nearly a hundred of them. And taller than Kobolds, with dorsal fins running down their spines and webbed claws. They were Grey-Fin Lizardmen, an amphibious species native to the deep swamp.
They were starving. Their ribs showed through their scales.
In the center of the clearing stood a stone altar stained with old blood. A large Lizardman, the Brood-Sire, stood over it holding a jagged obsidian knife. Beneath him, tied to the stone, was a small Lizardman child. She wasn't crying as she was too weak to make a sound.
"Food," the Brood-Sire hissed to the crowd. "We give blood. The Swamp Mother gives fish. It is the law."
The crowd murmured, their eyes dull with hunger. They didn't want to do it, but they were desperate.
Swift-Tail looked at Moss-Eye. They remembered the mountain of meat Ka-lam-tee had summoned. They remembered the power.
"We stop them," Swift-Tail whispered. "We tell them of the Real God."
They dropped from the tree.
It was a brave move, but foolish. Before they could take three steps, six Lizardman warriors emerged from the water behind them, spears pressed against their necks.
They were dragged before the altar.
The Brood-Sire looked down at them. "Kobolds? Here? You are far from the mud, little rats."
"We bring words!" Swift-Tail shouted, struggling against the grip of the warriors. "Don't kill the child! It is waste! A waste of life!"
The Brood-Sire sneered. "Waste? It is sacrifice. One dies so the tribe eats. It is honor." He pointed the knife at the child. "She saves us."
"False!" Moss-Eye yelled. "We serve Ka-lam-tee! Our God! He gives meat without blood! He gives iron! Serve him, and you will never hunger!"
The clearing went silent. Then, the Brood-Sire threw his head back and laughed. A wet, rasping sound.
"Ka-lam-tee?" he mocked. "I have heard the winds, the waters, and the thunder. I have never heard of a Ka-lam-tee. Is he a god of rats?"
The tribe laughed nervously, following their leader.
The Brood-Sire leaned down, his face inches from Swift-Tail. "If your God is real... surely he can stop a knife?"
He raised the obsidian blade. He didn't hesitate. He swung it down toward the child's chest.
"Ka-lam-tee!" the scouts screamed.
In the Void, Red was midway through chewing a piece of Mana-Hardtack.
[ ALERT: FOLLOWER PRAYER DETECTED (DISTRESS) ]
He tapped the screen. The feed snapped to Sector 7. He saw the knife descending. He saw the scouts screaming.
"Seriously?" Red muttered, swallowing the dry bread. "I look away for five minutes."
He didn't have time to aim a massive spell. He didn't want to waste his Stacked Trait on a single executioner. He just needed a nudge.
Red flicked his finger.
[ ABILITY: MINOR POLTERGEIST ACTIVITY ][ COST: 50 DP ]
On the altar, the air shimmered. Just as the obsidian blade was about to pierce the child's scales, an invisible force flicked the Brood-Sire's wrist.
SNAP.
The force was small, but precise. The knife flew out of the Brood-Sire's grip, spinning through the air and embedding itself in a tree trunk five meters away.
The crowd gasped. The child was unharmed.
Swift-Tail grinned wildly. "See! He watches!"
The Brood-Sire stared at his empty hand. He looked at the knife in the tree. Fear flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by pride. He was the Chief. He couldn't be wrong.
"Wind," the Brood-Sire announced loudly. "His hand slipped. A gust of wind."
"It was a miracle!" Moss-Eye shouted. "Kneel!"
The Brood-Sire grabbed the child by the throat, lifting her up. He glared at the sky.
"You say your God gives meat?" The Brood-Sire challenged the empty air. "If he is powerful, let him rain food! Fill our bellies right now! If he does that, I will kneel. If not... this is just a trick."
Red watched from the screen. His eyes narrowed.
The Chief wasn't asking for salvation. He was negotiating. He was testing the fence.
"He moved the goalpost," Red whispered. "I saved the kid. That was the test. Now he wants a catering service?"
Red looked at the Brood-Sire's stats. [ FAITH POTENTIAL: 0 ][ TRAIT: ARROGANT / MANIPULATIVE ]
"He will never kneel," Red realized. "Even if I fill the swamp with beef, he will claim he summoned it. He is a middle-man who doesn't want to lose his cut."
Red looked at his [ SSS-TRAIT STATUS ].
It had been seven days since the trap at the mine. Seven days since the last major discharge. The counter was throbbing with stored energy.
[ CAUSALITY CHARGE: 700% ](Note: Output can be fractioned in 100% increments).
Red hesitated. The Moon-Crazed Hydra was coming in three days. He needed that ammunition. He couldn't waste a 700x blast on a glorified gecko.
"You want a miracle?" Red asked the image of the Lizardman. "You want something to fall from the sky?"
He opened the [ SMITE ] menu.
Usually, a standard lightning bolt costs 1,000 DP. It was powerful, enough to kill a man. But Red didn't want to just kill. He wanted to send a message.
"System. Target the Chief."
[ TARGET LOCKED: BROOD-SIRE ]
"Set Output Multiplier."
A slider appeared on the screen. Red dragged it down from the maximum.
[ OUTPUT SELECTED: 100x POTENCY ]
[ REMAINING CHARGE: 600% ]
"Fire."
[ COST: 1,000 DP ]
In the swamp, the grey clouds swirled. It wasn't a slow build-up. It was an instant pressure drop. The air turned heavy, tasting of ozone and copper.
The Brood-Sire looked up, his grin faltering. "See? Nothing. Your God is—"
CRACK-BOOM.
It wasn't a lightning bolt. It was a pillar.
A column of violet light, concentrated and vicious, slammed down from the heavens. It didn't destroy the village. It didn't hurt the child he was holding. It hit the Brood-Sire with surgical, overwhelming violence.
The sound hit the tribe a split second later with a shockwave that knocked the closest warriors into the water and shattered the altar stone.
When the light faded, there was no Brood-Sire. There was no ash. There was only a smoking crater in the mud, smelling of ozone and...
Roast meat.
The lizardmen slowly picked themselves up, ears ringing, eyes wide with terror. They looked at the crater. Then they looked at Swift-Tail and Moss-Eye, who were untouched, shielded by the precision of the strike.
Swift-Tail stood up, his legs shaking, but his voice rang out in the silence.
"The Chief asked for food," Swift-Tail said, pointing to the smoking remains of the tyrant. "Ka-lam-tee has provided."
It was a grim, horrific joke. But in the savage law of the swamp, it was understood.
One by one, the Grey-Fin Lizardmen dropped their spears. They fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads into the wet moss, facing the crater.
[ FAITH ESTABLISHED: THE GREY-FIN TRIBE ]
[ FOLLOWERS ACQUIRED: 86 ]
[ FEAR LEVEL: MAXIMUM ]
Red watched the numbers tick up. He checked his Charge Counter. [ 600% ].
"Enough left for the Hydra," Red whispered to the void, closing the window. "I tried to be nice. But you people only listen to thunder."