Logout Error: My NPCs Now Worship Me

The journey from the capital of Lyria to the eastern plains was, for Seraphina, a disquieting experience. She rode at the head of a column of one hundred of the kingdom's finest knights, their polished steel armor and the vibrant blue-and-gold banners of Elysia a stark contrast to the grim expressions on their faces. The common folk in the towns they passed through would cheer at the sight of her, the shining Sword of the Morning, a beacon of hope against a nameless fear.

But Seraphina felt no joy in their cheers. She felt only the immense weight of their expectations.

Her hand rested on the hilt of Dawnbringer, the holy sword gifted to her by the Church. It radiated a constant, gentle warmth, a direct connection to her goddess, Luminara. Usually, this warmth was a comfort, a reassurance of her righteous path. But now, as they drew closer to the blighted lands, the warmth felt… fragile. It was like a single candle trying to hold back an encroaching, absolute winter.

"Something troubles you, Lady Seraphina?"

The voice belonged to Sir Kaelan, the veteran knight assigned by General Valerius to be her second-in-command. He was a man in his forties, with a square jaw, a neatly trimmed beard, and eyes that had seen a hundred battles. He respected her title, but she could sense his professional skepticism. He was a soldier, and he trusted in steel and strategy, not prophecies and chosen ones.

"The darkness we march towards," Seraphina admitted, her gaze fixed on the eastern horizon. "It feels... empty, Sir Kaelan. Not like a demon lord, full of rage and fire. It feels like a void. Cold and ancient."

Sir Kaelan grunted, his gaze following hers. "Whatever it is, it bleeds. And if it bleeds, we can kill it." It was the simple, straightforward creed of a soldier. "My men are the best in the kingdom. We've slain manticores, hunted rogue drakes, and put down entire rebellions. No sorcerer or beast will stand before the charge of the Elysian First Legion."

Seraphina offered him a small, grateful smile, but she was not reassured. The knights were brave, their armor strong, their swords sharp. But she feared they were bringing blades to a war of ideas, armor to a battle against despair itself.

As they made camp on the third night, a rider from Oakhaven thundered into their midst, his horse lathered and his face stricken with panic.

"Sir Kaelan! Lady Seraphina!" he gasped, practically falling from his saddle. "A new threat! A monster swarm!"

Sir Kaelan immediately grabbed the man, steadying him. "Calm yourself, soldier! Report!"

"Monsters, sir! Dozens of them! Giant insectoid beasts, pouring out of the plains. They… they move like an army! They are headed directly for Oakhaven!" the rider stammered out, his eyes wide with terror. "We saw them from the watchtowers. They're like nothing we've ever seen before. All green and black, with blades for arms!"

Seraphina's blood ran cold. Oakhaven. The very city at the heart of this crisis, and its primary defenders were here, with her.

"The Baron?" Sir Kaelan demanded. "What are his orders?"

"The Baron has barricaded himself in his manor! He's… he's just raving, sir! He says it's the 'Sovereign's wrath', that 'the boot is falling'!" the rider cried. "The city garrison is trying to fortify the walls, but there are too few of them! The city will not hold until dawn!"

Sir Kaelan swore, a string of curses that turned the air blue. He turned to Seraphina, his skepticism gone, replaced by the grim focus of a commander in crisis. "It's a calculated move. This 'Kaelus' knew we were coming. It drew us out, then unleashed this swarm on the defenseless city. It's toying with us."

Seraphina's own mind raced. It was a classic pincer strategy, but one of such malevolent, psychological cruelty. It wasn't just about destroying the city; it was about making her watch it happen. To break her spirit before she even reached the battlefield.

"We have to go back," she declared, her voice ringing with newfound urgency. "Now."

"It's a ten-hour march, my lady," Sir Kaelan said, his voice grim. "Even at a full gallop, we might not make it in time. And we'd ride our horses to their deaths."

"Then we will ride them to their deaths!" Seraphina insisted, her emerald eyes flashing with holy fire. "I will not stand by while thousands of innocent people are slaughtered! Every moment we waste here is another life lost!"

Her conviction was infectious. The knights around them, who had been listening with growing horror, began to check their saddles and ready their weapons.

"You heard the Lady!" Sir Kaelan roared, wasting no more time. "We ride for Oakhaven! No sleep, no rest! Ride until your legs break! For the Kingdom! For the Light!"

A thunderous "HOORAH!" erupted from a hundred throats. The camp was broken with frantic efficiency. Within minutes, the entire column was a river of steel and horseflesh, thundering back west through the darkness, a desperate race against time.

Seraphina pushed her white mare, Lumina, to its limits, the wind whipping at her face. She prayed to her Goddess, not for strength for herself, but for time. Just a little more time for the people of Oakhaven.

But as they rode, the cold, empty feeling on the horizon seemed to mock her. It felt… amused.

In Oakhaven…

The sounds of panicked screams and the frantic ringing of the city's alarm bells were the only music in the night. On the western walls, the small garrison of city guards, mostly young men and old veterans, stared out into the darkness with white-knuckled terror.

They could see them now. A tide of monstrous shapes, moving with an unnatural, coordinated speed through the grasslands. The Gloomfang Ravagers. They were even larger than the reports had suggested, each one the size of a carriage, their multifaceted eyes glowing with a sickly green light in the darkness. The sound of their chittering mandibles and the scuttling of their hundreds of legs on the dry earth was a sound from the deepest nightmares.

"Archers, nock!" shouted the garrison captain, his voice cracking. "Hold your fire until they're in range!"

The Ravagers closed the distance with terrifying speed. They didn't roar or make war cries. They were an army of silent, efficient killing machines.

"FIRE!"

A volley of arrows, some flaming, hissed through the night air. Most of them bounced harmlessly off the creatures' thick, chitinous armor with sharp pings. A few found purchase in the softer joints, eliciting enraged hisses but doing little to slow the tide.

The first wave of Ravagers reached the stone walls. They didn't try to break down the gate. They simply leaped. Their powerful legs launched them twenty, thirty feet into the air, their serrated forelimbs scraping against the stone as they began to climb the walls with the ease of spiders.

"They're on the walls!" a guard screamed, just before one of the giant insects crested the rampart. Its bladed arm swung in a vicious arc, and the guard's scream was cut short as his torso was sliced clean in two.

Panic erupted. The disciplined shield wall dissolved into a desperate, chaotic melee. The Ravagers were faster, stronger, and utterly merciless. Their scythe-like arms cut through leather and steel with equal ease. One of them reared back and spat a glob of sizzling green acid, melting three guards into a screaming, bubbling puddle of flesh and metal.

The line broke. The guards fell back, scrambling to get away from the unstoppable monsters. The Ravagers poured over the walls, dropping into the city streets and beginning their methodical, horrific slaughter.

From the window of his barricaded manor, Baron Valerius watched the chaos, his face a mess of tears and slobber. He clutched the crimson mark on his forehead, which was now pulsing with a faint, warm light.

"Too late," he sobbed to himself. "It's too late. The boot is falling... the boot is falling..."

The city of Oakhaven was dying.

And miles away, deep inside his cold, dark tomb, Kaelus watched it all through a dozen different scrying spells, his view perfect and omniscient. He felt the fear, the despair, the dying prayers to a goddess who wasn't answering. It was all a prelude. A perfectly orchestrated tragedy.

He noted the position of Seraphina's approaching cavalry. They were still hours away. Far too late to be heroes.

He stood from his throne.

It was time for the god to make his entrance.