Overpowered Wizard

“Brothers! Sisters! Be not afraid!” shouted High Brother Mason Justicier, the leader of a paladin squad trapped in a false dungeon under Ride-or-Die Village. “We are where we need to be to usher in the end of the Dark Lord! Let our sacrifice put that bastard under judgment for his crimes against all that is GOOD!”

High Brother Mason was rousing the spirits of the other sixteen men and three women who were in his squad of Stalwart Inquisitors. Their class was one of the best the Stalwart Paladin Kingdom could send on short notice across the frontiers and human lands of the Walled Continent.

High Brother Mason’s particular squad and the other squads sent on this secret mission were part of an esteemed chapter called the Brothers of Original Good.

High Brother Mason was a proud servant and leader in his chapter. He believed his chapter to be the most moral, the most righteous, and the most good.

He was once the pious son of a beast shepherd. He remembered how his family were good-fearing people. He remembered his neighbors being the same.

Then the goblins had come and ravaged their lands.

He’d hid under the floorboards where only his little body could fit. He’d waited with his little hands over his mouth while his family’s blood seeped through the cracks and coated his body.

Years later, High Brother Mason was no longer that little shepherd boy. He was a tall and mighty man whose own armor seemed to struggle to fit his heavily muscular form.

His hair was graying. He had equal measures of wrinkles and scars on his face.

But despite his age, he had a strong jaw as mighty as his muscles. And he was Level 67 with plenty of stat points he’d stacked into his Strength and Wonder.

Most of his fellow brothers and sisters in the chapter were in the early Level 60s. They had to be highly leveled to be here.

While on the mission, he wore armor that was bronze, which was the dominant color of the empire.

However, unlike the brown apparel that most paladins wore under their armor, the Brothers of Original Good wore black apparel and layers.

The black represented how the Brothers of Original Good would go deep into the darkness where the greatest evil existed. Then they would fulfill their duty as men and women sworn to their chapter, their kingdom, and their Good Gods.

Even if it meant they would die.

But even in death, they would serve.

Their devotion was carved into each of their backs, after all, making them more than just skillful humans adorned in rare quality armor and weaponry. They were pieces of a cosmic tapestry, a universe-spanning canvas.

Such devotion empowered the will of the Ascended Heavens. Such devotion helped the Good Gods leave a greater mark upon the mortal worlds and spread the grace of goodness across all of Infinita.

For High Brother Mason, the grace of the heavens was more important now than ever while fighting to save a Lesser World from the encroaching horrors of evil. And there was no evil greater than Shadowfell’s vile husband, the source of the apocalypse, the reason for the Dark Era being especially dark, Zarian Darkrun the Dark Lord.

“Paladins, oh, paladins, you think I’m the worst,” said the horrid fiend himself, his face filling one of the nefarious crystal screen devices made from evil witchcraft.

The device was one of many strange trinkets and mechanisms that filled a room High Brother Mason had led his squad into.

They had found no traps. They had thought the junction was secure enough for them to find some solace away from the trials of the red path.

In truth, this entire false dungeon was a mechanism of black magic, and High Brother Mason was still uncertain how he and his fellow brothers and sisters had ended up here.

A blackness like no other had captured them, and only the blessed items they carried kept them somewhat whole as they passed through a veil of nothingness before arriving in the false dungeon.

They’d nearly lost one of their own when they tried to step off the red path, which taught them the only way forward was to conquer the challenges of the false dungeon. ȓâ𐌽Ο₿Ɛŝ

They’d overcome multiple smaller trials while following the dangerous red path. But it seemed to High Brother Mason they were going to face a new and more dire trial soon.

He still remembered how the Dark Lord howled out to goad them earlier. The Dark Lord’s voice had resounded across every corner of the chambers and tunnels, driving fear into the inquisitors.

High Brother Mason mustered his bravery and snarled at the face of the Dark Lord while the fiend took up one of the crystal screens. The other screens revealed various images through more means of black magic. One even made sounds that were strange and foreign to High Brother Mason and the other paladins.

“You will face judgment, Dark Lord!” High Brother Mason raised his war hammer to prepare for a fight.

He felt the righteous magic of his traits and skills empowering him. His good +2 alignment filled him with the warmth and comforting power of goodness itself.

“From you? Probably not,” the Dark Lord mocked.

He was a youthful man of foreign dark skin. His hair was strangely curly and dark. He wore dark glasses that were squarish on his face. His crooked hat was as disturbing as the rest of his apparel.

He didn’t have much, since he remained bare chested, revealing a musculature that was highly unusual for what was supposedly a dark magician.

High Brother Mason hated magicians of all sorts. They relied on magic that didn’t come from the gods. They had the arrogance of thinking themselves better for it.

The High Brother’s trusty hammer had spilled the smart minds of many magician types. He’d imagined doing the same to the Dark Lord, but only briefly.

He knew that slaying the Dark Lord was the last thing they must do. Their mission here was more delicate and sacrificial.

They’d already failed the first part by not inciting unrest, disabling the operations of the evil village and weakening the foothold of this place. The den of the Dark Lord held too much power in an important crossroads between kingdoms and the frontier.

No matter.

They could devote everything to the primary goal.

Defeating the Dark Lord.

“You know what’s funny?” asked the Dark Lord, a white smile slashing across his evil face. “I would’ve just killed you. Maybe even painfully. But it would’ve been quick depending on Para’s mood. However, my friend has made us a game where I’m going to have to work for it.”

He tossed his head back and laughed. “It’s kind of screwed up! Because the more I have to work, the more you’re going to really regret it when I finally get to you. And I think Hannah’s doing this on purpose regardless of the consequences you’ll face. We’re all part of her experiment. Isn’t that fun?”

It was hard listening to a madman.

High Brother Mason was glad he’d gathered pieces of intel about the direct servants of the Dark Lord. The most shocking of these servants was the young lady who wore an authentic elven dress.

She was well known as Princess Bianca Garcia, the most glamorous and blessed across the many lands and oceans of Corma. She was apparently the most gifted force of good, with an alignment of +5, yet she served the Dark Lord.

High Brother Mason felt sick to his stomach. It was hard knowing that the Dark Lord had used his nefarious magic to enthrall the mind of poor Princess Bianca! Saving the princess only made this mission even more important.

There was also the gallant Gilbert, a knight who rode on a powerful eight-legged steed. He’d come to the aid of many adventurers and healed them from the brink of death. He, along with Princess Bianca, could find redemption.

The one known as Naomi, the incredibly strong witch whose skin was dark like the Dark Lord’s, was irredeemable from what High Brother Mason had learned.

The one who was the architect of the village, and most likely the creator of this false dungeon, was a mystery to the High Brother. But it was safe to assume she was wicked for making such torturous and monstrous traps, many of which seemed to direct the Brothers of Original Good in a death maze against the Dark Lord, like mice pitted against a frenzied cat.

“High Brother Mason, I’ve discovered the rules of this game contraption,” Sister Aveline exclaimed excitedly.

Despite being of the fairer sex, she was like the other sisters, broadly built and tall like a man. It still saddened High Brother Mason that good women and providers of good paladins would risk their lives in this gritty work.

But Sister Aveline was the smartest of them. She was much needed in this strange false dungeon, which existed without the proper dungeon rules of the Star System.

High Brother Mason snarled once more at the smiling face of the Dark Lord before marching over to Sister Aveline. She directed with one sword and explained how the metallic tables with colorful buttons were part of a game that ten of them could partake in.

Certain buttons could control certain geometric figures on one of the wide crystal screens. They could make the game figures shoot strange dots that made ‘pew, pew’ sounds. There were solid objects floating in the way, acting like obstacles that were worth avoiding.

One touch equaled destruction of their geometric pew, pew game figures.

High Brother Mason decided not to play.

He waited in the back as Sister Aveline and the youngest and most impressionable members of their chapter stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the metal tables. They each had a set of buttons and took control of their specific moveable figures.

“Excellent, you’ve figured out the game,” the Dark Lord said in a sinister voice. “It wouldn’t be fun if you had no idea what you’re doing. You don’t even have to worry about friendly fire. It’s just the ten of you versus me.”

“What happens when we win this game?” asked one brother.

The Dark Lord looked at them with mocking sadness. “You can only hold back the inevitable. I assume once I destroy all of your spaceships, I’ll get access to you, if Hannah deems me worthy.”

“I see him! A black, spiky shape that’s maneuvering around the fields of floating obstacles!” shouted a brother who was playing.

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“Everyone, turn and shoot at him together!” Sister Aveline directed.

High Brother Mason felt his heartbeat quicken despite the impersonal and alien nature of the game. At the very least, the eight brothers and two sisters playing against the Dark Lord seemed highly invested, which the High Brother thought was important.

They erupted into cheer when volleys of moving dots going pew, pew from their figures destroyed the dark spiky shape that represented the Dark Lord.

A roar filled with enraged pain cut their cheers off. It came from the screen and from outside of the room.

The inhuman roar sent chills down High Brother Mason’s spine.

He gripped his hammer with one hand and placed a fist over his heart. He prayed to all of his favorite Good Gods: Purehome, Purgehunt, Lawkeep, and Hopeland.

Although Purehome was the most pivotal goddess in the kingdom, and Purgehunt was the patron god for the Stalwart Inquisitor class, Mason’s favorite was Hopeland. It was through hope that Mason felt relief when he saw the pain and suffering of the Dark Lord on the screen.

Apparently, the destruction of his game figure had caused him to suffer a grave punishment. The High Brother was starting to relish the torment when the roaring quieted.

The viewing screen panned around to show the Dark Lord knelt on the ground, with smoke wafting from his body. He was wheezing, as if he’d suffered through an incredible trial.

Then his hard breathing changed to mad laughter. The heinous husband of an Evil Goddess rose to his feet.

“There are some instructions on my side,” the Dark Lord said. “There aren’t many of those because Hannah is cruel and devious, but I guess she wanted to warn me.”

The Dark Lord sighed merrily. “I’ll get punished every time I lose. I let you beat me in the first round just to test it. News flash, shock therapy is a little on the painful side.”

The Dark Lord burst into laughter again.

High Brother Mason firmed up his heart as he heard the wicked sounds the Dark Lord made. His fellow brothers and sisters tried to hide their fear as they watched the madman through the screen.

The Dark Lord acted as if the punishment was nothing when it would’ve harmed any paladin severely.

“Don’t worry. You don’t get punished for losing any members. All you can do is withstand the inevitable,” the Dark Lord said.

“The game is restarting everyone!” Sister Aveline shouted. “If we can keep destroying his game figure, we can attempt to shock him into submission!”

“But what will happen if the Dark Lord succeeds?” asked one brother who was playing.

“Then we will handle things as paladins should,” grunted High Brother Mason.

He looked toward one of the metallic doorways that closed off all forward progress. There was no going back, either, since that way was shut off by another metal door.

The mice couldn’t escape. But they had certain tools that could incapacitate the cat.

The game resumed. The tension rose. The Dark Lord’s spiky game figure moved with deftness and skill that wasn’t apparent the first time.

He darted between pew, pew shots from the skittering figures of the inquisitor players. And just when they were about to entrap the Dark Lord and destroy his figure again, he eliminated a brother.

The game became harder for the paladins. They didn’t seem to have a revival ability in the game like the Dark Lord did.

A second brother fell, and the Dark Lord’s position grew ever stronger. Then, by the grace of the Ascended Heavens, Sister Aveline clipped the Dark Lord’s game figure and demolished it.

The high whine of an electrocution filled the Dark Lord’s side of the screens. But this time, there was no roar of pain.

Instead, there was wretched and hysterical laughter that High Brother Mason had once heard from the likes of gnolls.

It was wild.

It was insane.

It was the voice of evil itself.

Even High Brother Mason couldn’t stop himself from shivering in instinctual fear.

The Dark Lord suffered his punishment merrily before the game resumed.

Now it was eight inquisitors versus one Dark Lord, and the evil madman had momentum. Another brother fell. Then another and another.

Now there were five against one. The Dark Lord was even mightier and more formidable with the reduced number of paladins.

High Brother Mason watched the sweaty faces of the remaining paladin players before hearing a sister scream in frustration after the Dark Lord destroyed her game figure.

Once again, Sister Aveline saved them. She struck the Dark Lord and forced him to endure a punishment created by someone who was supposedly his servant.

“Wow ho ho he ha ha ha ha ha!” The Dark Lord guffawed. “I would’ve normally hated this pain stuff, but it definitely makes me more excited to see you all in person. How many remain? Just four? Alright, I think it’s time to finish this. Say hello to Para, everyone, because all of this shock therapy has her appetite raised all the way.”

Multiple leathery hands formed from the tattered kilt worn around the Dark Lord’s waist.

Sister Aveline emitted a cuss that High Brother Mason would’ve normally admonished her for under different circumstances. Instead, he barked out an order to have his squad prepare for what was coming next.

High Brother Mason looked over his dutiful brothers and sisters of the chapter. Everything was still in order.

He glanced at the game and saw that Sister Aveline was the only one who remained. She became the sole adversary of the Dark Lord’s … article of living clothing.

The Dark Lord smirked, his arms folded across his muscular chest, while four feminine hands tipped with bone-white claws pressed the buttons for his game figure. The hands were made from a red and monstrous kilt, and they moved with blurring speed.

Sister Aveline did all she could to avoid outright destruction while trying to thwart the advance of the Dark Lord’s living clothing until the inevitable happened. The Dark Lord destroyed the sister’s game figure under a rain of pew, pew shots.

“No! I was going to get another win!” Sister Aveline shouted.

“Drop the matter and refocus, sister! It’s now time for our original purpose!” High Brother Mason shouted.

Just when Sister Aveline joined their formation, a shrilling siren wailed from the corners of the room. A yellow light flashed with a heinous warning.

The noise and lights reminded High Brother Mason of the stories that depicted the bowels of Hidden Hell. He had wondered plenty of times what it would be like to experience it himself.

One of the metal doors that was blocking off a passage slid open quickly, revealing a white tunnel curving upward. High Brother Mason looked at the screen where he’d last seen the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord was gone.

“Shields up!” High Brother Mason shouted over the shrilling siren wail.

His heart was hammering fast. He squinted through the hellish yellow lights and deep shadows. He saw his brothers and sisters were shaking in their armor.

But one showed her bravery in the face of immense evil.

“For our kingdom! For the sake of original good!” Sister Aveline shouted, as if to thwart the grip of dread they all felt.

She sounded gallant and cheerful. She sounded like a real Stalwart Inquisitor, filling High Brother Mason with pride.

A dark figure stepped out of a wrinkle in the air and appeared in the middle of their formation. High Brother Mason felt the evil presence and the wicked magic before he could give a proper response.

The Dark Lord placed his hand on the back of Sister Aveline’s helmet. He punctured the back of her helmet and skull with something that moved too fast for the High Brother to recognize. Blood, bits of brain, and a smattering of skull pieces sprayed the air and splattered on the armor of the nearest brothers.

“Fight, my brothers and sisters, fight!” roared High Brother Mason.

He lunged toward the floating spell books that were key tools used by magicians. The High Brother had a skill that could disable manifested spellbooks with a single strike.

Something from the Dark Lord moved with a speed that blurred its form. High Brother Mason turned his hammer around to deflect the attack.

On impact, he noticed the attack came from a bone-plated fist with numerous joints that extended from the monstrous kilt.

The strike threw the High Brother across the room and into a wall with a heavy slam. He had the air knocked out of him, stunning him.

When he hit the ground with a ringing clang, he looked up. He saw several of his brothers falling, their heads rolling away from between their shoulders.

The Dark Lord fought with Agility and Strength that no magican should ever have. His body was a blur of action, unstoppable and savage, while flicking out deadly weapons from the flesh of his palms.

His abilities and stats were unyielding. His form was shifty, dreadful, and menacing, striking fear into each inquisitor like a horrid wraith. Sometimes he would disappear and reappear without warning, making every effort against him useless.

He carved a bloody war path through inquisitors who had trained for years to become an elite fighting force. The Dark Lord dismantled them as if being the best of the best of inquisitors, the Brothers of Original Good, was no matter to him.

And the Dark Lord was chuckling throughout the blood bath, making it all seem like another game to him.

He kicked dear Sister Isolde so hard her breastplate caved into her chest. The broken pieces of her ribcage spewed out of her mouth in a bloody jettison made of crushed organs.

He thrust his hand and shot from his palm a thick thread of flesh tipped with bone. The rope-like dart speared through the shoulder gap in Brother Antoine’s armor. A crimson glow shone from the monstrous strand of flesh.

Brother Antoine screamed as the crimson glow consumed him and fed a horrific red energy into the Dark Lord, the evil villain letting out a gasp of pleasure.

High Brother Mason felt sickened to his core. He felt his soul revolt as he climbed back to his feet. He watched more of his fellow inquisitors fall.

Brother Antoine fell dead, his face stretched with horror and pain, his last moments spent with his life energy devoured by the Dark Lord. Other brothers faced the same fate as the Dark Lord’s living kilt struck out with many monster limbs colored by the evil crimson glow.

Bone-edged scythes hacked off limbs. Tentacles with bone hooks latched onto necks and strangled brothers dead. Wolfish heads on long necks snapped their fangs through plate armor and leather, ripping out intestines.

The few paladins who remained tried to fight hard and fast, but the Dark Lord moved around them with ease. He made it seem as if the inquisitors had trained for nothing.

Worse yet, when they finally landed a few hits, the Dark Lord shrugged them off.

Only small cuts and welts appeared on his muscular form, and even those injuries were quick to disappear, leaving no lasting impression.

His vitality must’ve been enormous! No. Monstrous!

The Dark Lord repaid each glancing hit they landed with slaughter.

Brother Julian had his guts ripped out until he was thoroughly eviscerated.

Brother Gaspard had his skull crushed between two gauntlet-clad hands.

Brother Tristan threw his life away for a desperate blitz. Now he was nothing but ragged flesh after being drained of all his blood and innards by a hungry tube attached to the Dark Lord’s monster kilt.

Now only High Brother Mason remained.

His squad hadn’t lasted a minute.

“Oh, yeah, that’s that good stuff.” The Dark Lord chuckled. “I think Hannah might’ve gone a little too far with the shock therapy. But at least it gave you a sense of hope. That made you tastier for Para, honestly, and more fun for me. So it all worked out. Now for the dessert, oh High Brother.”

High Brother Mason dropped his trusty hammer. He fell to his knees. He placed one fist over his heart. He clasped the other hand over his fist.

He began the last prayer he would ever commit in this lesser life.

He ignored the flashing memories of his family’s death to goblins. He ignored his brothers’ and sisters’ fresh and bloody deaths to the Dark Lord.

In the end, they all knew their deaths were unavoidable. All that mattered was the symbols and texts engraved into their backs. Their flesh served as the canvas where the heavens would commit their great work.

He was prepared for the Dark Lord to interrupt him, too. It wouldn’t be ideal, but the miracle for striking down such wicked evil would not allow for half measures while among the living or the dead.

Strangely, the Dark Lord seemed to hold back and let Mason pray.

By the time he neared the last lines, the corpses of his brothers and sisters glowed with palpable white and gold divine energy. The divine light pushed away the red hues, yellow warning lights, deep shadows, and bloody horrors covering the room.

The divine energy even forced the Dark Lord to take a few stumbling steps back.

“Oh Good Gods, oh heavenly spirits of the righteous alignment, I give the life and flesh of myself and my brothers and sisters to serve your purpose!” High Brother Mason shouted, knowing that he wasn’t just sacrificing the dead.

He was also sacrificing the others who were still alive down here. They all shared the same sacrificial symbols and scriptures on their backs.

They were all pieces of the canvas, tools for the heavens to achieve their great work. Thus, High Brother Mason was fulfilling his duty as a leader of his chapter.

“Hear my cry! For I give unto you everything, oh my Good Gods, my kings and queens of the heavens! If what I give isn’t enough, take from the Brothers of Original Good everything you need! And if that isn’t enough, take from the Stalwart Paladin Kingdom everything you need! And if that isn’t enough, every soul of good will place down their lives. Then evil shall be vanquished!”

High Brother Mason felt light. His connection to this mortal world was slipping away. His focus was fading gradually.

He couldn’t see the bodies of his brothers and sisters anymore. They were all white and gold sparks, pieces of light that made up the cosmic canvas of the heavens.

The High Brother, once a son of shepherds, smiled as he said his last words.

“Let evil hear what all men and monsters must fear, Arch Cherub Metatron, the Welcoming Voice of Good!”

High Brother Mason slipped from the mortal coils of his former flesh and whisked away to somewhere else as white and gold sparks. But while on his way out of this life, he heard something that placed a shadow on this glorious moment.

“Sweet, I get to kill my first angel,” said the Dark Lord. “I wonder how Gilbert would react once I tell him.”

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