The morning after the clash smelled of iron and smoke. Crows wheeled overhead, their harsh calls echoing across the charred meadow where grass had been trampled, blood spilled, and lives broken. Warriors of Sky-Torn's people moved among the bodies—some theirs, some strangers from across the sea. They gathered arrows, snapped blades, and whispered prayers to the restless dead.
Sky-Torn walked slowly, staff tapping against the earth. The fire of the fight still flickered in his chest, but around him the tribe mourned. Mothers bent over their sons, fathers laid hands on still-warm foreheads, children clung to the garments of those who would never rise again.
The Villain System pulsed in his vision.
System Notification:Quest Completed: The First Clash.Villain Points Earned: +50.Destiny Fractured: Colonial Harmony probability reduced by 12%.
The words burned themselves into his thoughts, invisible to all but him. With them came a deeper shadow, a sense that the world's threads had been cut and re-tied around his hand. He felt the power humming like a storm in the marrow of his bones.
Yet he also felt the stares. The elders whispered. Some said his prophecy had lured them into this fight. Others, whose hearts boiled with grief, muttered that he had cursed their warriors into an early grave.
Sky-Torn knelt beside a body not yet cold. A young man, his cousin, lay with a musket ball in his chest. The shaman pressed fingers to his brow, chanting low. The prayer was for safe passage into the spirit realm, but beneath it he let another thread of words slip—binding, twisting, staining.
System Notification:Forbidden Rite performed: Curse of Restless Ash.Villain Points Earned: +20.Effect: Fallen warrior spirits will trouble the dreams of the colonizers who shed their blood.
The flames of the funeral pyres rose by noon. Smoke trailed into the sky, carrying songs that were half lament, half war cry. The council convened as the embers glowed red, their voices sharp against the keening of widows.
"We must end this bloodshed before it grows beyond us," declared Elk-Wise, his beard stained with age and sorrow. "Send envoys. Speak words of peace. The strangers will crush us if we continue."
A younger warrior spat into the fire. "Peace? They came with iron and thunder. They fired first. Shall we bow our heads and ask to be chained next?"
The council erupted into argument. Some demanded a parley, others shouted for vengeance. The air inside the lodge was thick with smoke and fury.
Sky-Torn listened, silent at first, then let his voice slide between the clamor like a blade into flesh.
"Peace," he said, his eyes glinting. "Peace is a chain with flowers painted on the links. You call it safety, but it binds your spirit until you forget you were ever free."
A murmur rolled through the gathered elders. He leaned forward, staff across his knees.
"War is cruel. I do not deny it. But cruelty is already here, walking in their boots, whispering in their foreign tongue. Shall we greet cruelty with smiles? Or with teeth?"
The younger warriors thumped their spears against the floor, howling in agreement. The elders frowned, torn between fear and pride.
The Villain System shimmered at the edge of his vision.
Optional Quest Activated: Sever the Peace Chain.Ensure peace talks collapse before they can be agreed upon.Reward: +100 Villain Points, Destiny Corruption increased.
Sky-Torn lowered his gaze, feigning humility. Already suspicion grew around him. He felt it, a tightening circle, but the more they whispered of him as danger, the more fate itself curved to his hand.
That night, while the tribe slept uneasy around dwindling fires, Sky-Torn performed a secret rite. He painted the ashes of fallen warriors across his chest, mixing them with his own blood. He called to their spirits, summoning them not to rest but to linger. The air shimmered with the heat of their anger, the meadow's shadows thickening.
"Follow the strangers," he whispered. "Hound their sleep. Let them hear your cries in the dark. Let them taste the fear you felt."
The shadows shivered, then streaked away like smoke chased by wind.
System Notification:Ritual Complete. Villain Points +30.Warning: Excessive manipulation of spirits will corrupt tribal perception of your role.
Sky-Torn exhaled, body trembling. His people already feared his hunger for forbidden rites. Yet with every curse, every twist of fate, he felt closer to mastering the storm.
At dawn, horns blew from the forest's edge. Warriors rushed to arms, expecting another attack, but it was no war party. Instead, a single figure approached beneath a white flag sewn from coarse cloth. A colonizer envoy, flanked by two guards who carried muskets but kept them lowered.
The envoy's clothing was ragged from travel, yet his bearing was proud. He raised his hand, palm outward, and spoke in halting words of their tongue, thick with an accent that grated like stones against steel.
"We come not to fight," he said. "We come to speak."
Gasps rippled among the tribe. Some spat at the ground, others muttered prayers. The council gathered swiftly, elders pushing to the front, warriors encircling the strangers with spears ready.
The Villain System pulsed in Sky-Torn's mind.
System Notification:New Branch Quest Unlocked: Corrupt the Envoy.Option A: Sabotage the peace talk, ensuring bloodshed continues. Reward: +100 Villain Points.Option B: Convert the envoy secretly, sowing discord among colonizers. Reward: +150 Villain Points.
Sky-Torn's lips curved into a shadow of a smile. Fate had placed a choice before him, and whichever path he took would blacken his name.
The envoy bowed stiffly. "We wish for parley. We wish for peace."
The council erupted again, some crying for acceptance, others demanding the envoy's death.
Sky-Torn's gaze pierced the foreigner's eyes, and in the flicker of torchlight he thought he saw something there—hesitation, fear, perhaps even shame. A man caught between orders and conscience.
The shaman's heart quickened. This envoy might be a tool more dangerous than any musket. A knife hidden in silk, waiting for the right hand to guide it.
The System's words glowed one final time.
Choice Required.Which fate will you carve?
Sky-Torn tightened his grip on his staff, feeling the whole lodge hold its breath as all eyes turned to him, waiting for the shaman to speak.