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It all started yesterday. John just had his 18th birthday, and when he woke up the next day, everything had changed.

As his alarm clock rang, he was surprised to see a large frame floating in mid air in front of him. ...

New quest: get ready for school.

• wash yourself
• get dressed
• eat breakfast
• use the bathroom
  Reward 20 xp
  Optional:
• masturbate
  Reward 10 xp

ACCEPT REFUSE

John figured that he might still be sleeping, probably a dream induced by playing too much video-games. What?

He accepted the strange quest by touching the button, and the window closed. Where am I?

"What a strange dream! What the fuck?" he screamed. No... this is all...

In the mirror he could see some text floating above his head. ... this is wrong...

John Newman
Lvl 3: Student.
The Gamer.

His name, a level, a class, a title, it was like this world just turned into some MMORPG. ... Who?

If it was so, then there should be a...

John turned away from the character sheet... and met the gaze of the man in the mirror. This wasn't his life. This was all wrong. Who was John? Why did this feel so-

GO BACK TO SLEEP, CHAMPION OF GAIA.

---

Lord Brighton had failed.

He was the only one who would dare tell him this undeniable fact. He had failed as a Warden-Lord to properly train his daughter; he had refused to leave her anywhere near all that the old country offered and instead whisked her away to the American frontier of the Order. She would be trained as a Warden, because he promised his true love that much, but she would also be allowed a normal life, as much as could be lived, because he promised that, too. But her life was never normal, nor was her life so grim as to harden her into a proper Warden by her 18th year.

Lord Brighton had also failed as a father. He provided for her, and armed her, and sent his best men to protect her when she allowed it... but he failed to protect her. From him. He failed to control his Seer well enough to ensure she would tell her Lord of him. William never even knew of this enemy’s infiltration or his... transgressions against his daughter, unto his daughter, into his-

Lord Brighton breathed heavily and tried to work past that obsessive hatred in his heart. He would have liked to strangle the life from the fiend, but it would not undo the failure of protecting one’s precious, single daughter from the ugliness of men.

But Lord Brighton’s failures did not end there, because he had failed the Lady, too, and failed her again for being more burdened as a father than as a servant of the Order. Lord Brighton had never encountered one so vile as to be forsaken by the Lady; indeed, it seemed impossible where she freely lent demons a chance at redemption. Some of the Confessors and Hospitalers in Brighton’s employ had performed heartless, base evils before seeing the light; even those devils in human skin were allowed to serve, much less find forgiveness.

But now, in his broken home on a day filled with treachery revealed, Lord Brighton’s righteous hatred filled in every gap and excused his murderous intent. The boy mocked his faith and attempted to infiltrate his ranks. The boy was a man, and the man had done enough villainy to sustain any sentence.

The boy had struck his daughter with the trickery of his magic. She was but nineteen years old; a child in her father’s eyes. This... threatened her again, this time to violate her womb as well as her heart. He was to be spared? Lord Brighton would not have it, could not have it. But Brighton was ordered to take him alive by his Warden, now fully realized-

William Brighton, the father, would not have it.

He called upon his strength even as he struggled to hide the wheezing left by the treacherous Hound; she had collapsed his left lung and broken his rib cage, but William had fought through far worse. His daughter was present, as was the enemy; he had to show strength, not weakness.

But strength was found in abundance as his daughter’s prone body laid bare and threatened. He dashed with the speed of his youth and drove the blade through the that intended to take ever more from William... and as William watched the monster bleed, his heart filled with hate that drowned out his faith and loyalty.

William was a father, and he would have blood for all this bastard had done.

He sliced the boy’s head from his shoulders with the holy edge of his blade... and so dulled was his righteous faith that the blade may have been weakened, but still it passed through cleanly... and harmlessly as the boy was sent into a coma. Lord Brighton blinked as the boy landed in a puddle of his own vitae... alive. Headed. Lord Brighton shook his head. It couldn't be...

William Brighton failed even in .

He looked to the blade... and saw its radiant, golden glow, the same as Moira’s hammer. The Lady’s Mercy, an enchantment; Lord Brighton had seldom need for it in his youth, but he knew its feeling all the same. He let the hallowed blade clatter to the ground, it’s holy edge touching the stone. Normally, that sacred edge would eat through marble like air; so enchanted, it bounced harmlessly away from the stone. William glanced behind himself, to where his daughter had been laid out ...

Only her eyes were awake and alive. Her arm was raised... and the tips of her fingers bled profusely, for they had touched the radiant, life-eating tip of his blade to bless it before he had finished the boy.

Her eyes bored into his. She knew of his treachery, and the shame of it crushed the haughty Lord Brighton.

He would the life from the beast if he had to; he had lost everything now, he was sure of it, but the vengeance of a father at least would be his-

“The Lady’s will is absolute.”

Lord Brighton slowed... and was paralyzed. He grunted with fury; this was the Hold of Penance. It was a limited spell, for its hold was only as strong as its speaker. He had learned to channel that potent prayer by the time he was already in his thirties... but Warden-Lords were naught but crude imitations, mere retainers, for the true bearers of the Lady’s gifts.

More than that, however: Lord Brighton’s heavy heart no doubt bolstered it until its hold on him became absolute.

The remorseful voice of his daughter had uttered the prayer perhaps in the same moment she had learned it through their Goddess' inspiration; slowly she rose, restored by the Lady’s grace. A Warden did not stay down so long as she drew breath and remained chaste; this was ever a truth from their legend. The late Lady Brighton might still be alive, if not for laying with her Lord; another pang of guilt, but one that greeted Lord Brighton every day he awoke.

The glowing outline of Moira’s nude form slowly entered William’s vision. A clutch of debris-stained knights, no doubt rushing up after being healed, arrived with their rifles and other arms in tow... and came to a startling stop at the wide hole in the wall that let them see their teenage charge in the buff. Dirty thoughts evaporated from their minds, but the guilt of having seen her in such a state still had them cast their eyes downward.

She looked down at the mage... and crawled to be prone over his body. Shocked gasps, then an immediate silence.

"The Lady blesses you: sleep, and dream of her mercy."

With tears dripping freely from her eyes, Moira kissed the cold brow of her love... and smiled against his forehead as she felt it warm. John's blood remained on the marble... but his wounds sealed rapidly underneath her, blood pumped from nowhere as his body was restored, and the near-corpse was once again in that odd, perfect health John Newman always enjoyed... save that he remained , as her prayer had intended.

Lord Brighton's anger and self-loathing mixed until Moira rose... and turned to meet his gaze. He closed his eyes, too ashamed to bear her judgment. “Father... it’s time to tell me everything.”

Lord Brighton did not respond. But his silence was acceptance, and Moira nodded to acknowledge it.

“But more than that... things must change. They will start with John.” Lord Brighton steeled himself slowly as the paralysis began to wear off. “You will not try to kill him again... and you will keep him alive against all who would kill him until I release you from this duty.”

His control returned... as well as his honor. The Warden was commanding him; it was his duty to obey.

My little girl... Lord Brighton briefly saw Moira: a child, soaking wet after one of the Indian Warden’s trainees shoved her into a fountain, now crying because of what she was told about the Indian Warden. She was a terrified child-

“Do you understand?”

He returned to the present; the little girl was a woman now, so sanctified that her own nudity was no barrier or concern as she commanded him. You were but my child moments ago... “Then I will do so on my terms,” Lord Brighton finally answered, “and you shall abide them, as you always have.”

"Through me, you will abide the Lady... and so through you, I will accept Her terms, so long as I know them to be hers." Lord Brighton did not answer. Moira continued, “You’ll keep him below?”

“Of course.”

“... Is it true? What you... what we did to the mage I brought in, the one John captured?”

A surge of noises and gasps; the Seer had come up with three Confessors behind her, chasing her glowing blue robes until their working eyes fell on the sacred nudity of Lord and Warden. All, save the blind, now cast their eyes downward. The dust had settled enough now that neither Brighton enjoyed decency in the dimly lit ruins of their Court.

"He will be spared that... ultimate fate."

Moira nodded. The Lady seemed fine with this plan... but doubt remained in Moira. Despite John's fears, she still possessed the will to exercise that doubt. "Let me speak to him first... and... perhaps I can convince him. If I cannot, then... I do not wish him to suffer, or die, by your hand."

Lord Brighton nodded, though he remained adamant in his desire: if the man could not be killed, then, he would have to perish metaphorically. The Order was not unfamiliar with the practice; a glance at the Confessors who drew near served as a reminder of that. "Lazarus, come forward.”

One of the Confessors, a bald, reed-like man with a shifty left eye, quickly marched into the space with his eyes cast downward. His feet stopped just short of the cooling blood of the Warlock. “Yes, my Lord?”

“Who did you serve in the year 2003?”

The man flinched as if struck but answered in a steady voice, “I... I served the Cabal as a Practicus, my Lord; I was their servant and experiment in one, trained to enjoy ... and suffering.”

“Does this corruption follow you in your duties as a Confessor?”

“Never, my Lord; the Order cleansed me of those evils over ten years ago.”

Lord Brighton looked to his daughter, waiting for her to be impressed.

Her eyes narrowed at them both. “You would help convert John... as you have this man?” Moira shifted uncomfortably with the uncomfortable thought. “How long did he spend in our... care?”

“He was a Cabalist, filled with evil intent,” Lord Brighton explained, “and you contend that this... boy is the Champion of Gaia. Whatever it took for poor Lazarus, it cannot take for what you say is a righteous cause... all despite the Lady’s forsaking.”

More doubt... but now, at least, Moira could feel her father’s earnest intent, in that promise, replacing the bloodlust that had possessed him since he has declared John a Warlock. Is this... is this the path? Is this how John will join me, how we’ll finally be- “So be it... but I must speak to him the moment he wakes.”

Lord Brighton gave his nod... and, quietly, sent his new orders to only those who needed to hear them:

To the Seer, to prepare the contract mages necessary to restore their home and fortress.

To the Sage, to prepare the anti-mage restraints and a chamber in the deepest pit of the dungeon for John and the strongest cell conjurable to hold Galley.

To the Hospitalers to check and fully restore every wounded man before returning to Kim Moon, the dilemma that was now their ward.

To the Confessors, to prepare to convert not one, but two needy souls: Galley Gallows, in aid of the Sage in conjuring mundane trappings, and now John Newman, the forsaken Warlock and hopeless cause of his daughter.

“Father,” Moira suddenly whispered as flashlights and soldiers filled the Court to secure it, “if you disobey m... if you disobey the Lady again... then I cannot let you command the forces of the Order anymore.”

Lord Brighton turned with a naked flare of fury, but her eyes remained steadily pressed against his gaze. “You would excommunicate your father?”

“Never,” she quickly replied...