Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Earth Mover (Patreon)

Paladin prayed. He never truly stopped. Every waking moment these past months had been spent in devotion. Most dreaming moments too, and even the nightmares.

Ever since that fateful night. The chanting voices of the gathered creatures: small misshapen bodies; large golden eyes, all eager to witness the fell rite in all its dark splendor. His sword in his hand. His love at his back. CLANG! And he had defended the indefensible. He had put steel between love and faith, and so he had severed himself.

The days that followed were full of loss and pain. The light about his temples had faded. Darkness threatened to well up and spill forth from golden armor, and stranger things than demons had sought amongst the ashes of despair for his allegiance.

No diadem then shown upon his brown. No sweet song of aasimar blood burning through his veins. Only cruel streets, crushed hopes, and a goddess who gave no answers.

Paladin had turned then to the only goddess who mattered anymore. The one who ruled his heart. For it was not the pole of Evil that had drawn his sword  between the just and the unjust, but the magnetic pull of Love.

And she had checked “Yes” on the do-you-like-me note.

It had begun to come back then. The old fervor. The Holy Quest. And so he sought amidst the wilderness for answers. He had consulted Oracles of all kinds. And the answer, when it came, was a simple one. Paladin could not change what beat and pulsed within his breast. That were tantamount to self-destruction, and a sin against himself. He had only to do that simpler thing instead. He had to change Divinity herself.

The time of trials had come next. They had to, for that much he demanded of himself. The forest and the fish. The Law upon the tablets. As many miracles as he could stuff into the space of mortality, and then beyond even that. By such works his spirit grew. It unfolded itself as the wings of a dragon in morning, filling full of the winds that blew up and about the world: prayers of heroes and of NPCs. He could feel them brushing about his flesh and through his hair. The acts, for ill and for good, that drew souls to their homes above or below the Prime Material.

Paladin had to invent a goddess that might forgive him for his love. Lady Celestial heard that prayer. And the goddess changed to meet it. She could do no less. For the mortal Paladin had become her immortal Herald, and so the world moved in turn.

Only just in time. For other powers moved as well, and getting fucked by them would be decidedly less fun.