The First Mother was fuming, which is why Turunuk was trying to avoid her. Her temper had become more and more volatile in the past few weeks as many of the smaller war-bands sent to scour the city did not come back.

He had warned her, hadn’t he?

Oh, how they had first rejoiced when they had first come here, full of soft creatures that screamed and ran from even the weakest of creatures of Heloth such as themselves. But now, the humans weren’t the same prey that they had been when the First Tribe had first claimed this city.

There weren’t many humans who were god-touched, but it had taken two entire war-bands to put down the last one that they had encountered a few weeks ago.

He had been a terror, flinging fistfuls of lightning at a terrified band of unevolved Turuks after he had apparently roasted alive a True Turuk that was supposed to be leading them. If Turunuk had not been there with his own warband, the warband would have been exterminated in its entirety.

Thankfully, they’d been able to catch the god-touched human alive. His flesh had been delicious indeed, and had sated the growing temper of the First Mother. But only for a while.

As the high shaman, Turunuk had warned the First Mother that the easy hunts would not last, and that the humans and beasts of this Earth would soon adapt to the high levels of manna, but it was as if the First Mother had become drunk on the vast pools of blood manna she had been consuming.

Turunuk knew the dangers of holding too much manna without first building the essence as foundation. If only they still had the Dagger of Hekamuth...

Turunuk himself had consumed the blood and flesh of three god-touched now, and he still felt unwelcome surges of blood-lust. Yes, blood-lust was a useful tool. But to be bathed in it, as the First Mother was…

He broke out of his reverie by a Turuk who came running into his tent. He could see the fear in its eyes as it beheld his tall frame, a full three times taller than its own puny body. He still had a hard time believing that he himself had only recently been occupying such a puny Body.

With subdued whispers, the Turuk informed him of the current situation. The easy prey around the main camp of the First Tribe were drying up. There were no more fat-birds, quick but weak rat-creatures, no more delicious and helpless insects. They would have to begin to go further.

Turunuk knew what to do, however. Soon, there would be enough True Turuks to form a war-band by themselves. When that time came, they would scour the city, section by section, until they reigned supreme and every living thing in the city was their PREY.

Turunuk suppressed the ancient pang of hunger that arose with the last thought. The Turuks had survived the barren deserts of Heloth for generations. It had made them strong.

The world, both the Duruks of old and these humans who were beginning to rebel, would become the fodder for the Turuk’s rise.

More precisely, the rise of the First Tribe to the ranks of the Great Tribes. There would soon be eight rulers of the great race of Turuks...

Turunuk managed to barely calm the truth boiling in his blood, lest he crush the head of the Turuk still kneeling in front of him. They didn’t have to fight each other anymore. Not when there were so much other flesh to be eaten.

He bared his incisors in a vicious grin.

He would quench the thirst of the High Mother with the blood essence of a thousand god-touched humans, when he reclaimed the Dagger from the black eyed and black haired human somewhere in this city...

------

“Draw!”

Cain’s voice echoed in the clearing of the village, and thirty bow-strings made from the strongest sinew of the cat-beasts were drawn tight. Thirty wooden recurve bows bent impossibly backwards as arms capable of breaking stones drew them, backs straining to keep the brow drawn and still.

The nocked arrows had arrow-heads of stone that glinted with a slight reddish tinge.

Thirty pairs of eyes gleamed as they focused two hundred yards away and on the wooden dummies at the edge of the clearing.

“Fire!”

The arrows took off like lightning with a twang, and sharp thuds rang out across the clearing as more than twenty arrows found their mark.

“Move!”

Thirty bodies scuttled quickly, leaping from behind one rock to another on the opposite end of the clearing.

“Draw!”

Again, creaks as arrows were knocked and drawn.

“Fire!”

Again, the twang of sinew and thuds as the arrows found their mark, and this time, a few more than the last.

Again and again, Cain’s voice called out across the clearing until the Hunters were out of arrows.

“We’re out of arrows, Shaman!” One of the captains called out. The Hunters had broken off into three squads of ten, and had elected a captain amongst themselves. Also, the entire village had apparently taken to calling him Shaman.

I shouldn’t have shown them how I enchanted their arrows. Cain thought, then raised his voice to cry out with a smile. Technically, they were right.

“Retrieve your arrows and we’ll take a break!”

Thirty throats sighed with relief in unison as the bows were lowered, and leather drinking pouches were taken out to quench the thirst of parched throats ofas the Hunters.

Cain allowed himself a bit of satisfaction. The Hunters were coming along quite nicely. They had not started off as the perfect bowmen, but he could see that the flow of their manna was becoming smoother when they drew and fired their bows. It , surgeding on the draw, stilleding for a deadly second as eyes found their marks, and pulseding almost jerkily when the arrows were let loose.

Cain had gradually come to realize that he already had three types of essence in his body, and that too much essence threatened to clash with each other violently.

He had blood essence that existed in all living things that bled and produced the most manna, and the sliver of shadow essence that lurked in his veins., Tand the golden essence that he had realized resided within his eyes did not seem to generally produce manna, only pulsing in the golden light of manna when he utilized his Dao.

But then he had tried to absorb the wind essence from a bird-beast’s Blood Crystal and immediately felt a splitting pain in his heart, and felt his very Soul bulge uncomfortably at the seams. Choking on a mouthful of blood and gripping his chest, he had managed to expel the wind essence from his body and had used the more abundant blood essence to heal himself.

The experience, though harrowing, had let Cain know that he still had much to learn about the nature of essence and manna. Activating the golden essence in his eyes, he examined the wooden dummies from far away. Not bad. But would it be enough?

“All right boys and girls! It’s my turn now.” Noel called out.

Some of the Hunters groaned.

The physical strength training was administered by Noel and now Harundal, who were nowhere near as understanding and patient as Cain was during his’s lectures on battle drills and the nature of manna as he understood it.

Noel had not been happy when he’d come bearing news of war. She was used to being a lone wolf that knew when to cut her losses and flee rather than stay and fight for others. Though she had established a bond with him and the Hunters, she was obviously not used to living together with others.

He supposed it was why it had taken her a month to look for a partner after the rifts.

“No one ever did anything for me, Cain. I’m happy to lead the Hunters on hunting animals for food, but I won’t fight in a war for anybody.” She had said.

“You won’t be fighting a war for anyone else, Noel. Think about it. If we don’t wipe out the Turuks now, they’ll continue to evolve and grow stronger. Eventually, no one in the city will be safe.”

“Then we leave. That was always an option, remember?” Noel snapped.

Cain clenched his jaws.

“If we run now from the goblins, then we’ll always be on the run. And while we run, these monsters will be growing stronger.

"There are times for retreat, and there are times to strike. This is the best chance we’ll have at a semblance of safety, and a way to get stronger.

"And we have to. Even animals are getting stronger, much less the monsters outside of the city. Now is the time to strike, and strike decisively, Noel. We need you. You’re the best fighter we have.”

Noel had scoffed at that.

“Yeah, right after you and Harundal, Cain…”

She was skulking, Cain could see.

“FUCK!” She suddenly shouted, and Cain had to hide a flinch. He thought she’d been about to attack him.

“You’re right, Cain. I’ll do it. Ralph has his kid to protect, too. And I’m fucking tired of running, Cain. I’m not saying I’m going to be dying for anybody else, but fuck if I’m gonna spend the rest of my life running away from these fucking goblins half the size of me.”

Cain grinned, and clasped his hand on Noel’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

And that had been that.

Cain truly believed that this was the path that humanity should take. There may be powerful monsters, and perhaps even Chosens out there who could level an army on their own, but what about two? An entire civilization?

Humanity had broken into bits and pieces when the rifts had opened and the manna had flooded and broken their old world.

But humans had put themselves on the apex of the old world with their ingenuity, their ability to work together, learn from their mistakes, and pass on their wisdom, and a thousand more reasons.

They could do so again. Humanity had apparently even produced Gods at one point in their history, if the System was to be believed and the Spirit Realm truly did exist, right? That meant that, maybe, with the now abundant levels of manna on Earth, even someone like him could...

Cain clamped down on those thoughts. He wouldn’t get ahead of himself. He would focus on the present moment, and crush the goblins that had invaded his city, and had made livestocks of the people that had once called it home.

Right now, it was going to be a long morning for the Hunters, trying to beat each other with sticks and let Noel and Harundal beat them with words.

“Are you serious right now? Put some back into it!”

“...You would all have died if not for the true warriors like Cain and Noel. This is the truth.”

All the Hunters could do was grit their teeth and try to dodge each other’s blows while landing their own. They had all discovered that while theory was useful to a degree, the best way to learn to fight was… well, actually fight.

They didn’t have much time to get used to the weapons they had received from The Vault. All the Hunters sported rings and necklaces that strengthened at least their Body, which had allowed them to increase their training time.

But most of the steel weapons and armor had gone to the Pit, who had fielded the most melee fighters.

The Tribe, as Cain’s own village was beginning to be called, had received ten longswords that had belonged to the Templar Knights Templar and some light chainmail.

Thankfully, the Crafters had begun to craft leather armor and hand-madecrafted bows, and Cain had discovered that he could imbue arrow-heads with blood essence which seemed to increase the piercing power of the arrow-heads and also acted as a form of ‘poison’.

To the unarmored goblins, the arrows of the Tribe would be deadly. Hopefully.

It would have to be enough. That was why they had been training so relentlessly in favor of anything else, even hunting. For a week, the Tribe had subsisted off of dried meats and fish caught by the non-combat oriented villagers, consisting mostly of the elderly and youth.

At this very moment, warriors from The Pit and The Den were training with the weapons they too had received.

They were to meet at the Den in two days, which meant that the Hunters, Noel, Harundal, and Cain would have to leave the Tribe tomorrow. Ralph and Joe would stay behind, fortifying the Tribe and protecting it against the attack of beasts and anything else that might sense the weakness after the departure of the majority of the fighting force.

---

After a brief lunch, Cain sat in his tent while meditating. It was a quiet place, he’d found, and he could immerse himself in his essence to better understand it and even feed it with his Soul. It was a very pleasant, if draining experience that required a lot of concentration for Cain. He had attempted to teach it to the rest of the Villagers, but they were like mere babies when it came to sensing even manna, much less essence, when compared to him.

Perhaps he was a genius, but it was most likely [True Sight] coming in to save the day once again. Cain truly felt grateful to Wukong for his Blessing. He would be living a very different life right now if it hadn’t been for the playful Monkey King, and he hoped he could see him again to thank him, as he’d been too confused to do so last time. That, and ask him an endless list of questions about essence, manna, Gods, the Spirit Realm, and-

The deep voice of Ralph interrupted Cain’s meditation. Probably just as well, as his mind was wandering off as it sometimes tended to do when he let his attention slip.

“It worked, Cain.”

The large man, followed by Harundal gently closed the flap of Cain’s tent.

Harundal had bravely volunteered to be tattooed by Ralph, who had been practicing on beast skins relentlessly, even foregoing sculpting, in order to create enchanted tattoos in time for the assault.

Cain opened his eyes from his meditation and took in the sight.

Ralph looked haggard, but Harundal was grinning and sporting a beautiful tattoo that splayed across the entirety of his right forearm.

"A pakati." Ralph said with pride. 

"The traditional Maori pattern for warriors."

In the two weeks since Cain had first supplied him with the imbued soot, Ralph had slept a mere handful of hours while experimenting with different mixtures. Many of the villagers sported clothes made out of the failed experimental pelts adorned with traditional Islander tattoo patterns, simple geometric patterns, and even figures of animals, though the tattoos were not… special.

Cain had watched Ralph work on a few of the pelts, and watched the blue essence in Ralph’s heart produce spurts of manna that seeped into the bone spur and into the pelt, and also noticed the lapses in Ralph’s control over the manna. The manna had to be imbued in an unbroken line, it seemed.

But Ralph had worked through the nights silently, until one day, he had come to Cain and claimed that the next tattoo he drew would work. That it would have to, to be completed in time for the battle. Harundal, who had been listening, volunteered himself for the first tattoo to the relief of everyone. And apparently, it had worked.

“It's beautiful. And yes. Yes it did.” Cain said, eyes blazing gold.