The Hundred Reigns

The black comet was the Overlord Crestone.

A small part of Simon had always suspected the truth since Asterion warned him that he, Mardok, and all the other Zodiac Fiends were shards of it shaped by mortal fears. Lauriane had warned him that she could never find a miasma crystal of sufficient potency to create Overlord Vassal Classes.

Only the comet could have been powerful enough for the Overlord itself.

“Simon?”

Had the comet always been the Overlord Crestone since it first visited this world in times immemorial, changing its nature to match the nightmares of terrorized mortals until a certain archdemon found a way to harness it? Or had Mardok somehow usurped it in an ultimate act of brilliant megalomania, bending the primal chaos that created him into a tool of evil with Elios Magnos’ assistance? What purpose did the Crimson Throne serve in everything? Was it a mere symbol? A decoy, or an anchor for the Dark?

His vision was clouded with purple miasma, yet he couldn’t stop looking into the face of his Class, the shadow of his soul beckoning from the depths of the interstellar void…

“Lord Simon, your hand–”

The more Simon stared into the baleful visage of the Overlord Class, the more it drew him in. He sensed its will to dominate all life echo within him, its ceaseless hunger for power, its hatred for all those that would live without knowing the bitter sting of fear…

“By the Light…”

It called out to him, inviting him into its dark embrace so that they could bring order and discipline to an aimless universe, promising him all the planes’ wealth and pleasures, tempting him with the fulfillment of all of his most sinister desires…

Simon wrenched himself free from Abraxas’ gaze and forced himself back to reality, stumbling from the throne and barely catching himself. He looked around and found that the Templars present were pointing their weapons at him. Izulon had put on his Scholar Class outfit, and Mastemo gripped his staff with fury.

“What’s going–” Simon muttered, his hand reaching out for his forehead only to touch steel. The truth finally hit him then.

Simon was in his Overlord Class outfit.

His Class had come out in response to Abraxas’ call, revealing his true nature to everyone in the room and reveling in their dread. It refused to hide in the shadows when it could threaten, enslave, and intimidate.

Realizing the danger, Simon immediately attempted to teleport back to Shabram’s safehouse, only for a higher power to cancel out the effect and trap him in place.

Mastemo’s Holy Temple negated your teleportation.

Simon cursed under his breath. If Mastemo’s Holy Temple worked like his Lord of the Demon Castle, then its powers affected individuals of a lower level. The High Confessor outclassed him in power.

And he was furious.

“From the start…” Simon could almost taste the bitter, cold anger in Mastemo’s voice. “You deceived us from the start… to think that your vile magic could let you violate oaths to the Light and deceive the megaliths themselves…”

“I did not lie about my visions, nor Louis’ treachery,” Simon insisted in an attempt to salvage the situation. “I had to–”

“Silence!”

Mastemo never raised his voice, but his shout now echoed through the observatory, his words heavy with condemnation.

“I trusted you! I believed in you! I welcomed you into these hallowed halls and did my best to let you feel welcomed, and you bit my hand in return like a viper!” His anger sounded utterly sincere, then gave way to bitterness. “To think I caressed the hope that you would be the next Paladin… that you could help us save this world and shepherd it to true peace… how could I be so blind…”

“We can still save the world together, Your Excellency,” Simon argued, his finger pointing at the nightsky. “That comet is the real threat! It will wake the Zodiac Fiends and unleash destruction upon us all, as it did time and time again across history! With my help, we can save–”

“Save? Save?! What can you save with your lies?!” Mastemo froze as a terrible idea crossed his mind. “You let your companions die on that mountain, didn’t you? Or did you kill them yourself to protect your shameful secret?”

This wasn’t going well. “The Zodiac Fiend–”

“Spoke the truth!” Mastemo snapped back, his hand holding his mask. “I thought its story was unbelievable, that there was no way you could be the Overlord walking among us, but now… now I see you for what you are!” He raised his staff and pointed it at the night sky. “This… this abomination is the face of evil incarnate, and I see now why it chose you as its champion! You have Mardok’s gift for lies, Gargauth’s greed for secrets, and your father’s ruthlessness! You are a false savior that will lead us all to ruin!” 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

Wait, Exodeos’ spirit whispered to Mastemo behind Simon’s back? Was that why the High Confessor had tested out the limits of his Templar oath a few days ago? Only individuals capable of becoming hosts could hear those whispers.

Something didn’t add up.

“How could you hear a Zodiac Fiend’s whispers?” Simon asked, a chill traveled down his spine as he realized why the High Confessor had felt so familiar. It couldn’t be… “What shameful truth are you hiding under your mask, Your Excellency?”

Mastemo remained silent for a few seconds, then raised a finger at Simon. “Kill this heretic!” he ordered his Templars. “Kill–”

Simon immediately triggered his Dreadful Aura and cast a Chaos Wave that sent the Templars nearest to him flying back. The blast sent the telescope throne flying, hitting Izulon, while Mastemo slammed his staff against the floor to anchor himself.

Simon immediately sensed an immense weight suddenly pressing down on him. The burden of his sins and guilt moved from metaphysical to a physical reality, weakening him and draining him of his strength.

Mastemo’s Holy Temple branded you as a heretic! All stats debuffed! Castigation status! You cannot recover lifeforce or mana! Your Light vulnerability has worsened!

Realizing fighting inside Mastemo’s home turf was suicidal, Simon attempted to summon his phantom steed in an attempt to escape, only for the Perk to fail. With no way out, he cast Devil’s Arm and extended his hand at Mastemo. His nail-claws grabbed the High Confessor’s mask before he could react and sank into its polished mirror surface.

Hoping that the Cleric shared all spellcasters’ weakness to close-ranged combat, Simon then pulled the High Confessor towards him in an attempt to take him as a hostage. He managed to pull in the man an inch before a pillar of light appeared out of nowhere and struck Simon’s elbow with searing power. Pain spread through his incinerated flesh and bones, and his severed arm fell to the ground with a thump.

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Ugh, the Cleric could cast prayers nonverbally! Simon powered through the pain and covered his bleeding stump with his remaining hand as he furiously considered battle tactics… only to freeze.

His claws had ripped off part of Mastemo’s mask. The piece covering the upper left part of his face was gone, allowing Simon to glimpse at the truth beneath it.

A green eye glared at him behind a small tuft of pinkish hair that failed to obscure a cyan, shining stone stuck in the middle of his forehead. It was buried so deep in Mastemo’s wrinkled flesh that only the tip peeked out of his skin, but Simon immediately recognized its baleful gleam.

A miasma crystal.

“You’re one of them,” Simon realized in horror.

“You know nothing, deceiver,” Mastemo replied, waving his hand at him. “Down with thee! Fall into the Abyss!”

And so Simon did.

The floor opened up beneath him, and he fell down into a smooth shaft as Mastemo reshaped the Lighthouse’s very structure. Simon immediately pointed his hand beneath him and cast Hellfire. The blast halted his descent, and Simon immediately tried to follow it up with another burst of flames in an attempt to fly out of the trap the same way he flew around Exodeos a few days back.

He looked up to the exit, his gaze meeting Mastemo’s as he stared down at him with hatred and contempt. The High Confessor’s miasma crystal gleamed for a second, and a veritable waterfall poured down from his staff.

The immensely powerful current hit Simon with violent force from above, gallons upon gallons of liquid crushing him and dragging him down. Neither Chaos Wave nor Hellfire sufficed to keep him up or repel the never-ending tide. The waterfall simply dragged him down and down towards the distant bottom.

Simon plummeted down seven hundred floors to his death, like his father before him.

The Crimson Throne cradled him back to the darkness between time, its laughter echoing through the emptiness.

And why wouldn’t it laugh? The High Confessor and leader of the Church of the Light harbored a Zodiac Fiend crystal encrusted in his forehead. A literal demon hid under a veil of saintliness, and yet, when it looked into the darkness and faced the Overlord’s true visage…

He blinked.

A host. Mastemo is a host. The mere thought still shook Simon to his core. How could nobody notice? On one hand, it partly explained why he knew so much about the Zodiac Fiends, why he collaborated with the Cobweb to collect them, and what happened to the crystal that should have been buried in the Lighthouse’s depths. On the other hand… It doesn’t make any sense.

Why would the Cleric Crestone tolerate it? If it reacted like the Paladin and the Merchant had to Simon, then it should have rejected Mastemo as an unworthy host. The Noble Crestones had been created to oppose the Zodiac Fiends after all. Wielding it as a possessed man should have been unbearably painful.

Could Mastemo have somehow suppressed the demon within his crystal with his Cleric powers, or bent it to his will rather than the other way around? Or did the fiend manipulate him so subtly, so intimately, that it could avoid detection? Simon only sensed a whiff of the Dark through his Overlord Class, so unnoticeable that nobody else may have sensed it, but certainly someone in the Church’s upper echelons should have picked up on something so huge at one point or another. Each and every Templar in the world possessed a Darksense of their own.

Mastemo simply behaved way differently than the few hosts Simon had the misfortune of encountering so far. He was an anomaly, and a frightful one. Was it connected to the light megalith’s suspicious interactions with Miasmic Archmage? Did Balzam Magnos know?

Either way… Mastemo seemed to have at least been partly sincere in his interactions with Simon, if his enraged reaction to the truth was any indication. He did truly appear to believe that Simon was a budding Visionary chosen by his god, and he was ready to smite his protégé when he strayed from his aspirations.

So many secrets left to be uncovered, Simon thought, his soul facing the Crimson Throne. And I’m facing one right now.

“What are you, really?” Simon snapped at the throne. “A compass for the reigns? A medium for Abraxas’ influence in this world? A glorified prop and retirement home for dead Overlord souls?”

The Crimson Throne answered him with amused silence, and a title worthy of this reign.

This is the sixteenth of your Hundred Reigns.

You have earned the Title of Simon the Heretic.

The Heretic: You have made a mockery of the Cleric’s belief and shown him that faith is no armor against the Overlord. Your Dreadful Aura now suppresses the prayer spells of lower-leveled individuals caught in its range.

Simon supposed it was a fitting Title, and one that might save his life should he ever cross the Church of the Light again.

Simon awakened back in his room, the night outside dark and full of stars. He looked at the blackness between them, imagining Abraxas’ baleful visage staring back at him from across the cosmos. Now that he wasn’t trapped in a room with pissed-off Templars, Simon took a moment to breathe and think things through.

Abraxas is the Overlord Crestone… but it can’t have always been that way. The Overlord Class only appeared after the Doom and Elios Magnos participated in its construction. Simon crossed his arms and pondered the timing. Mardok must have carved the arcane scripts upon it during its last passage.

This would explain why Mardok helped the heroes and elves seal away his siblings. The other Zodiac Fiends might have interfered with the Overlord Class’ creation otherwise. They were obstacles Mardok had to remove in order to claim ultimate power.

This also provided a possible explanation for the increasing number of reigns over time and why Elios Magnos could guess their numbers from knowing the year alone: since Abraxas was the Overlord Crestone, the closer the comet was when a new Overlord was selected, the more energy it could spend on the time-loops. Mardok probably had the fewest because he spent so much power creating the actual mechanism in the first place.

Simon still had no idea how Mardok pulled off such a feat, or what purpose the Crimson Throne served, or how the reigns truly functioned… but he at least knew what powered the cycle now. Studying Abraxas’ arcane script should let him understand the Overlord Class’ blueprints.

Maybe I could even make Vassal Classes of the Overlord, Simon thought. Classes capable of following me through the reigns without triggering the failsafe. It would be a relief to have someone like Lauriane at my side to save the world.

Still, it was a miles-wide Crestones the size of a meteor. The sheer complexity of the arcane script, not to mention the difficulties in actually observing the comet, boggled the mind. It would require constant access to a telescope as powerful as the Lighthouse’s, not to mention that he might be unable to see the entire thing from the planet the same way a part of the moon above remained forever unseen.

Lying to Mastemo and playing the role of the faithful would only get him so far, since a single mistake might get him exposed, interrupted, and killed. It would be easier if Simon could either seize the telescope permanently or create his own.

Studying Abraxas will either take a very long time and resources I do not have yet, or confronting Elios Magnos, Simon thought. Unlocking my Darkblood potential would help. Going to Eligos could be a solution…

Unfortunately, there was one potential unknown he had to address: Norbelle.

Her ability to peer through the reigns could be both an asset and a grievous threat, since she was perhaps one dream away from learning the truth about him and warning Euphemia in turn. The fact that she hadn’t had one of those yet didn’t mean it wouldn’t eventually happen, considering how much of an anomaly she was. Not to mention that the Church Party’s association with the Zodiac Fiends was awfully suspicious…

Assessing the threat Norbelle represented early would prevent many future headaches, not to mention studying her closely would let him understand how Darkblood and Visionary powers interacted with the reigns, which might ease things with Justine Eligos. Going to Cocagne would let him explore their library too and probably learn more about the Abyss or Abraxas.

At worst, I can learn Tier V spells, Simon thought. Maybe find more about the Mage Crestone. It should have useful Perks to help with my research.

Once his decision was made, Simon first called the Keeper to confirm whether or not it knew anything about Abraxas’ true nature—it didn’t—and then teleported into Shabram’s office. Seeing her working on her desk, alive and whole, tugged at Simon’s heartstrings.

She wouldn’t die for him ever again.

“Lord Simon?” she asked with a frown.

“My father is dead at Louis’ hand, but he bequeathed me everything,” Simon declared upon putting on his Class outfit. Shabram blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered. “I am the new Overlord, as was his plan, and I have need of you.”

Shabram nodded sharply, her allegiance shifting like the wind. “What do you require, Your Majesty?”

“Two things. First, I need to learn all that we have gathered on Cocagne politics and my father’s plan to take it over.” Simon would then edit the Overlord testament to fit it and cover his bases. “And second… I need access to a large number of cattle.”

For perhaps the first time since he met her, the great spymistress Shabram looked at loss for words. “Cattle, Your Majesty?”

“I can settle for sheep too,” Simon added, his fist clenched in fiery determination. “I’m going to brand them all.”

No more accidental draining.