Chapter 2: A World of Faith and Power
Allen moved like a shadow through the crumbling alleyways, his form almost indistinguishable from the darkness around him. It had taken little effort to follow the armored stranger, a man who seemed to belong to the group known as the Resistance. The same word, Resistance, had echoed in his mind ever since his awakening—an organization devoted to human intellect and defiance of the gods. Yet, Allen knew his purpose diverged from theirs. His template—Void Knull—would eventually set him on a path beyond gods, beyond humans, into something terrifyingly singular. For now, however, he needed knowledge.
When the man finally stopped in a secluded square, Allen moved silently behind him. Without warning, he spoke, his voice low and cold.
"Tell me about this world. The power structure. Who holds it? The levels of strength here. I need to know everything."
The man spun around, a look of shock crossing his face before a steely resolve set in. "Who… Who are you?" he stammered, eyes darting from Allen's face to the unnatural darkness swirling faintly around his hands. "You're not from here, are you?"
Allen's patience wore thin. Shadows pooled in his gaze as he leaned in, the Void stirring restlessly within him. Even with only 0.01% of his power, he felt the tendrils of corruption flicker to life. With a thought, he released them, a whisper of darkness wrapping around the man's mind. His resistance faded, and his pupils dilated as the corruption took hold.
The man's voice softened, almost hollow as he began to speak, his mind no longer his own.
---
Ten years ago, the world had been thrust into a new era, marked by strange, terrifying events that signaled the revival of the gods. It began with a blood-red eclipse that hung in the sky for days, marking the start of supernatural horrors across the land. The first was the Sacrifice of Selois, a prosperous city where, in a single night, every inhabitant vanished, leaving the streets stained with unnatural sigils carved in blood. Those who ventured to investigate were found days later, eyes glazed, chanting verses in a language no one could understand.
It wasn't long before more events followed. Forests withered overnight, towns turned to ash, and rivers ran red as if tainted by the blood of the earth itself. Whispers spread quickly—dark tales of ancient gods, stirring and waiting, demanding homage. Cults began to rise, offering sacrifices in secret ceremonies, hoping to appease these gods before they descended in fury.
To counter this, the true faiths of the world—seven major churches—joined forces, each dedicated to a different god of light, unity, and justice. Together, they represented the strongest of the True Gods, beings who, according to doctrine, had once driven back the darkness in an ancient war. United, these churches formed a coalition of holy orders, spreading their influence to root out the cults, hunt down monsters, and protect humanity from the growing tide of darkness.
The man's voice wavered as he listed them.
"First, the Order of Lumis," he whispered. "They revere Aurostra, the Goddess of Light. Lumis knights are famed for their divine blessings, wielding holy fire to purge evil. Then, the Shields of Voss, disciples of Vostros, God of Strength and Protection. They're known for their brutal power, almost like living fortresses…"
One by one, he recited the churches: the Order of the Celestial Mind, devoted to Hesperus, the God of Wisdom. The Celestial Mind priests wield divine knowledge, using illusions and foresight to outwit their foes. Then there is the Sanctuary of Vitalis, followers of Vitalis, the God of Life. They are healers of unmatched ability, their blessings rumored to cure any ailment or even bring the dead back from the brink.
He continued, his voice hollow and distant as if reciting from a lost memory. "The Brotherhood of the Iron Sky, for Feros, the God of War. They are ruthless in battle, wielding the divine rage of Feros to strike down enemies with thunderous power. The Keepers of the Silent Grove, followers of Vira, the Goddess of Nature, whose druids command the forces of the natural world, bending flora and fauna to their will. Finally, the Guardians of the Shattered Star, dedicated to Elara, Goddess of Stars and Hope. They are said to harness the light of distant stars, banishing darkness with radiant power."
These Seven Churches held the world in their grip, their combined influence vast and unwavering. As the true gods rose in influence, they built strongholds across the land, grand temples that were both places of worship and fortresses against the evil gods. Each church had its own hierarchy of power, divided into ranks like Knights, Priests, and Archons, ascending to positions of unimaginable might.
But in the face of these divine powers, there were the dark, forbidden cults. The Cult of the Slumbering Ones, the Blood-Eaters, and the Unhallowed Covenant—secretive groups worshipping evil gods with rituals steeped in terror. These cults had spread underground, operating in shadows, sacrificing innocents to feed their gods. Each cult granted its members powers, twisted reflections of the true gods' abilities. As the gods of darkness stirred, so did these groups, and the Seven Churches declared war against them, igniting a holy conflict that had ravaged the land for a decade.
The man's voice softened as he spoke of the Resistance, his own allegiance. "The Resistance was born from those who saw the gods' influence as a shackle on humanity's potential. They believe knowledge is the key to our survival, not blind faith. They reject both the True Gods and the Dark Ones, striving instead to master arcane sciences and forbidden lore, unlocking secrets of the universe through sheer intellect."
Allen could see that the man's loyalty to the Resistance ran deep, but even the strongest mind could not withstand the corruption of the Void. Allen pressed further, his grip on the man's will tightening, his voice edged with command. "The powers… the structure. I need to know how strength is measured here."
The man's eyes went glassy, and he began to speak again, though his voice held a faint tremor, as though even corrupted, he feared the truths he was about to reveal.
"There are tiers of power, classifications the churches use to understand the strength of both allies and foes. Most mortals are limited to the Apprentice level, the lowest tier, where they wield minimal magic or divine power. Beyond that lies the Disciple level, then Knight, Priest, and High Priest. Those of High Priest rank can wield powers that shape reality—conjuring storms, summoning divine beasts, raising walls of flame or ice."
"Above them stand the Archons, avatars of their gods' will. Archons can command entire armies single-handedly, with powers capable of annihilating cities. Only a select few in each church achieve this rank. Then, at the highest level, there are beings who ascend to what we call Exalted. Exalted are almost god-like themselves, conduits for divine energy so pure that they are feared even by the cults. They can warp the very fabric of reality and summon manifestations of their gods."
The man's voice dropped, almost a whisper now, his words charged with dread. "The cults have their equivalents—the Heralds of Night, the Voidbound, the Eldritch Champions… Each a twisted mirror of the true gods' ranks. The most dangerous among them is the Chosen, the direct conduit of an evil god. Just one Chosen is enough to turn a kingdom to ash."
Allen absorbed this knowledge, feeling the weight of the world's hierarchy settle in his mind. With the Void Knull template at only 0.01% power, he likely fell somewhere between a Priest and a High Priest, enough to wield the dark tendrils of the Void, corrupt minds, and command shadows. But the potential for growth loomed vast and terrifying. He could sense that the higher his completion percentage grew, the closer he would become to a force that could rival even the gods.
Yet, as he gazed into the man's empty, corrupted eyes, a cold satisfaction swept through him. Even with his limited power, he had tools far deadlier than anything in this world. He could infiltrate minds, consume wills, twist the strongest warriors into pawns.
He released the man from his control, allowing him to slump to the ground, consciousness slipping as the corruption faded. The man's final words came out in a hoarse whisper, as though an afterthought, the last words of a forgotten story.
"The gods are rising, stranger. But something… something darker has awakened, too. Rumors say the Void itself has opened a door."
The words struck Allen deeply, an unspoken realization simmering within. He would not only face the gods—he would become something beyond their understanding, a being of the Void itself, untethered by worship or faith.
Turning, he melted back into the shadows, his thoughts simmering with what he had learned. The Seven Churches, the cults, the Resistance, and the tiered powers—each would fall or bend before the Void Knull. And Allen would ensure it.
In the depths of this world's holy wars and blood-stained sacrifices, he would carve his path. He would harness his template, level by level, until even the Exalted and the Chosen would cower in his presence.
The void whispered its promise in the darkness as he vanished:
A power beyond gods. A force beyond life.
Allen moved through the dimly lit streets, the weight of his newfound knowledge settling like a dark cloak around him. Each revelation layered the world with new complexities, but it also strengthened his resolve. He had been thrown into a world where gods walked unseen, where men could wield terrifying power through belief, and where humanity's faith or defiance could shape reality. Yet, in the shadows, Allen's purpose took root.
As he walked, memories of his old life flickered in his mind—moments of weakness, mortality, limitation. Here, with the Void Knull template's dark power simmering beneath his skin, he felt something he'd never known before. It was more than power; it was potential. Even at 0.01% of the Void's grasp, he could taste the vastness of it—a quiet promise of dominance, of a destiny that reached beyond even the gods. But now, he needed to understand exactly how far his strength could take him.
An opportunity presented itself as he wandered into the edge of a forsaken district. There, a small group of men stood gathered around a fire, whispering in hurried, fearful tones. The marks on their cloaks identified them as members of a lesser-known cult, the Followers of Aska, who worshipped one of the lower evil gods, a figure that thrived in the misery of humankind. They looked up, their conversations falling silent as they noticed him approaching.
Allen stopped a few feet away, his expression unreadable. "I'm looking for information," he said, his voice steady, dark. "About the coming age of gods and the evil that you're so eager to awaken."
The cultists exchanged glances, suspicion in their eyes. One of them stepped forward, a figure with a scar that ran down his left eye. "Who are you to ask such things?" he sneered, his fingers tracing a knife at his belt. "And why should we tell you anything?"
Allen's lips curved slightly, a glint of darkness flickering in his gaze. With a thought, he allowed the Void to seep out, shadows curling at his fingertips as the corruptive essence whispered from within him. He had no need to prove himself further; the sight of his power made the cultists' faces pale.
"I have powers you cannot fathom," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Answer my questions, or I'll show you what lies beyond even your god's grasp."
The cultist hesitated, but after a tense moment, he relented. "Fine," he spat, his voice wavering. "But be warned, meddling in the gods' affairs rarely ends well."
He lowered his gaze, and as though compelled by some unseen force, he began to speak of the evil gods' coming. "Our rituals and sacrifices are only the beginning," he said, voice wavering. "The barriers between realms weaken as we speak. With each offering, each twisted ceremony, the evil gods grow closer. Soon, they will return, casting their shadows over all creation."
The other cultists murmured in agreement, eyes gleaming with a twisted fervor. They described how the evil gods' power seeped into this world, infecting it like a disease. Cities turned to blood-drenched wastelands, rivers ran black, and even time itself twisted in places where their influence was strong.
"But the True Gods…" Allen interjected, watching the man closely. "How are they preparing?"
The cultist sneered. "The Seven Churches do what they've always done—cling to their holy relics, call upon their faithful, and declare war on us. They are losing ground. Every victory costs them dearly, and they know it."
Allen nodded thoughtfully. The cultist's words aligned with what the Resistance man had said. The age of gods was indeed dawning, but it seemed that no one truly understood the scale of what was to come. Not the Seven Churches, not the cults, and certainly not the Resistance. Only Allen could see the bigger picture—the Void Knull template had given him a glimpse of something darker, something far beyond their petty wars and rituals.
"What of the Resistance?" he asked. "Surely, they haven't been sitting idle while gods and cults clash."
The cultist's expression soured. "Those fools think they can resist both sides with their machines, their books, and their so-called knowledge. They meddle, but without faith, they're weak. Human ingenuity means nothing against the will of a god."
Allen considered this carefully. The Resistance's defiance was a spark, a strange defiance in a world consumed by the divine. But as the cultist sneered at their efforts, Allen realized that he, too, represented something entirely different—something not bound to gods, belief, or worship. Void Knull was a power that predated even the concept of divinity itself.
With the cultist's words settling in his mind, Allen decided it was time to leave. He turned, but as he stepped away, one of the cultists dared to call out, "Who are you, to seek such things?"
Allen looked back, shadows coiling around him like a living cloak. His gaze was cold, unyielding. "I am what lies beyond your gods, both true and false," he said softly. "And I have come to bring this world a new kind of darkness."
With that, he vanished into the night, leaving the cultists trembling in his wake.
---
Allen's journey continued through the night, his mind spinning with plans and possibilities. The gods were awakening, the world spiraling toward chaos, and the resistance simmered just beneath the surface. As he walked, he felt the Void Knull template within him pulsing—a faint but growing sense of power, as though it, too, was responding to the shifting balance of forces.
For now, his strength at 0.01% was limited, but he could feel the Void's potential. He could corrupt minds, shroud himself in shadows, and call upon darkness to crush his enemies. He was a shadow of what he would become, but even that shadow was powerful enough to strike fear into the hearts of mortal men.
He paused, gazing out over the city, the towers of the Seven Churches looming in the distance. Each god, each order, each faction—it was all a web, delicate yet unyielding. He would infiltrate it, unravel it, until only the Void remained. One day, he would be more than their gods, more than the concepts of light and darkness that held this world in chains.
Allen's path was clear: to understand this world's powers, to test his own, and to watch as the Void consumed all boundaries. With each new step, he would unlock another fraction of the Void's power, until he alone was supreme, indivisible, and infinite.
And as the first glimmers of dawn crept over the horizon, Allen couldn't help but smile. The age of gods was coming. But beneath their myths and legends, a deeper darkness stirred, one that knew no worship, no mercy, and no end.
For Allen was not here to save this world. He was here to unmake it.