Gods and the Cults Who Love Them

The night was thick with the scent of earth and pine as Kintu made his way through the forest, each step calculated, every breath steady. The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy above, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to dance at the edge of his vision. He had recently spent twenty of his system points to unlock more mana, feeling the surge of power course through him as his capabilities expanded. New skills awaited his discovery, but they would have to wait.

 

Kintu, troubled by doubt started addressing the system with a question that had been gnawing at him. "Can I sleep comfortably as a relic user?" he asked, seeking solace amidst the chaos.

 

The system's response was calm and reassuring. "Yes, I'm always on alert and can use your abilities at will if needed," it said. But Kintu's unease persisted. "I've never killed anyone before becoming a relic user," he admitted, a hint of discomfort in his voice. "It feels like the system is overruling my sense of right and wrong."

 

The system's tone took on a more somber note. "No, its just that… Whenever you hesitate, I take over for a moment and finish the job. Technically, you have never killed anyone—it is a form of auto self-defense. It is my job to keep you safe." Kintu was deeply disturbed by this revelation, the weight of his actions suddenly feeling less like his own. The system continued, "Relics are tied to the gods' power, and the connection is so profound that their personalities can overlap with yours." The unsettling truth left Kintu with a profound sense of disquiet, grappling with the implications of his connection to the divine and its impact on his own humanity.

Kintu, still processing the unsettling truths revealed by the system, asked one last question, his voice laced with concern. "Can someone just take my relics by force?"

 

The system responded with its usual calm precision. "No. Relics can only be won in two ways: death or surrender. You can die, and they take them, or you can give them up willingly." The weight of this truth hung in the air as the system continued, "That is why this is the era of the relic wars. Before the gods took countries and separated territory, it was a battle royale for the relics."

 

The answer clarified the brutal reality Kintu was now a part of. It was a world where power was the only law, and the relics were the currency of life and death. The understanding that his relics were both his greatest asset, and his most significant vulnerability left Kintu with a deepened sense of caution, realizing the constant peril he faced in a world where surrender or death were the only ways to lose what he had gained.

A scream pierced the silence, echoing through the trees, raw and filled with terror. Kintu's eyes narrowed, his senses sharpening as he sprinted toward the source, his long strides devouring the distance between him and the danger.

He burst into a clearing, the moonlight spilling over the scene like a spotlight in a macabre play. Ahead, a figure darted through the undergrowth—a woman, her black fur slick with sweat, her movements frantic. She was a panther beastkin, her sleek, dark coat blending almost seamlessly with the shadows of the forest. Despite her fear, there was a grace to her, each movement fluid and precise, yet her desperation was palpable.

 

Chasing her were a group of men, their pink robes garish against the natural backdrop of the woods. Kintu could not help but find their attire absurd, a ridiculous contrast to the darkness of the night and the gravity of their intent. But the humor in their appearance did nothing to soften the malice in their eyes or the cruelty in their voices as they closed in on the fleeing woman.

 

"Please, help me!" Her voice trembled, barely more than a whisper as she stumbled toward Kintu. Her golden eyes, wide with fear, met his as she gasped for breath. "They have chosen me as the next sacrifice for the God of Hate. If I refuse…they will kill my family! My family is loyal to the Love Goddess's cult, but that does not matter to these monsters."

 

Kintu's mind raced, the implications of her words settling heavily on him. The Love Goddess's cult was notorious, one of the two most dangerous countries among the twelve gods. The other one was the followers of the God of Light. These cults worshipped their deities with an all-consuming zeal, dismissing the other gods as mere demons, their fanaticism pushing them to horrific extremes.

 

Before Kintu could respond, the pink-robed men caught sight of him. They halted, their expressions shifting from predatory glee to wary caution. The one who appeared to be their leader stepped forward, his face twisted in a sneer. "Surrender her," he demanded, his voice low and menacing. "She belongs to the God of Hate now."

 

Kintu's grip on the Staff of Reaping tightened, the relic thrumming with dark energy in response to his growing anger. He stepped between the woman and her pursuers, his gaze never leaving the men. "If you want her, you'll have to go through me," he growled, his voice cold and deadly.

 

The leader's sneer deepened, but before he could respond, Kintu moved. He was a blur of motion, his speed overwhelming the senses of the cultists as he closed the distance in an instant. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a wave of shadows racing toward the men, the darkness twisting and coalescing into jagged, lethal projectiles.

 

The shadows struck with unerring accuracy, piercing through the first row of cultists like spears. They barely had time to react before their bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Blood sprayed into the air, a crimson mist that hung briefly before dissipating into the chilly night.

 

Kintu did not stop. He pivoted on his heel, swinging the Staff of Reaping in a wide arc. The weapon hummed as it cleaved through the air, slicing through the cultists who had attempted to flank him. Their screams were cut short, their bodies falling to the forest floor, their eyes wide with shock and pain.

 

But the remaining cultists were not so easily deterred. They regrouped quickly, their pink robes flaring as they charged at Kintu from all sides, weapons drawn. Kintu met their attack head-on, his movements fluid and precise. He danced between them, the Staff of Reaping a blur as it slashed and struck with deadly efficiency.

 

One of the cultists lunged at Kintu from behind, a curved blade aimed at his back. But Kintu was faster. He sidestepped the attack with a speed that left the cultist off balance, then brought the staff down in a powerful overhead strike. The cultist's skull cracked under the force of the blow, his body crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

 

Kintu spun, catching sight of two more cultists rushing toward him. He raised his free hand, and with a wordless command, the shadows around him surged to life. They twisted and writhed like living things, wrapping around the cultists' limbs, dragging them to the ground. Kintu finished them with a swift, brutal slash of his scythe.

 

The battle was a symphony of death, each strike, each movement perfectly executed. But as the last of the cultists fell, Kintu felt a presence behind him, different from the others—calm, confident, powerful.

 

He turned to see a woman stepping gracefully into the clearing, her every movement exuding an air of authority. She was stunning, with long, flowing blonde hair that caught the moonlight, and piercing blue eyes that held a strange, unsettling mix of warmth and coldness. She wore a long, elegant dress that billowed slightly in the breeze, and in her hands, she carried two relics—one a shimmering mirror, the other a pair of ornate scissors that gleamed with a wicked edge.

 

Kintu's gaze narrowed as he studied her. He could sense the immense power radiating from the relics she held. This was no ordinary cultist; this was someone much more dangerous.

 

"Which master do you serve?" she asked, her voice smooth and melodic, though there was a dark undertone that sent a shiver down Kintu's spine. "You've interfered with my family's affairs, but I'm willing to forgive you if you step aside now."

 

The panther beastkin behind Kintu whimpered, clutching her arms around herself as if trying to disappear. "She's crazy," she whispered urgently. "Vivienne Roselock… She is one of the Love Goddess's high relic users. Be careful, Kintu. Those relics she has are incredibly powerful."

 

Kintu did not move, his grip on the Staff of Reaping tightened. "I serve no master," he replied evenly. "But I'll not stand by while you take innocent lives."

 

Vivienne's lips curled into a smile, though it was more predatory than kind. "Innocent? You are mistaken. There is no innocence here, only fear of love. But I can cure that. I will make sure she understands what true love is."

 

The panther beastkin recoiled, her eyes wide with terror. "No… Stay away from me!"

 

Vivienne did not seem to hear her. She stepped forward, lifting the mirror, and as she did, her reflection multiplied. One by one, identical copies of Vivienne stepped out from the mirror, each one a perfect clone of the original, and each carrying a pair of those dreadful scissors.

 

Kintu barely had time to react before the clones lunged at him, the blades of their scissors gleaming in the moonlight. He spun the Staff of Reaping in a defensive arc, deflecting the first strike, but the clones were relentless. They moved in perfect synchronization, their attacks swift and precise.

 

Kintu's struggles were evident as he fought against the seemingly endless onslaught. Vivienne was a skilled and cunning fighter, her every move calculated to exploit his weaknesses. Desperation clawed at him as he activated both Moon Boost and Necromancer simultaneously, feeling the surge of power that came with the night, but even that was not enough to turn the tide. His mana reserves were dwindling rapidly, each spell and technique draining him further, yet the relentless wave after wave of Vivienne's clones kept coming, their attacks unyielding and precise.

 

His muscles burned with overuse, and his breath came in ragged gasps as he fought to keep up with her barrage. The shadows he summoned began to falter, and the reanimated corpses he controlled were sliced down as quickly as he could raise them. It was a brutal dance of survival, every second bringing him closer to the edge of defeat. As his mana neared depletion, the realization dawned on him—he was running out of time, and Vivienne showed no signs of slowing.

A sharp pain flared in his side as one of the clones managed to slip past his defenses, the scissors grazing his skin. The cut was shallow, but it burned like fire. Kintu gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain. He needed to turn the tide of this battle, and quickly.

 

Drawing on his newly unlocked skills, Kintu activated **Advanced Healing**. Instantly, he felt the pain in his side dull, the wound beginning to close. At the same time, a protective aura seemed to envelop him, reducing the damage from each subsequent attack.

 

With renewed vigor, Kintu unleashed a flurry of counterattacks. He swung the Staff of Reaping's Magma scythe with precision, aiming for the clones' weak spots, and for the first time since the fight began, he started to gain the upper hand. One by one, the clones fell, their bodies dissipating into mist as they were struck down. Ironhand's gift was more powerful than he could have imagined.

 

But just as he began to close in on the real Vivienne, she shifted tactics. With a flick of her wrist, she used the Scissors of Love to sever the bonds between reality and her illusions, sending another massive wave of clones at Kintu while simultaneously darting toward the panther beastkin.

 

Kintu cursed under his breath, realizing too late what she was doing. The clones swarmed him, blocking his path as Vivienne's real form reached the beastkin woman. The panther tried to run, but Vivienne was too fast. She grabbed the woman by the arm, and with a cruel smile, held the scissors to her throat.

 

"Stop!" Kintu shouted, his voice echoing through the clearing. He froze, shadows swirling around him as he prepared to strike, but he knew he could not move fast enough to stop Vivienne from using those scissors.

 

Vivienne's smile widened. "I knew you'd see reason," she purred. "Hand over your fire relics, and I might just let her live."

 

Kintu's mind raced. He could feel the dark energy of the Staff of Reaping thrumming in his hands, urging him to fight, but he could not risk the woman's life. His thoughts briefly flickered to the three fire relics he had acquired—powerful tools, yes, but not worth the life of an innocent.

 

"Fine," he said, his voice low and cold. "I will give them to you. Just let her go."

 

Vivienne's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Smart choice. Now, toss them over."

 

With a heavy heart, Kintu summoned the three fire relics, their fiery glow contrasting starkly with the wintry night air. He tossed them toward Vivienne, who caught them with a deft flick of her wrist. Her grin widened as she examined the relics, clearly pleased with her new acquisitions.

 

But before Kintu could react, Vivienne snapped her fingers, and one of her clones appeared behind him, striking him with a powerful blow to the back of his head. The world spun as darkness closed in, and Kintu felt himself falling, his consciousness slipping away.

 

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the panther beastkin's terrified face as Vivienne's clones closed in around her.