Logout Error: My NPCs Now Worship Me

The Holy Crusade of the Church of the Sacred Light was a magnificent sight. Ten thousand men, a river of polished steel and white-and-gold surcoats, flowed across the green plains of Elysia. At their head rode Archbishop Thallan, his expression one of grim satisfaction, flanked by a phalanx of his most elite Paladin guards.

Further back, amidst the endless ranks of disciplined soldiers, rode Seraphina. She had been given a place of "honor" near the command staff, but she knew what it truly was: a gilded cage. Thallan wanted her visible as a symbol, but her counsel was neither sought nor desired. She was a failed hero, a relic being paraded around to lend legitimacy to the Archbishop's zealotry.

The first few days of the march were filled with a righteous, if tense, fervor. The soldiers, fed a steady diet of the Archbishop's fiery sermons, believed they were on a divine mission to purge a great evil and reclaim a city of their lost brethren. They were the sword of the Goddess, and their cause was just.

The first sign that something was wrong came when they reached the village of Silvercreek.

It was a small, peaceful farming community nestled by a river. As the vanguard of the Crusade approached, they expected to be met with cheers and offerings of water and food. Instead, they were met with closed shutters and barred doors. The villagers peered out from behind their windows, their faces pale with a strange, furtive fear.

"What is the meaning of this?" Archbishop Thallan demanded, his voice booming. "Show yourselves! Your saviors have arrived!"

Slowly, the village elder, a stooped old man with trembling hands, emerged from the largest hut. "Your Grace," he stammered, bowing low. "We... we meant no disrespect. We are just... frightened."

"Frightened of what, old man?" Thallan scoffed. "We are the army of the Light!"

"It is the nights, Your Grace," the elder whispered, wringing his hands. "The darkness has become... hungry. Two nights ago, all the sheep in my neighbor's field were slain. Not eaten. Just... slain. Their bodies were arranged in a strange, spidery pattern. A profane symbol."

A murmur went through the nearby knights.

"And the well," the elder continued, his voice dropping further. "The water has grown dark. It is still safe to drink, but those who do... they have nightmares. They dream of a tall, silent figure with no face. They wake up screaming his name."

"What name?" Seraphina asked, urging her horse forward.

The old man flinched, as if the name itself was a curse. "Kaelus," he breathed.

Archbishop Thallan's eyes narrowed. "The demon's name. It seeks to terrorize you, to weaken your faith before we arrive. A coward's tactic! Pay it no mind. The power of Luminara will sanctify this village!"

He ordered his clerics to bless the well and perform rites of protection over the village. The soldiers marched on, their righteous anger stoked. But a seed of unease had been planted. The enemy was not simply waiting for them in Oakhaven. It was watching them. It was moving in the shadows, just beyond their sight.

The incidents grew more frequent.

In the town of Eastcroft, they found the church bell had been muffled, its rope replaced with what looked like a thick, black spider's web. When the local priest tried to ring it, it produced only a dull, dead thud.

In a traveler's inn, every mirror had been coated with a thin layer of black soot that could not be wiped away. Those who stared into their own darkened reflections swore they could see a pair of silver eyes staring back.

It was never overt. There was no direct attack. No one was harmed. But the effect was insidious. It was psychological warfare of the highest order. The Crusade, this shining army of light, was marching through a land that was falling under a creeping shadow. The very presence of the "holy" army seemed to be attracting this dark energy, and the villagers, unable to comprehend the truth, began to connect the two. Their fear of the demon began to merge with their fear of the army that was supposedly fighting it.

Seraphina saw the change in the soldiers' eyes. The initial fervor was being replaced by a gnawing anxiety. They started at shadows. They spoke in hushed whispers around their campfires. The name 'Kaelus' was no longer a battle cry; it was a curse uttered under their breath. They were marching into a ghost story, and they were beginning to suspect they were not the heroes of the tale.

The breaking point came at the bridge crossing the Amber River, just a day's march from Oakhaven.

As the army approached, they saw that the bridge was blocked. A crowd of hundreds of local farmers and villagers stood before it, armed with pitchforks, scythes, and hunting bows. They were not a militia; they were a terrified mob.

"Halt!" Archbishop Thallan commanded, his face turning a shade of purple. "What is this foolishness? Stand aside in the name of the Church!"

A woman at the front of the mob, her face smudged with dirt and streaked with tears, shouted back, her voice shaking but defiant. "No! We won't let you pass!"

"And why not, pray tell?" Thallan sneered.

"We've heard the stories from Oakhaven!" the woman cried. "We heard how you march to punish them! How you bring this... this darkness with you! Everywhere your army goes, the wells turn black and our children have nightmares! You are not saviors! You are a plague!"

Another man brandished his pitchfork. "The people of Oakhaven have found a new protector! One who actually does something! He saved them! We'll not let you march to slaughter them!"

The Archbishop was struck speechless by the sheer audacity of their defiance. These peasants, these dirt-common nobodies, were defending the demon and condemning him.

General Valerius urged his horse forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "This is treason! You are obstructing a holy crusade! Stand down, or we will cut you down where you stand!"

This was the moment Kaelus had been waiting for. This was the scene he had so carefully constructed. The 'Holy Army' was now threatening to slaughter the very citizens it was sworn to protect, who were in turn defending a 'demon' out of sheer desperation.

Seraphina watched in horror. "No!" she cried out. "Don't harm them! They're just scared!"

But her voice was lost in the escalating tension. The knights began to lower their lances. The mob gripped their makeshift weapons tighter. The first stone was about to be thrown.

And from Oakhaven, less than a league away, a single, deep, resonant bell began to toll. It was not a frantic alarm. It was a slow, majestic, funereal rhythm. It was a sound that promised judgment.

Every person on the bridge—villager and soldier alike—stopped and turned towards the city.

Looming over the newly fortified walls of Oakhaven, a colossal figure was taking shape. It was a golem, but unlike any they had ever seen. It was easily a hundred feet tall, forged not from simple stone, but from polished obsidian and black iron, with lines of glowing red runes pulsing all over its body. It was a war machine from the depths of a nightmare, and it now stood guard over the city like an ancient, wrathful god.

At the foot of the golem, standing on the city wall, was a lone, unmistakable figure. Tall, silent, and clad in shadows.

Kaelus.

He had come to watch the show. He had come to see the 'heroes' make their choice. And as the bell tolled, the terrified villagers on the bridge fell to their knees, their faces turned towards Oakhaven. They were not praying to Luminara for salvation from the army.

They were praying to Kaelus for salvation from the Church.

The Archbishop stared, his face a mask of apoplectic rage. His crusade, his grand display of holy power, had been so perfectly and utterly undermined that it had become a farce. He was now the villain, and the demon was the hero.

"FORWARD!" he shrieked, his mind finally snapping. "TRAMPLE THEM! TRAMPLE THEM ALL AND MARCH ON THE CITY! LEAVE NONE ALIVE! THE LIGHT COMMANDS IT!"

The final, fatal order was given. The Crusade, no longer an army of heroes but a frenzied mob, began to charge.