The blessed were not always revered

They were once hunted, as rare, mythical beings

It was said, that by killing a blessed, you could take their power for yourself

And so, the blessed, even with their great power, existed as a target for great evil

They were captured as prizes, as a display of power

Their blood was consumed as an offering to their god

Their bodies were strung up to strike fear into the hearts of enemies

The blessed hid from society for their own protection, but it was never enough

To fight this evil, the blessed came together

From every corner of the Earth, they found solace in each other

They built a home on their island, a place of protection, where only blessed were welcome

And they gave to their safe haven a name, they called it

Sanctuary

(  04/06/2050 ) ( Physical Realm - Sanctuary )

Sanctuary was as old as civilisation, so the stories said. Kou had always thought it beautiful, but of course a society never tarnished by war, famine, disease, or disaster would outlast civilisations that faced the hardships of a world without magic.

With the power of the gods at their fingertips, they could avert any calamity.

Except the Unblessing, unfortunately.

All the blessed were stripped of their blessing, and new blessed had been chosen across the globe. Those blessed had begun to filter into Sanctuary in the days following the Unblessing. 

Never before had Sanctuary greeted so many newcomers in such a short period of time. So, the responsibility fell upon the former blessed to guide their new successors. 

Many of the new blessed had gathered in the Physical realm to get combat experience. At the center of the gathering was Ren, training each one on one. It had started as a small exercise between him and a couple of the blessed, but as word spread, a whole group had formed, waiting for their turn to fight the notorious Unblessed.

Though brought together by a common interest, the group of onlookers were already fighting amongst themselves. It was not entirely unexpected, given the mixing of people from different sides of the war. Typically, a single Empirian blessed was no big deal. But several, forced to interact with non-Empirians, was a recipe for trouble.

The primary aggressor was Dakota, who had been Empirian her entire life. She was rather prickly when spoken to, and seemed particularly peeved to have been brought to Sanctuary.

“You didn't need to come. You should've stayed home,” Elliot reminded her. He had introduced himself as Canadian, but Canada had been absorbed into the United Empire in 2032. Elliot was probably a kid, but he would have been old enough to see the effects the Empire’s war had on Canada, before it fell.

“I would be a traitor if I stayed,” she sneered in return. It was partially true. Those unlucky enough to be blessed within the Empire were generally turned in to the authorities. Those who managed to escape were labeled traitors, and put on watch lists. Nobody was sure if a blessed could be loyal to the Empire without being locked up for their association with magic.

“Or dead,” Chatunga comments with a grin. Unlike Elliot, his home had never been directly affected by the war. The Empire had moved north, then south, conquered a slew of European countries, then finally moved into the Pacific. Most of the African and Asian continents had not been affected. Except, of course, for the recent encroachment into Southeast Asia.

“Would've done us all a favour,” Elliot agrees far too enthusiastically.

“Fuck you. I hope God smites you.”

Kou had politely asked them to be kind, and not bully each other, but after several days of their bickering, he'd given up. They seemed to enjoy their disputes, as if arguing let off steam and quelled the rising tension that came with incertitude. At least here, it fit the atmosphere.

Currently on the makeshift battlefield was Niamh. She held a simple staff out in front of her, her stance awkward but an improvement from her earlier strategy of wildly swinging the weapon in all directions.

“Now, do you remember what I told you?”

“Keep it close to my body,” she gives a small nod to her instructor. With little warning, Ren takes a swing at her, and she manages to block the attack. As the weapons connect, a loud crack erupts from them, and the girl jumps in surprise, quickly losing her footing. Ren pushes forward, using the point of contact to shove her backward. She stumbles, but remains on her feet, and he backs away. 

His face doesn’t betray much, but Kou knows better. Ren’s pacing is evidence of his disappointment, his gaze falls to the ground as he loses himself in thought. He’s probably trying to figure out the best way forward. “You’re a runner, right?” 

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“Drop the sir. Let’s try going on the offensive. Try to hit me, using any strategy you can think of. If you manage to get a hit in, you win. Understand?” 

As instructed, Niamh grips her staff defensively, facing the taller man head-on. She throws an attack, but he easily blocks it. Wood glides off wood, and Ren launches into her, getting close enough that it throws her off balance. She quickly recovers, darting a few paces back. She circles around him, visibly considering her next actions. Ren flourishes his staff, a clear dare that would be considered a risky move in battle if held by any other hands.

Ren was far too adept to be taken lightly.

He was a product of war, as much as war was defined by his presence. 

Even as he invited Niamh to take the lead, he commanded the field of conflict. As he shifted his weight ever so slightly, Niamh’s eyes locked onto his feet immediately, leaving her open to attack. Ren made her aware of this misstep with a swift flick of his wrist, tapping her shoulder with his weapon. 

It was a problem that could never truly be solved. The young blessed didn’t stand a chance against such an opponent. But this wasn’t about winning. Ren’s gaze was locked on the woman, visibly analysing every movement. In a real battle, perhaps he would be looking for weaknesses. But he wanted her to win – he wanted to find her strengths, to bring them out and hone them.

Niamh seemed to be picking up the pace. Her big moves didn’t hit, so she adjusted her technique. Her defensive stance turned light, and her movements quick. She had been an athlete at a university, so she had a headstart compared to some of her peers. As she eased into a more familiar posture, her body began to relax. She was a runner, so she began to apply those skills. 

At first, it began with quick, successive swipes. Each blocked, parried or deflected, but it seemed to boost Niamh’s resolve. She continued to move, circling around Ren, and picking up the pace. She darted in the opening left after each attack, slipping behind him and throwing hit after hit. Her strikes were far from clean, but practice would make up for such flaws. She found a rhythm of ducking and weaving, cleaving Ren’s attention through sheer speed. 

With his attention split, Ren’s focus was finally drawn to the assault at hand. His analysis was dropped for a moment to redirect his full attention to defense. Niamh picked up on the slight change, and leapt backwards. The sudden change altered Ren’s balance, just slightly. As he adjusted, she threw her staff at him, as if it were a spear. A last ditch effort to claim the win.

Silence fell upon the audience as they witnessed the final blow. The staff seemed to float, suspended in midair by a single hand. Unfortunately for Niamh, Ren had caught it.

“Impressive,” he commented, passing the weapon back to her. 

“I didn’t win,” she responded flatly, visibly annoyed by her loss.

“It’s not about winning. Not yet, at least. You figured out a solid strategy for yourself, I’d work on refining that. 

“I thought we were supposed to getting ‘closer to our Gods.’”

“No – well, yes – but you need to be able to handle a weapon. For self-defense. You won’t be allowed to leave Sanctuary until you’re at least competent in combat.”

They were currently trapped in Sanctuary with no guarantee they would ever have their freedom again. 

The blessed could walk the earth freely, but they would never be separate from their responsibilities. Never free from the ever-present gaze of hungry mouths that seek to consume them and their magic. If the new blessed set foot outside of Sanctuary, they would likely fall victim to one of many forces that sought the downfall of the blessed. They had yet to awaken their magic, and were at their most vulnerable. 

By remaining in Sanctuary, they would have a chance to discover their patron God, and hopefully awaken their power. 

In the meantime, if they learned basic combat skills, they would have a fighting chance in the outer world. 

Kou leaned over to glance at Farzenah. She was a few paces away, sitting separate from the blessed. She had been observing everyone facing off Ren and taking notes. Of the Elders, she was easily the most familiar with combat, having been trained since she was young to use most of the classical blessed weapons. 

Typically, a new blessed would replace a known predecessor. Sanctuary would help them awaken by teaching them the skills of previous blessed under their God, and use that training to strengthen their bond. Through the process, the blessed would awaken.

With more than 20 blessed of unknown Gods, there was no point in teaching them all the skills, to see what would stick. Instead, the Elders were working overtime to reverse engineer the process. They were taking note of the blesseds’ strengths, weaknesses, personalities, upbringing - anything that would help link them to the Gods. 

Kou was also making his own guesses. Niamh being quick and resourceful would surely put her on Farzenah’s radar for Air. Ming Yue hadn’t thought she fit any of the Ethereal Gods, but Kou thought Sun would pick just about anybody who was nice enough. Adonis had written her off as being anything but a Psychological God’s blessed - as he put it, she was far too ‘normal.’ Kou had noted which former blessed this was an insult to, to ensure he didn’t mention it as an off-handed comment. Finnegan was having the most difficulty, given how abstract the Primordial Gods were, and how inconsistent their blessed were. 

When their conversation finished, Ren sent Niamh back into the audience. Farzenah would likely facilitate more training between the blessed, given they would all be at a similar level. Taking turns fighting Ren was hardly productive. He had a history of training only a single blessed, and back then, he had been able to dedicate many hours to one-on-one combat training with that blessed.

That blessed had gone from a devoted pacifist who refused to touch a weapon to a blessed capable of defending themselves from fully armed soldiers. It was as close as the blessed came to manifesting a miracle without using magic. 

In truth, part of Kou regretted training with Ren. In his heart, he was still a pacifist, but he couldn’t stand back and let soldiers harm innocents either. In the process, he’d become a weapon himself, much like every blessed before him.

As Ren invited another challenger to join him, one particularly bold blessed jumped at the chance to put Ren in his place. He sauntered into the field with a confidence that rivaled even the most seasoned blessed, and it drew everybody in.

“Name?”

“What’s it to ya?” This was the blessed’s first mistake. Ren’s expression seemed unchanged, but Kou could see the tension appear in the grip of his hand. 

“Fine. Pick up the-”

“Mind if we use guns? I’m a soldier, so I have real experience. Should be more your speed,” the blessed smirked. Strike two. 

“Of course,” Ren smiled. It was a deceptively calm response, but it seemed to have the audience on the edge of their seat. Farzenah looked up from her notes, however, and from the look on her face, she was considering intervening. It was the moment she visibly gave up, and remained seated that sealed the blessed’s fate.

It seemed the blessed had come to Sanctuary with his own weapons. With a rifle in hand, he stood face to face with Ren. The gun was an assault rifle, standard issue in the Empirian military with lightweight ammo and selective firing. It was a weapon designed to kill, held in the hands of an Empirian who had likely used it to kill. Given his affiliation with the military, he probably had every intention of killing Ren today.

“Is he allowed to use that?” Despite her own Empirian upbringing, it seemed Dakota wasn’t on board with manslaughter.

“Surely he doesn’t have it set to automatic?” Elliot was also in agreement. At least they were getting along, Kou supposed.

“What if he does?”

If he did, it was a danger to everybody here. That seemed in alignment with what Kou knew about Empirian soldiers, so it wasn’t exactly unlikely. However, his trust in Ren outweighed his misgivings for the Empire.

Ren had been blessed for more than a decade. Most of that time he’d spent on the battlefield, fighting the Empire. He himself had come from the Empire, but quickly found himself on the tail end of their weapons. In the battle between the sovereign war machine of the Empire and the weapon of War, Ren had been victorious. For his triumphs, he was branded a war criminal by the Empire. A hero to some was an enemy to others, and it seemed his detractors had caught up to him today.

Ren held two guns, one in either hand. He was known to wield a slew of weapons, but if there was a pair he always came back to, it was the pair of pistols. Loaded with plasma and stolen from an Empire research facility, they had never failed him once.

He always used them when defeat wasn’t an option.

“Ready?” the soldier taunted.

“I’ll let you take the first shot,” Ren responded coolly.

The Empirian opened fire.