The silver coin felt warm. Especially against the rough skin of Jack's monstrous hand. It was thrumming with a low, steady heat.
Fateless. The word echoed in the silent expanse of his mind. It wasn't a concept he had considered before. Not in the way the trial had presented it. He was indeed an anomaly in this world. A glitch.
He weighed the coin. Its surface shimring faintly. A key, the voice had said. To contact the Rainsister.
Another Fateless deity. It added a layer of complexity he hadn't anticipated. He wasn't alone in this 'Fateless' state, apparently. There was soone. Or sothing else out there who was also outside the wheel of destiny.
The center of the island. That was the clue for finding the Rainsister. There was a hidden temple in the center of the island. He knew that.
He had felt that when he explored the island in his specter's form. Back when he had experienced Webmother's Trial of Inheritance. The place that felt even more dangerous than the ruin of Mist Palace he was currently in.
Wait! If the places dedicated for Webmother, Cloudfather, and Rainsister all existed in the island, what about Bonebrother and Breezechild? Did they have one too here?
The dungeon underneath this ruin? The hidden cave? Was this island similar to the Olympus for Greek Pantheons in his previous life? Or Asgard for Norse Deities?
While he was still processing this new information, the air around him vibrated. The sa disembodied voice that returned. Its tone was shifting. From impartial assessnt to sothing akin to announcent.
"Successful completion of Trial of Fate. A candidate had inherited the Shard of Fate."
Jack blinked. Soone had passed the trial? He did know that he wasn't the only one entering the trial. Three of the ones with dark karma had entered before him. Was it Count Bellcroft? Or Silas Boulder? Or the other guy?
There was also a possibility that others ca in after him. One of the rcenaries? Old Sam? Or the one from the archeology expedition. Leon Drake? Or Chloe?
Jack couldn't help but think about the two characters. They felt more like... protagonists after all.
Leon Drake was this world's Indiana Jones. The overpowered version. Soone who was not just an expert in archeology. But also a transcendent possessing both Supernatural Sorcery and Mystic Arts.
Chloe Chase, on the other hand, was the inheritor of the Shard of Fortune from Webmother's Trial. She was his first human friend. A girl with much brighter karma than most.
Both seed to be Children of Fate. They seed the most likely candidates to acquire the 'Shard of Fate'.
He shrugged his shoulder. Not his problem though. His path, or lack thereof, was apparently different. And frankly, being Fateless sounded a lot less restrictive. Compared to being shackled to so grand cosmic plan.
Suddenly...
The environnt around him dissolved. Not with a gentle fade. But in a jarring tear. The strange mixture of ancient and futuristic chamber disappeared. Replaced by a large intimidating architecture.
Heavy, black stone walls stretched upwards. Carved with grotesque, writhing figures. A tall ceiling hung far above. And from its fissures dripped what looked suspiciously like viscous, black tar.
Skeletal figures in rusted, spiked armor stood rigidly. Guarding along the walls. Their empty eye sockets were fixed forward. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and blood.
And then... before him stood a massive, obsidian desk. Its surface was polished to a demonic sheen. Positioned before a huge throne. One wreathed in flickering, hellish flas.
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It was a place Jack could only call as... the Court of Hell.
The disembodied voice resounded. Its words seed to be echoing off the stone walls.
"Inheritance Trial for the Great Cloudfather. Phase 3 - Vengeance Trial. Deliver the suitable vengeance for a hundred cases of injustice!"
Suitable vengeance. Jack felt a familiar, almost comfortable knot tighten in his core. This, he understood. This was his territory.
Punishnt for the guilty. Salvation for the innocent. He was a self-appointed Harbinger of Vengeance after all. And his power source was the Spirit of Judgent.
"Approach the Seat of Judgent!" The voice instructed.
Jack stepped forward. His monstrous rakshasa form was undisturbed by the infernal heat radiating from the throne. He settled into that massive chair behind the obsidian desk. It felt... right. Like it was made for soone who sat in judgent.
As he settled, a scroll materialized on the desk before him. It was bound in what looked like dried, flayed skin.
It unfurled on its own. Revealing dense, archaic script. As his eyes scanned the words, the scene around him rippled. Pulling him into a certain visualized mory. Away from the hellish court.
The first visualized mory took hold...
It was a small, simple cottage. Nestled by a river. The air humd with the contentnt of a simple life.
Jack saw a man, weathered but kind-looking. He was holding a small, exquisite jade statue carved in the shape of a dragon. His wife sat beside him. nding clothes. His children were playing just outside the door.
Then... a soothing voice told the narrative of this man's life. He was a humble farr who had unearthed the statue while tilling his land. It was ancient. Infused with a strange, subtle energy.
Word of the farr's lucky discovery spread. Reaching the ears of Lord Gungrove, a petty tyrant. One who ruled the nearby lands with an iron fist. Gungrove coveted rare artifacts above all else.
The scene shifted. Plunging into darkness. Gungrove's guards crashed through the cottage door. Screams. The sound of iron piercing flesh. The sll of smoke. Fire.
The man attempted to beg. And then to fight. But he was just a farr. He saw his wife fall. His children cut down. He himself was left for dead. Crawling away into the night. Bleeding. Broken. Dying.
He was alone. Destitute. Haunted by the ghosts of his family.
The scroll text appeared again. Offering the paraters of the trial's completion within the illusion. Jack was to be the unseen hand. The mysterious deity who could bestow power.
He was tasked to grant the broken man the ans to enact vengeance. And guide the path of that vengeance.
Jack accepted the role easily. He projected his gift. Power. A whisper of strength drawn from his own reserves. Into the illusion.
The man, hiding in a shallow cave, felt a surge of energy. A mysterious power and clarity of purpose replacing his despair. He looked up. Seeing nothing. But he could hear a voice in his mind... Jack's voice. Detached. Guiding.
'They took everything. You must take back what is owed. Their lives for your family's.'
Jack didn't need to explain how. He just needed to provide the spark. The direction. The man was now imbued with unnatural strength and a chilling focus. He beca sothing like a ghost in the night.
Jack watched. A silent observer in the illusion. He watched as the man tracked down the guards who had raided his ho. He used cunning, enhanced senses, and brute force granted by Jack's power.
One by one, the guards involved in the massacre fell. Their deaths were brutal. Reflecting the violence they had inflicted.
Then ca Lord Gungrove. The man infiltrated the lord's manor. A phantom fueled by grief and rage. He bypassed guards. Scaled walls. He found Gungrove in his treasure chamber. Gloating over the stolen artifact.
The confrontation was swift and rciless. The man didn't kill him quickly. He made the lord understand the depth of his cri. He made him witness the fear and pain he had caused.
Torture followed. Calculated and precise. The lord's screams and cries were contained within the chamber by his strange power. Ending only when Gungrove's life finally, gratefully, ended.
The vengeance was done. The perpetrators were dead. Jack felt a sense of grim satisfaction. Suitable.
But as Gungrove's life ebbed away, the man's cold and hard eyes flicked towards another part of the manor. Gungrove's wives. Huddled in their rooms. His young children, asleep in their beds.
The man raised his blood-soaked weapon. His eyes were promising a continuation of the massacre.
'No.' Jack's voice resonated sharply in his mind. Carrying the weight of his own judgent. 'They were not involved in the attack on your ho. Their lives are not yours to take.'
The man hesitated. His body was trembling. Caught between his all-consuming rage and the mysterious power that had guided him.
When the man tried to ignore his words... Jack, with a ntal command, imdiately retracted the surge of energy.
The unnatural strength drained away. Leaving the man weak, shaking, normal human once more. He sank to his knees. The bloodlust was replaced by the returning wave of his grief. But the innocent were spared.
The illusion dissolved. Jack was back in the hellish court. Seated behind the obsidian desk. The faint scent of sulfur lingered. The skeletal guards remained motionless.
As the first scroll vanished, another appeared. Unfurling.
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