As Michael stealthily approached Rainar's temple, the majestic structure loomed before him, a tower of grandeur, its golden inlays glistening even in the storm's fury. It stood untouched by the flood, a testament to the god's vanity and power. Its opulence was a harsh contrast to the despair that gripped the city.
Lines of people, huddled and drenched, made their way towards the temple. Desperation etched on their faces, they walked as if in a trance, driven by fear rather than devotion. Their steps were slow, heavy with the weight of their impending doom.
"We can't go through the front door," Sarba whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm. The front was heavily guarded, a fortress unto itself, teeming with Rainar's loyalists.
Michael snickered softly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If there's a shadow, I can shadow teleport," he murmured confidently. His ability to move through shadows was more than just a skill; it was an art form, honed through centuries.
He quickly moved away from the guards and the line of the crowd, blending into the shadows like a ghost. His movements were fluid and silent, a dance in the dark.
In the line, a mother clutched her child tightly, whispering, "It's going to be alright." Her voice trembled with fear, a stark contrast to the false reassurance she tried to offer. The child, wide-eyed and scared, clung to her, seeking solace in her embrace.
All around, the people seemed terrified. Their faces were canvases of despair, each telling a story of a life turned upside down. Their prayers were not of faith but of fear, uttered not in worship but in a desperate plea for mercy.
Rainar, in his unquenchable thirst for power, was forcing the citizens of his domain to pray to him more and more. He believed that the more they prayed, the more 'worship energy' he would accumulate. It was a twisted game of control and fear, with the people as unwilling pawns in his quest for supremacy.
The scene was a grim reflection of the depths a god would sink to, driven by greed and a hunger for power. The storm continued to rage, the rain pouring down like tears from the heavens, as if mourning the plight of the people below.
Michael's gaze shifted upwards, focusing on the temple's upper levels. He remembered the window he had used last time to infiltrate the temple, a potential point of entry away from the watchful eyes of the guards. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the window, still ajar, an oversight that could be his key to entry.
Ayag, perched on his shoulder, rolled her eyes. "How stupid are Rainar's guards?" she hissed, disbelief in her tone.
"Not stupid, but overconfident," Michael corrected softly, his eyes still on the window. His voice carried a hint of experience, an understanding of the fine line between confidence and carelessness.
"Often times, it's the same thing." Sarba chimed in, his voice laced with sarcasm, Without another word, Michael swiftly moved, his form blending into the shadows. He used his shadow teleportation, a skill that made him almost ethereal, moving through darkness as if it were a part of him. To an onlooker, it would seem as if he disappeared and reappeared out of thin air, a ghost moving through the night.
He emerged from the shadows near the base of the temple, his eyes fixed on the open window above. With a swift movement, he raised his hand, and a grappling hook shot out, the line whirring as it sailed through the rain-soaked air.
The hook found its mark, latching onto the window's edge securely. Michael didn't hesitate; he activated the mechanism, and it reeled him in with a smooth, rapid motion. He flew straight through the open window, his body agile and controlled. contemporary romance
He landed deftly on the cross beams inside the temple, his landing silent despite the speed of his entrance. Michael crouched there for a moment, surveying the interior from his elevated vantage point. He was now inside Rainar's temple, a place fraught with danger but also filled with potential to undermine the god's tyrannical rule.
Perched high on the ceiling beam, Michael observed the scene below with a heavy heart. The temple's grand hall was filled with countless people on their knees, their eyes closed in forced reverence. They chanted monotonously, "Power to Rainar, the benevolent god," their voices devoid of genuine faith, echoing hollowly off the temple walls.
Ayag, witnessing the scene, couldn't help but comment disdainfully, "Benevolent, my ass."
Michael's keen eyes scanned the area, noting the guards patrolling the ground. They moved with a sense of purpose, their eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of disobedience. Their presence served as a constant reminder of the oppression these people were under.
In the midst of this enforced worship, a little boy, no more than ten years old, opened his eyes. He stopped chanting and turned his head, looking outside, perhaps longing for the freedom beyond the temple walls. His innocent act of defiance seemed like a small, silent protest against the tyranny they were all subjected to.
However, this moment of respite was short-lived. A guard of Rainar, clad in armor and wielding a whip, noticed the boy's lapse. With a swift and cruel motion, he struck the child mercilessly. The sound of the whip echoed through the hall, a stark reminder of the regime's brutality.
"Pray, you little wretch! Pray or feel the wrath of Rainar!" the guard shouted, his voice laced with cruelty and fervor. He raised his whip again, ready to strike, his eyes alight with a fanatic's zeal.
The boy, terrified and in pain, quickly closed his eyes and resumed his chanting, tears streaming down his cheeks. The other worshippers dared not look up or react, their fear of Rainar's retribution keeping them silent and submissive.
Michael, usually the embodiment of calm and control, felt a rare surge of anger as he observed the whip marks on the little children in the crowd below. The blatant display of cruelty was a stark reminder of the oppressive regime under which these people suffered. It was a scene that would unsettle even the most stoic observer.
Ayag, sensing the tension, asked, "What's the plan?"
"We can't just all be taken and escape the kingdom without a fight," she pointed out, aware of the logistical nightmare such an endeavor would pose.
Michael thought for a moment before responding. "There's a divine portal in this temple. We can use it to transport the people to Goldspire," he proposed, his mind already working through the intricacies of the plan.
"Seems like a good plan," Sarba, listening intently, nodded in agreement. "Goddess Seshat seems trustworthy and kind. She might help us in Goldspire," he said, considering the potential ally they could rely on.
Michael, however, remained skeptical. "I don't trust any god, even if she seems kind and trustworthy," he stated flatly. His experiences had taught him to be cautious, especially when dealing with deities. Trust was not something he gave freely, particularly in a world where gods often played their own complex and deceptive games.
"For now, let's take care of these guards,"
Just as Michael was poised to leap down and confront the guards, something in the atmosphere shifted, halting him in his tracks. He felt a thick, palpable energy suffusing the air, a sensation that heralded the arrival of something, or someone, powerful.
In the center of the temple, a bright light began to materialize, drawing the attention of everyone in the hall. The light grew in intensity, gradually coalescing into gray rain clouds that swirled and churned with a life of their own. These clouds then began to take a more distinct form, shaping into the figure of a man.
"Rainar." Michael muttered a single word under his breath.
The figure that emerged from the clouds was imposing: eight feet tall, with a muscular build that exuded raw power. His long beard and hair, gray as the rain clouds from which he formed, cascaded down his shoulders, giving him an appearance that was both majestic and formidable. He was clothed in elegant gray robes that flowed around him like mist, adorned with golden accessories that glinted even in the dim light of the temple. Rainar's eyes, sharp and penetrating, swept across his followers, their gaze alone enough to reinforce his authority. The atmosphere in the temple grew even heavier with his arrival, a tangible reminder of his control over the elements and his subjects.
Michael, from his vantage point, watched Rainar's arrival with a mix of caution and resolve. The appearance of the god himself changed the dynamics of the situation drastically.
Sarba, gazing at the towering form of Rainar, couldn't help but ask in a mix of awe and confusion, "Why is he so big? Are all the gods like this?"
"Have you not been paying attention? Seshat, Marli, and even Ghost aren't giants like him. How can you even think all gods are big? Use your eyes, Sarba!" Ayag, overhearing Sarba's comment, quickly retorted in a hushed yet exasperated yell, "But he's so... big," Sarba protested weakly, still unable to take his eyes off Rainar.
Ayag rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sibling-like annoyance, "No shit. Yes, and you're so... observant. Congratulations on stating the obvious."
Their bickering, a mix of humor and rivalry, was a brief respite in the tense atmosphere of the temple. However, it was abruptly cut short by the booming voice of Rainar that filled the hall.
"Open your eyes and face your god," Rainar commanded, his voice resonating with power and authority.
The worshippers, who had been kneeling with their eyes shut, slowly raised their heads, their expressions a mixture of reverence and fear. The presence of their god in physical form was both a moment of awe and intimidation. Rainar's command was not just an order; it was an assertion of his dominance, a reminder to his followers of his supremacy.
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