1 THE [THRALLS] (Patreon)

[THRALLS]

[SERVANTS]

[KNIGHTS]

[COUNTS]

[MARQUESSES]

[DUKES]

[PRINCES]

[KINGS]

A world has been found. A world of incomparable value. A pure world, devoid of a true and deserved master, untainted by the primordial Ichors — unclaimed by a [SYSTEM].

Such a supple canvas calls to me, and its soil lay ripe for our expansion.

The time is upon us once more. The time to raid. The time to rage and rave. The time to bring forth a cleansing (APOCALYPSE) to sweep bare this world’s original design, and usher in a proper order.

But we are not singular in this hunger. We are not alone in conquest. Our rivals seek to infest this land before we can, seek to absorb its people, mysteries, and technologies before we can. Such an insult cannot be allowed to stand — make no mistake: this realm is a treasure above treasures, and it must be made ours.

In recognition of this, We, Mepheleon the [HARBINGER], Speaker of the [SYSTEM] that Governs these Crawling Worlds, declare the summary initiation of the Blood Games!

Regardless of if you find yourself a [THRALL] seeking to claim a [CLASS] and descend to the Circle of [SERVANTS] through triumph, or if you are simply hungering for the [SYSTEM]’s favor, the gates to the Moongraves stand open, and the path to your pleasure awaits.

Prove yourselves. Prove yourselves for a place in the coming (APOCALYPSE). Prove yourself to us, and be granted the right to take from this virgin world your rightful spoils.

-Mepheleon the [HARBINGER]

1

The [THRALLS]

The heart that shivered inside Wei’s chest wasn’t his own. The blood that rushed through his veins ran dry of Anima, empty of the Ichor needed for cultivation.

Still, he mediated. Even if it didn’t allow him to internalize the aspects of the world around him, to alchemize external reality within and forge his own source of power. He was but flesh at present. Mortal in mind, body, and spirit. Mortal, but not yet dead.

He mediated as he parted himself from the surrounding cacophony, severed himself from the scent of soiled pants and body order; from the sound of anxious breathing, grinding of wheels, muttered prayers, and distant slaughter; from the heat of a hundred bodies carried upon a single obsidian platform.

He mediated, and relived every fight that shaped him, every blow he made, every wound he savored, every defeated he was gifted, every victory that refined him. He mediated, and sharpened his focus for what was to come.

And he found himself centered, only then did he open his eyes and take all the existed aside from him, externalizing his mind and thinking no more of the self.

Four great gears spun around him, their jagged teeth turning as they ferried the bloodstained platform upward. Far above, a narrow pinhole of brightness shone down, as if dawn peering down the well. Fitting with the metaphor, the others among him might as well have been frogs. Most of them were not worth mentioning, possessed of neither intent nor skill to survive what was to come.

Most were foreigners to this place like him. “Adopted” the same way as well.

Their worlds were gone. Digested by these Crawling Worlds they now lived in as [THRALLS]. Many of them showed hints of martial discipline, but their poor postures and darting eyes betrayed what they were art heart: Pathless. Unhoned of cultivation. Unhoned of mind, body, or spirit. Not one among them stood his peer, even harvested of his Core.

Among their number, he counted scores of men clad in strange plated armors, short demihumans muttering to rune carved axes, a towering beastfolk trying to hide her terror through externalized roars of bravado. Wei wagered their lifespan to stretch into minutes. As for the gangs of hard-eyed youths equipped naught but rags and shivs and the slender-bodied and sharp-eared faebloods, they would last longer, if only because the demons enjoyed nursing on tender flesh.

None among them would survive this. None among them were ready for what was to come.

Not like he was — absent both his devotion to battle and higher purpose.

They came seeking privilege or power. To feed what little they knew of either concept in their wanting hearts. He was because he needed a [CLASS] first before he could seek his true target, before he could earn a spot among the raiders and hunt the man that damned his home world.

Before he could find and slay his own father.

A sharp exhale caught his attention. An object fell in his periphery. Wei’s mind flowed like surging water. The item was identified — a bronze pendant in the shape of a blooming rose. An action was committed to — he caught the item before it strike the ground with the curve of his ankle, flinging up upward into his outstretched palm.

Cold metal filled his senses. Cold metal, and the awed expression of a partially armored gold haired girl standing just beside him. She was mostly clad in padded leather, with an ill-fitting cuirass shielding her vitals. The rapid blinks of her eyes hinted to him her inexperience; he lack of a helmet or any protection for her legs told him she was a fool that came to die. 

“Miyar’s love,” she breathed. Her voice was lower than most Pathless girls, her stature a bit taller. A recently strung longbow hung from one of her shoulders, while her hands were filled with quiver and spear. Taking her in, Wei found himself uncertain whether to place her in the “skilled but soon-to-die” category of competitor or one among the “extended meals.”

He offered her pendant back to her without a word. It took her a second to respond and accept it. “I—thank you. I was just… trying to polish it.” She chuckled. Her desperation to laugh betrayed only nervousness. “It takes my mind off things, you know.”

“A mistake,” Wei said, speaking his first words to her. He moved her closer to the “extended meal” category. “Shattering your focus will not spare you from what is to come.”

Her expression turned awkward. “I—” She turned and nodded slowly. “You—what’s your name? I’m Agnesia of Hesgwatcia.”

Wei almost winced at how ugly the name of her home sounded. The [SYSTEM] translated much of the words between across worlds, but some things were sounded as they did, bereft of higher meaning.

The platform ground on a few seconds longer. Her green eyes never left him, a strange sort of smile growing slowly on her face.

As the moment passed, an echo from his past chided him. “Wei. You have been greeted. Show some respect.”

His mother’s shadow loomed far, guided him still.

The girl might be about to die, but there was no point to show her discourtesy before the end. She was bare enough to take up arms and claim power for herself. That was worth some respect, Pathless or not. “Wei An Wei.”

“Wei An Wei?” She said, butchering his name so badly he regretted giving it to her. “Your parents named you Wei twice? You have three names?”

“Three come together. And your intonations are wrong. I am of Bloodline Wei. An Wei holds meaning.”

The girl nodded slowly. “And your home?”

Home. Fire assailed his memories. Fire, and endless screaming. Fire, as his brothers and sisters flung themselves into the breach spreading over their mountain fortress. Fire, as nightmares passed from one world into another, as cultivators died for duty and sect, all in vain.

All because of a single traitor.

“No,” Wei replied. “No home. Not anymore.”

Agnesia winced. “Ah. Sorry.” An awkward silence settled between them. The beastfolk was loudly proclaiming she would kill more demons than all the armored men combined. “I hate them too, you know? I’ve seen what they do. To the ones who fight, I mean. Korbanon—the kingdom right next to us tried to fight. They tried. My da said no one made it out. No one.”

“Such is fate,” Wei replied, pulling himself back to the present. “The heavens are blind. Nothing is owed.”

Again, a lull followed. The opening above them was wider now. Flecks of blood rained down, paining the Wei’s ashen robes. He frowned at the wetness. More of that soon to come.

The others shuffled more, armor shifting, weapons clinking, jokes and mutters darting beneath the tension. Above, there came the voice of an assembled crowd of [SERVANTS], [KNIGHTS], and [COUNTS] awaiting entertainment — or more unexpected, new, worthy [SERVANTS].

“You’re not armored,” Agnesia said, as if just noticing.

“I am not.”

“You don’t have a weapon either.”

“Untrue.” He showed her a clenched fist. Her eyes widened at that.

“You’re going to fight them with your bloody fists?”

“It is my best means.” He looked down at her arms, at the tip of her gleaming spear, at the heads of her arrows. “Are those made of steel?”

“Aye,” she replied.

“Then, they will not be enough.”

She paled considerable at that. “Have you… faced them before? The monsters. The demons.”

“Some of them.”

“What are they like?”

Wei considered the question. “They are the shape of nightmares. They fester from the sins of a culture, the weakness of man. They are grown from us. Made to prey on us. They feed off wrath, lust, greed, and they drink these concepts from the corpses of their victims.”

“Oh,” Agnesia muttered. Her pupils were shrinking, but she kept her fear in check. Respectable. It would not save her. “But they can be killed?”

He shook his head. “They can be destroyed. Only the living can be killed, and the things we face are sicknesses — little more than infected spirits. They are birthed from our beings. They are the [CLASSES] that we will earn, should we prevail.”

“What?” The girl leaned back, sounding surprised. “The demons.” She made a hasty gesture he didn’t understand and muttered under her breath. “You mean to tell me the—the [SYSTEM] is going to let them possess us even if we win.”

How ignorant. This poor girl was in the wrong place and knew nothing of the true shape of her foe. “It can be the other way as well. One with proper enough foundations can possess a nightmare. Purify it of vile intent. Master it.”

Again, the girl stared, dry of words.

“First rounds on me when we get back to the Burrows!” One of the armored man cried out and lifted a banner. His fellows joined his shout. Their cries sounded along amidst a pocket of silence. One last hurrah for joy before the bloodletting began.

Wei shook his head. A question was pushing its way into his focus. He could not let his curiosity distract him.“Why are you here? You are not like them. You seem without urge for power or glory. You even seem blind of the threat you face. Why have you come to this place?”

Agnesia bit her lip at that. Something about her distressed expression mixed made Wei’s stomach flutter as he drank in her features. He ignored it—and chided himself for his baseness. “I need a [CLASS]. I need to win a [CLASS] that allows me to cure the wounded or sick. Or at least helps me earn the [SINS] I will need to afford one.”

He should ask no more. Ignorance to her plight would shield his heart from straying. But his spirit strayed from his mind and he betrayed himself. “Who is it? Who do you need to heal?”

“My mother,” Agnesia said, admitting her desperation with a shrug. “She has the fester. There’s no one in the Barrows that can cure her.”

Wei turned from her and closed his eyes once more. He tried mediating, but his mind was reeling. Back to the breach. Back to the fire, to the ceaseless rain of demons flooding into his world, to his burning sect, to his ruined home.

To his mother’s severed head staring at him when he limped into the courtyard, her body at the feet of his father, whose (Shapeless Blade) was painted in her blood.

“Wei?”

He forced his eyes open as a new force swelled through his muscles, flooded his veins. He took in those around him, he took in the face of the girl that threatened to deviate him from focus. “Do not give yourself to fear. Or anger. Or any kind of emotion. Focus on solely the fight, think only in what is. That will render you tasteless to the demons. That will allow you to move unseen.”

These words were meant for her and himself both.

Agnesia nodded, taking in his suggestion without question. “Right. Got it.” She released a breath and rolled her shoulders. His eyes narrowed around her single braid of hair.

“Cut your hair short too,” he muttered. “So it is not grabbed.”

“Right, yes,” She said. She bought her spear to bear, and only stopped when he held it in place for her. “Thanks. Again.”

He just nodded, and tried not to think of his sisters. The edge slipped through golden strings, and he let it fall into the pool of red shivering at their feet.

“It’s only death, right,” she whispered.

“What?” Wei asked.

She turned to him as their platform finally rose into the light, gears locking in place as they found themselves within the confines of what looked to be a spider’s nest.

“Death,” Agnesia repeated, “there’s nothing special about it, is there?”

And just as she nudged him away from his center, she pulled her back. “No. It is something that everyone learns to do eventually.”

Her expression twitched, and slowly a smile dawned on her face. “Well, then. Best of luck to you, Wei. Hope you do your dying later.”

“And you as well, Agnesia.”

A low rumble thundered through Wei’s mind, and with the way all the others suddenly jolted, they were being communed with as well. For a few brief moments, the shadow of Mepheleon the [HARBINGER] remained distant in Wei’s mind. But now the governing master of the [SYSTEM] was back with, speaking through its omnipresence.

Welcome, [THRALLS], to the nest of an [ELSEWEAVER]. It is my fondest hope that you will come to enjoy your experience in this Moongrave. The [SYSTEM] assigned you here for a reason, after all.

Potentially for reasons unrelated to our entertainment.

A chorus of deafening laughter boomed through existence as Wei winced. The [HARBINGER] often played the role of gadfly, prodding, mocking, and encouraging all at the same time. It was hard to get the entity’s measure, but their power was beyond dispute.

They alone were a sovereign above kings in these Crawling Worlds. They alone could rend realms apart when enough of their [SYSTEM] infested the new worlds. And they alone seemed to know all, see all across all their realms.

Rows of eyes forged from viridescent orbs of (Balefire) stared down at the gathered competitors from the vibrating webs that coated the ceiling. From these same eyes leaked cheers, jeers, and the gazes of all who bore a [CLASS] within their spirit under this [SYSTEM].

A labyrinthine environment sprawled out around them, with shivering webs that shone with ethereal radiance running as threads across almost ever surface beyond the immediacy of their obsidian platform.

Whatever this place used to be, from whatever world it was harvested, it was now a nest for one of the most effective Low Circle demonic entities among the known [SYSTEMS].

An [ELSEWEAVER].

The very nightmare Wei desired to claim a [CLASS] from.

Fiery trails painted three single lines of internal script just above their heads, carving intent and knowledge straight into the eyes of the challengers. Just as the [SYSTEM] carried the nuances between different tongues, so too did it transfer the meaning within the lines of certain scripts.

The goals of their challenge were being given unto them. Mepheleon giggled as the gathered challengers cocked their heads, staring as if expecting more.

OBJECTIVE: SLAY AT LEAST ONE DEMON AND ESCAPE THE NEST

REWARDS: A [CLASS] EARNED FROM THE DEMON YOU LAST SLAYED

PENALTIES: DYING HORRIBLE DEATHS OR PERHAPS BEING CONSIGNED TO ETERNAL TORMENT IN THE FATHOMS BETWEEN [SYSTEM]-SHAPED WORLDS

“That’s it?” a man muttered.

Of course! Mepheleon laughed. This is a test! Not an execution. Cheer up, little [THRALLS]. I yearn to be impressed. I yearn to reward you. But most of all, I yearn to be entertained.

“Well, at least he’s being a bastard about this,” Agnesia muttered.

Unlike her, Wei wasn’t so easily taken with the theatrics.

As [SINS] are no use to you without a [CLASS], no such rewards will be promised until you complete this Moongrave. Now. Venture forth, my [THRALLS]. Remember, glory waits ahead, and the failure… well, it’s only death, right.

Wei glared flatly at the clustered eyes. That was directed toward him. He was sure. A reminder of the [HARBINGER]’s near omniscience. 

Agnesia sighed. “Spoke too soon.”

But as the other challengers shifted in posture, let out grunts of surprise and dismay. Wei frowned. “Perhaps now. Perhaps we all received our own individual cuts across the nose.”

“Miyar. Just how much do they bloody see?”

“Everything. Everything ruled by their [SYSTEM].”

“I can’t even imagine having that kind of power,” Agnesia said.

Wei could. And Wei would once more.

Alright. No more words. Step forth. Prevail. Seek your victory. Earn your place above the Barrows. Claim your [CLASS].

A series of cheers went up around the band of armored soldiers. The pikemen at the front of their group pointed toward an open passageway across from them, and as one they trod in fighting formation.

For approximately dozen or so steps, they remained untouched, unharmed. Then, as they ventured into the web-coated crevice, Wei saw it—a trembling dance along the silken lengths, shivering fast like a cord strummed, growing brighter.

The creature that tore into them was twice the size of a man and a blur when it moved. Wei caught bladed legs stabbing out from the vibrating webs. Bladed legs that split clean through armor and flesh. Bladed legs that scooped dismembered bodies down into the webs, leaving nothing. 

Not even the trace of blood.