I held the image of the reddish-pink footprints on the stark green digital background in my mind as I turned around and surveyed my surroundings one last time. I readied myself to use my secret ability, what had originally granted me my twisted form and unnatural height. I had once as a young man used this ability several times, before I knew the incredible importance of motivation and personal connection. This time I was convinced I could control it. I had never felt so motivated before, and couldn’t remember a connection ever as strong as the one I’d formed over the past four months. I suppose it’s similar to how sensation is the most vivid and sharp when it’s first returned to a limb that’s been “asleep”. Time to find some answers.

After an hour’s hike—which, the back of my attention told me meant this was premeditated, since I’d never strayed more than a quarter hour’s walk away when foraging—I came to the edge of a forest and found myself at gunpoint, just outside a chain link fence topped with lazy loops or razor wire, with security checkpoints periodically throughout its length.

Well, well, well. What have we here? grated a voice off to one side out of a hidden speaker. I froze. I knew that voice. There always was only one. “Many mouths, and one voice.” I remembered a brochure on a table bearing that slogan, hearing the same voice, and my parents voices outside arguing quietly, but heatedly. I try not to remember the events that happened after that.

There was a fight coming, and it had just gotten even more personal. But first, I had to endure a sermon from the Zealots.

———————————————

That’s all I’ve got time for for now, but in the next section I should be able to finish the final bit of necessary worldbuilding—explaining who/what the Zealots are, but after that I’ll get to the epic fight scenes, I promise.

You can find more verbose, rambling, unfinished drafts at r/PenPaladin