It is surprisingly cool for an early summer afternoon in Baal Dagan, the city named after its patron god. But what the day lacks in heat, the mood compensates for to make temperatures rise. A crowd gathers reluctantly on the central square, up the hill where the temple of Baal Dagan sits prominently on the stony ridge. No one speaks loudly, yet murmurs and whispers abound tell of something brewing in the collective consciousness. It is that time of the month again and they are waiting for the inevitable. That time when the Chosen are brought to the temple. It is supposed to be a moment of great rejoicing. Ishtar's Reiter as these chosen few are called in the Kuwense language (and approximate meaning being "rider of the star of god"), would be summoned by Baal Dagan himself. It didn't take long for the procession to appear at the end of the great road spanning east to west in front of the temple mound.

In front of the temple stands a great statue of Baal Dagan, a figure of a stone-hewn man, aloof eyes staring half-squinted into oblivion, arms outstretched in a receiving posture. At its feet, an enormous bronze cauldron contains a burning fire, its flames licking eagerly towards the empty sky. Before that stand three priests adorned in white robes lined with blue embroidery. The priests carry tall staffs, their tips fashioned after animal heads; a hawk, a lion and a snake. They are the high priests of the temple of Baal.

The cart with the two chosen and a half-dozen other priests stops at the base of the mound. As always, a boy and a girl are chosen. The girl indeed experiencing that time of the month — her first — while the boy is still a few years shy of burgeoning manhood. It is how Baal Dagan commands it. So dressed in red cloaks they ascend the steps.

The high priests make a great ceremony out of it, chanting prayers in a language alien to the Kuwense and which they only teach other priests. Then they sing in the Kuwense language and you are supposed to sing with them. Finally, two of the high priests begin ceremoniously tieing the children up. 

The crowd becomes very silent.

The boy first is thrown into the cauldron and immediately cries of agony reverberate against the bronze layer that separates the fire from the outside world. Four times he cried out, each time louder and each time higher pitched, until the heat destroyed the membranes of his body and the crying stopped. Next, the girl suffered the same fate — she lasted only a few seconds longer. 

The middle high priest, and defacto king of the city, observes the fires intently for a while, then turns to the crowd and raises his arms. "Baal Dagan is satisfied this month," he proclaims maladroitly and with an exaggerated reverb in his voice. "The Horro will not attack us." 

A sigh of relief comes from the crowd, but it is uncertain whether it is because the ceremony has the wished-for effect or simply that it is finally over. They had to be there, it is mandatory for all citizens of the city of Baal Dagan to attend the ceremony every month.

Another month passes by and the day of Baal's summoning draws closer. Yet, not all Kuwense are content with their patron god's protection anymore. The lottery, the terrible sacrifice Baal demands, the burden of serfdom and enthrallment to the priesthood — it might all be suffered by a weakwilled and powerless people in exchange for safety. But whispers spread of a man, a boy, who can instil the power to resist into others. A rumour caught on just six months ago. A goat herder touched this boy and two days later when he found Horro attacking his flock, instead of running or hiding he resisted.

Miraculously, he survived. More miraculously, he killed both Horro attacking him! Something only the priesthood is supposed to be capable of, by the power of Baal Dagan. Needless to say, this story spread like wildfire. There are stories like it from before. Individual Kuwense powerful enough to slay Horro, but those stories are regarded as myths. The priests certainly did their best to dismiss and suppress these stories as fairy tales and blasphemy, bedtime lullabies children best grow out of quickly. But this goat herder lived among them, somewhere in the now. For the first time, the Kuwense are now aware of their own potential.

Ywach, a boy just before his teens, stands with a clay tablet in his hands. His name is spelt on it, along with the seal and symbols of the temple. He knows what it means, he has been chosen. He is one of Ishtar's Reiter. The day beckons, and he is summoned. The cart draws near to the temple mound when the people are called to religious attention by the gongs and cymbals. 

It was Three thousand years ago when Julian had not been enlightened the way he was now. Civilization was backwards, different cultures and tribes existed as well as different religions.

Before the time of the Supreme one, the god of the Quincy, the Emperor, it was the time when Baal reigned. The people lived in fear and ignorance spread like a plague. The people depended on false gods whom they could not see to protect them and offer guidance. The same false god that demanded cruelty; human sacrifice. Julian had just witness a young boy being cast into a fire, his screams were melody to the Priest but a symbol of fear to the people present, it could be there sons or daughters the reality of how true it was was written on their faces.

Yet, after the promises of protection, the lies, someone had defeated the Horro, a boy. Surely the rumors would spread like a wind blowing the news to Julian's ears. Working as a blacksmith in the forge, making bronze weapons the news had come to him when his two customers argued about the reliability of the news. It was something that had happened before but was crushed into a mere folklore.

The time for the next ceremony was almost upon them and Julian set aside his daily work at the forge, to get prepared and make his way to the gathering. Something was brewing, a change was in the air, he could almost smell it and all it needed was a spark. 

"Alms..., alms for the poor," a middle-aged man, head bald, beard at six 'o clock, spoke with a flat voice. He sat cross-legged on an old rag, almost indistinguishable from the rags he wore on his body. 

A couple passed by.

"Spare a beggar some food," the bald man, Gau Ta Weret as he called himself, spoke again.

The husband reached into the basket held by his wife and broke off a scrap of bread which he handed to Gau. 

Gau bowed. "Thank you, kind sir, kind madam," he said as he received the morsel with both hands. He watched as the couple moved on, content smiles on their faces no doubt in the knowledge that they had done their good deed for the day. Gau shook his head slowly and passed the bread on to another wretched being exempt from the grain dole. 

Eager fingers took the sustenance off him and brought it to equally eager lips. 

Gau stood up and dropped his rags, revealing a modest albeit still lower-class garb underneath. 

The other beggar, already done with the food look up. "Where are you going?"

"Can't you hear the cymbals? The ceremony is about to start."

The beggar chuckled incredulously. "You're going? They cut us off from the grain dole and you're still going to that charade?" he asked. Although his voice was raspy, he spoke with a certain tone and coupled with his choice of words it was clear this man hadn't always been a beggar.

Gau nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. He concentrated on the city itself, its inhabitants and the temple mound. Before him, all the souls of the City of Baal Dagan appeared as bright blimps — some brighter than others. Yet, two souls appeared of a different colour to him. The first, black and dark red, hazy like the aberration above a smokey fire and centred on the temple itself. Baal Dagan, Gau thought.

The second, also black in colour was far more pristine and void of the dark red impurity. Like a perfect, glossy, black sphere it floated gracefully across the city and ever closer to the temple.

"Someone's coming today. Someone very interesting and who I need to meet," Gau said.

"Like, who?" the beggar asked.

Gau shrugged. "I don't know yet," he said and went off to the temple mound.

Two men dressed in ornate robes collect him from his hut, indistinguishable from one another as their heights, attire and mannerisms match. Their faces are veiled, sashes heavy with ornate trinkets, belts hung low to once side where the weight of their ceremonial maces pull at them. Indistinguishable, aye, but not to the boy. One of them possesses a slightly 'heavier' soul than the other, and so he knows which is which where others cannot. They speak in near-whispers with the same cadence, make the same motions, and before he knows it he is ushered out into the street where an equally ornate cart awaits him.

He is not alone, it would seem. There sits a young girl, freshly blooded with the burdens of womanhood and her face is a pale visage of terror - twisted cherubic lips and large, moist eyes. As the young boy joins her, she is handed a veil of her own for it would be unseemly for any chosen of Baal to appear offended and upset by the honor. The attendants hold a second veil in hand, but upon seeing the apparently unbothered face of the boy, pocket it and raise their hand as a signal for the cart to continue.

As the procession proceeds up the hill, more and more townsfolk follow. Their steps are light and hesitant - do they fear their savior, even those of advanced years who no longer qualify for the honor of tithe? Or is it they fear the whips of the attendants, the harsh words or the promised stint of the cold, black cell?

The air rings loudly with musical chimes and the clashing of huge bronze gongs, and all hear the call. Come children of Baal! He calls to you, come witness his splendor! It is a time for joy, come witness your salvation!

The cart approaches the top of the hill, and the young girl starts to whimper. The young boy notices and places a gentle hand on her bare knee - she stops, her heartbeat quickens, and though she knows not how or why, she is the second of Ywach's blessed. Something about him - his strength? - calms her, and their attendants nod in appreciation for they know the boy has accepted his lot gracefully and will be a wonderful tribute. They stop at the top of the hill, a wide road of white gravel leading to the great pillars of the temple steps. It is time.

He easily mixed in with the crowd, he was well placed where he could see the happenings and easily observe his surroundings. Julian's eyes scanned the little girl who was horrified at her impending doom, and the boy, where had he seen him before? He looked calm betraying his present predicament.

The boy placed his hand on the little girl and whatever he did seemed to have calmed her spirit. He radiated a holy feeling and from the distance between him and Julian he could feel the divinity. 

What was his next step, what was going to happen, could it be that he was going to watch another innocent kid get sacrificed at the whims of the false priest? Julian's soul was conflicted, perhaps an opening would present itself.

Gau pushed forward through the many spectators, some more willingly present than others. He ignored the scoffs and huffs at the displeasure of being displaced even if briefly to let him pass. He let slip just a little of his spiritual pressure and it always dissuaded people from fussing too much over him. He came to the front where he had an unobstructed view of where the cart would stop and the two offerings would disembark from their fateful final journey.

One of the priests turned their gaze his way and he suppressed his spiritual pressure. They cut him off the grain dole for a reason, after all. They had accused him of saying slanderous things about the priesthood, of not knowing how to keep his mouth shut and of making inappropriate remarks and jokes about men, women and people from different parts of the world.

These allegations were of course completely...true. 

Truthfully, Gau quite fancied playing high priest himself. Or perhaps a king, or indeed be worshipped like a God. Verily a genuine Baal Dagan, as genuine a god as Baal was. There were only two obstacles on his path to fanciful deification. The first was the high priest, who he might — maybe — be able to beat alone. Give it another fifty years or so and Gau would if it weren't for Baal Dagan.

The cart stopped and Gau watched closely as a boy and a girl stepped from the cart onto the pavement. 

A boy..., Gau thought. He felt at once drawn as well as repulsed by him. 

Indeed, the crowd that had gathered could be considered impressive, even by ceremonial standards. It seemed as though a record-breaking number of citizens had rushed to attend, and as the boy and girl were ushered ahead of the throng towards the temple, they were forced to pause as the boy turned on his heel and scanned the impending near-stampede of the unwashed and fearful. Dark eyes darted to and fro, from face to face, only stopping here and there to stare with a ponderous expression. There were few amongst them which drew his attention in such a way - an elderly women missing most of her teeth. A pair of brothers, twins. An infant held on the shoulder of his father. A blacksmith. A beggar. At this last individual, the boy took a moment longer, wide, soulful eyes seemingly to stare through him. And then... he was gone, a firm hand at his elbow steering him forwards towards the three high priests. 

The priest with the hawk staff took a step forwards as though to embrace the two offerings, but hesitated a moment before contact, feeling something was amiss. The priest with the lion staff whispered in the ear of the one with the snake, his expression stormy. Finally, the snake priest waved him off and hobbled forwards with a bright, cheerful smile and eyes that were almost entirely closed in their joy.

"Good people, good faithful people! The time has come once again, I am gladdened and my heart warmed by the sight of so many devoted! I, Nico Zolte, welcome you all!"

The rumble he heard from the crowd was far less joyous than he would have expected, given the sheer number. He shrugged - it wasn't for the commoner to fully grasp the greatness of Baal Dagan and so only so much could be expected. It was forgivable, yes. He spread his arms wide, as if to envelop the entire crowd before continuing.

"Good people, the unheard of has graced us! We have heard tales of an especially talented youth, so talented in fact the great Baal Dagan himself has promised six months passage of protection without offering or tithe! Six months without the threat of Horro - a generous promise indeed! And behold!"

For an elderly man of well and truly advanced years, Zolte's voice echoed fiercely with all the passion of a zealot as cymbals punctuated his pauses, "Behold! He who was requested by name, by name! Boy, announce yourself these faithful believers!"

The boy steps forwards, feels the icy clutch of the girl's fingers at his wrist but cannot be dissuaded. He stands atop the hill, and projects in a clear, confident voice. "I am YHWH, he who grants shelter to the oppressed. And I see many of mine amongst you this morn."

Nico Zolte watched with an unreadable expression which very much mirrored that of the other priests. This boy... was dangerous. Where every single sacrifice had been on the verge of begging, with many going well and truly beyond that pitiful line, this... YHWH showed no such fear or apprehension. His words were as steel for one so young, and as he listened to the child's bravado, his mask broke slightly with the narrowing of eyes and an almost sneer with the wry twitch of an upper lip. 

He felt great satisfaction as the crowd below drew silent. Their fear at least was palpable, as it should be. For a people so terrified of the horro, their submissive natures didn't shine through half as well as when one of their own was being cast to the cauldron. Their latent spirit allowed them to at least perceive the vague form of a horro, even the weakest amongst them boasted that much talent. But this YHWH, who had been recorded on the census as Yhwach but apparently saw fit to rename himself on the hour of his noble death... this one was as interesting as he was threatening to their brotherhood and even he who's eyes were failing gradually with the tides of age could see the lad was special. Baal Dagan had never requested such an individual by name before - the closest occasion was on the eve of his appearance whereby he chose three of the strongest and wisest of his new followers to be the bearer of his word and will.

Having allowed the lad a moment of rebellion, Zolte tapped the marbled cobble underfoot with the tip of his staff and at once a group of four retainers attended him. They swept forwards as YHWH finished his blasphemy, all grinning. Ah, the folly of youth! Even they could remember being as rebellious but never so much as this one who near spat in the face of inevitability! They flanked the lad on either side, hands pulling shoulders and elbows until he was steered away from the view of his people and made to face the roaring fire lit beneath the giant brass pot.

The girl who accompanied him found her bravery and rushed to YHWH's side, clutching at his elbow with a determination that was entirely absent before. Nico Zolte's eyes narrowed further as he examined her soul; stronger than before, yes... but how? And why? He failed to see his god's reasoning behind the sudden bestowing of power, but didn't claim to understand Baal's grand designs. 

The crowd behind them remained silent. The mass pondering of YHWH's words flowed freely between them, every man, woman and child having a similar thought without uttering so much as a whisper. Oppressed? Yes... with an iron hand, one that clutched at them with fingers of steel and ragged nails. Even then they dare not gossip in hushed tones, for deep down they knew they were about to witness the coming of a miracle.

They could not have fathomed what said miracle would be, or in what form it would grace their trembling bodies. With at least a fifth among them on starvation's door from the grain dole restrictions, they turned watery eyes upwards to the cauldron and shielded their face with trembling hands as the sun beat down upon them. 

There was a roar, a terrible echoing thing, and immediately there came an piercing outcry so terrified and dire from the crowd it was like the echoing reverberation of a yell through a deep valley. Over and over the cry carried, from person to person to person-

"Horro!"

"BE SILENT." 

The latter voice somehow eclipsed all others and boomed down upon them with an almost crushing weight. Three quarters of the crowd dropped to their knees, their shaking legs either unable to support them any longer, or too spiritually weak to withstand the very presence of Baal Dagan himself atop the temple before them. Those with the spiritual power to see more than the fuzzy outline of the creature were brought to tears by his visage. Resembling a scorpion with a humanoid torso, its red flesh refracted the sun as though it were made of the purest ruby. Horro, aye. But none dared utter their despair in the wake of his demand for quiet. Baal Dagan's mask resembled that of the goat or ram, complete with curled horns and wicked gnashing teeth, and he sat upon the roof of the temple with a feline grace that didn't quite match the visceral presence he imposed.

"Baal Dagan appears before us himself!" the two other priests called out to the masses. Their voices were as one and jubilant with excitement, for Baal Dagan only ever appeared to them and his appearance before the common fare would no doubt only cement their faith further. "Bow down, people of the Kuwen! Behold your savior!" 

The young boy and girl stared up at Baal's massive form, but neither moved. The truth of the matter was plain for all to behold - their savior, their god? Naught but a lowly horro for whom they had sacrificed their own time and time again. Unacceptable. Unforgivable!

Baal Dagan opened his mouth to speak as his retainers unclasped the heavy brass lid of the tribute pot, but before his forked tongue could so much as utter another blasphemy, there was a gush of ruby-red just as bright as his flesh and the massive horned head flew free from its flailing body. There was an ear-splitting cry of anguish, a roar of agony so deep it reverberated within the sacrificial cauldron that was to be YHWH and his girl companion's doom, until the sound resembled that of some monstrous wounded animal; a death cry that rattled the bones and made the bladder and bowels weak.

It had happened so fast, so suddenly, that at first even the high priests stood back dumbly without a clue. YHWH turned his back on the scene and returned to the crest of the hill, arms flung wide, and with his own booming voice he laid forth his first Commandment.

"You are free, children of the Kuwen! No longer will you cower before a false god, for you can see with your own eyes these foolish old men sacrificed their integrity long ago. Let all horro flee from us! Cast down your chains!"

Nico Zolte stood dumbfounded as he watched the massive body of Baal Dagan fade away to so much dust on the wind. How had such a thing happened? How was such a thing possible!? Without Baal Dagan, the walls of the city would be overrun with horro of all shapes and sizes! The priests would be called to defend the people with powers gone unobserved for many a living Kuwen's lifetime! Unacceptable! Blasphemous!

Zolte turned on the spot to face YHWH, but the boy was already making his way down the hill with the girl in tow. As he reached the throng of tearful people, his fingertips brushed their bare arms, shoulders, faces, and they too began to glow as the girl had to Zolte. With a rage he had long since forgotten he was capable of, Zolte exclaimed "Let all who follow this heathen be put to the sword! You have doomed this city, Yhwach - no! YHWH!"

YHWH's voice came on the wind for all to hear.

"Let those who would be free follow me to the desert. There will be no more chains. No more starvation. No more cowering from the horro - I give unto you a fraction of my power that you might stand on your own two feet once again! And to you, Nico Zolte and those who cower behind you crying for the death of a false idol - follow me at your peril, for the trickle of time may not mean much to you but I can assure you, you will learn to rue every sluggish second!"

He was touched. He knew deep down he had felt the holy power deep within his soul swell at the mere contact. The previous shenanigans of the Baal Priest escaped his memory, they no longer mattered. The destruction of the False god had been a curtain drawer for Julian and he then knew that the boy was his new god.

His hammer held firmly on his right hand as he tightened his grip on it more, his determination skyrocketing to it's limit. Julian matched forward, pushing and brushing aside the masses to be by YHWH's side. He needed to be needed by the boy, he would give his life for his god if he willed him so and together they shall rule over the vast lands and the world shall know his name.

Gau snickered softly, his eyes wide with astonishment. But it wasn't fright or disbelief that had captivated him. No, finally he had seen someone else capable of change! There was no doubt in Gau's mind. This boy was interesting and he would follow him into the desert if only to see what would happen next. The priests, after all, were the status quo and he never agreed with the status quo. 

The people around him started to notice his behaviour; not standing in silence but laughing out loud. "Could this be the power of change? The great transmutation of our kind," he asked and looked at the closest Kuwens to him. He received a dull stare as an answer. Only a few Kuwens born every couple of generations could pass on their power to others and Gau was one of them. But where Gau succeeded only in reclaiming that power after the soul was deceased, this boy just did it outright and on a whim.

On top of that, Baal, a high-class Horro was extinguished in less than a heartbeat at the hands of this YHWH.

Yes, he would follow YHWH wherever YHWH would go.

And, so, with his crowd of faithful followers numbering a thousand strong, YHWH left the city of Baal Dagan unimpeded... for now. The masses brought with them as much as they could safely carry - sacks of grain, jugs overflowing with water (which to them would be as valuable as gold and just as heavy), and canvas parasols. Many brought with them the coverings for their street stalls, for the sun would beat down upon them with all the oppressive might of Baal himself, but they did not fear it for Baal was but a bitter memory and his death had been a call to arms. To be Kuwen was to be reborn as one of YHWH's chosen, and that, in itself, guided their blistered feet over high dunes of scorching sands. 

For three days and three nights they moved as one impenetrable unit, until YHWH came to the spot he intended. Sitting beneath a great palm tree in the middle of the oasis, those whom had not received his blessing directly came forth one at a time and were touched on the forehead. When all of his followers had been blessed thus, he sat back and watched as his people constructed their shelters around the large cool pool of water. Having spread his power so thinly, he was exhausted, but he smiled as the sun rose on the 4th day - those that could not use the powers he had bestowed would likely die in the incoming assault, and he would take back his powers as they revealed themselves to him. He would be left with the most faithful, the most talented, the most capable... and so his reign would begin in earnest...