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Warriors for the Weak.

Two lifetimes sacrificed for this victory.

They had wandered the lands in the days of prehistory, when the races were many and magic was strong. They had fought, and some of them had died, for the oppressed and the weak. They’d witnessed the birth of kingdoms and brought about the death of empires greater than any known to the modern man. They had worked for the Gods.

Judged by the laws of the very beings they’d worked for, they had braved every level of the soul prison called Hell. Hel. Hades. And he hated them for it.

And by those same masters they had been reincarnated in their service. Their consciousnesses had been released into the bodies that housed their souls. Their powers and weapons restored! Magic restored!

Magic that they had used to kill a renegade god.

As that god died, now, He knelt down and whispered into its ear.

“Give to me your name, your power- all of it, and you will not be the last god to die.”

And the god whispered back.

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