Clark Field Base in the Philippines was exactly what Nicholas had hoped for. An almost forgotten military outpost in the Pacific, where ambition came to die far from any real conflict, ignorant of the wars that would soon engulf this region of the world.
The base was insurance in an American-occupied Philippines against a possible uprising from the native population. Though the risk was minimal, given that 20 years prior, the previous rebellion was brutally put down by the American Government.
The officers here were more concerned with their retirement plans than military doctrine.
When Nicholas arrived at his post as a junior liaison officer to the American-run Philippine government, a comfortable job arranged by his father, they left him to his work, which was exactly what he wanted.
The local spirits and deities were weak, their power slipping from their fingers. More importantly, Nicholas now understood how divine perception worked. Gods could only sense worship when it started encroaching on their own domains.
Since he didn't hold any formal Domains of his own yet, the faith he gathered would be invisible to the major pantheons. He was building in their blind spot.
His strategy was simple and direct: he would help people, publicly and spectacularly, using magic. He started in a coastal village after a typhoon wrecked their fishing fleet and a drought threatened their crops.
He walked into the village square as the desperate villagers looked on. He didn't chant in secret. His voice rang out, clear and commanding in Ancient Greek.
«Ὕδατα Οὐρανοῦ, κατέρχεσθε! Γαῖα, ἀνάδυε τὴν ζωήν σου!»
(Waters of the Sky, descend! Earth, bring forth your life!)
He raised his hands. The searing blue sky convulsed. Clouds boiled into existence directly overhead. A warm, drenching rain fell, but only on the parched fields of Daan. Simultaneously, the town's barren well began to overflow with fresh, clean water.
It was not a subtle act. It was a proclamation.
The town fell to its knees, the Mist trying its hardest to veil their eyes but still failing due to Nicholas using his intent to make them clear-sighted, after all, he needed their worship.
But Nicholas was just beginning. He looked at the shattered boats.
«Ξύλα, ἀκούσατέ μου· ἀνακαθίστατε εἰς τὸ ἀρχαῖον σχῆμα!»
(Wood, hear me: restore yourselves to your former shape!)
The splintered planks on the beach began to tremble, then flew together as if guided by invisible hands. Within minutes, the fishing boats were whole again, sealed and strong. The display was brazen and utterly undeniable even to the most hardened sceptics.
He repeated this spectacle in village after village. He healed the sick in the town square, the golden light blazing, inspiring awe and worship in all who had seen it.
When a local warlord, a remnant from the previous rebellion, named Sancho, tried to exert control over "the sorcerer" by sending his men after Nicholas. Nick didn't confront his men; instead, he used the mist to become invisible before reappearing in front of Sancho in his own fortified compound.
«Ἅγιε Πῦρ, οὐ φλέξεις σάρκα, ἀλλὰ ψυχήν.» (Sacred Fire, burn not flesh, but soul.)
He pointed. No visible flame appeared. But Sancho screamed, clawing at his own skin as if it were on fire, collapsing into a writhing, sobbing heap, his mind seared.
His men threw down their weapons and fled, shouting about monsters. Nicholas was no longer a rumour. He was the most powerful man in the region.
Unfortunately, reports began circulating beyond what simple confusion charms could handle. American journalists stationed in Manila started hearing wild stories about a "miracle-worker" officer.
Nicholas saw the threads converging in his Book of Probability - investigation, exposure, and ultimately, interference from forces he wasn't ready to face.
Browsing the book of probability, he realised that his actions would soon be noticed by people in the US government. That night, Nicholas crafted a new spell.
He appeared the next day in a nearby town as an old man with a long white beard, his back bent with age, his face a mask of wrinkles.
The transformation was perfect, down to the calluses on his hands and the slight tremor in his voice.
When a cholera outbreak threatened the town, it was this old man who walked among the sick, chanting in the local dialect, his hands glowing with healing light. The people saw a wise shaman, a figure that fit their understanding of the world.
He defined three domains he intended to claim through these public acts.
Magic was the foundation, as it was the source of his current abilities. War was practical; he knew that he needed combat capabilities, and he knew that a larger conflict was coming to fuel this aspect. But his most important choice was Fate.
His memories from his previous life told him a Great Prophecy would emerge soon after World War 2, and controlling Fate would let him influence its outcome and gather benefits for himself.
Within months, Nicholas had established himself as the real authority in the region. He now needed to formalise the connection between the faith he was gathering and the God he intended to become.
In preparation, he performed a precise ritual. Using the Book of Probability as the anchor, he wove a spell that defined a new divine identity: Aeon, the God of Magic, Fate, and War.
The ritual created a metaphysical conduit, an unbreakable link. From that moment forward, any prayer, any act of faith directed towards that name and those domains, as well as all faith coming to him personally, would be drawn down this conduit and into the Book of Probability.
The artifact would now automatically harvest and store this specific type of faith, siphoning it directly from the cosmic background of human belief and consolidating it as his personal reservoir of power.
After the ritual, the constant low-grade static of his fatal flaw had finally fallen silent. He had begun channelling all incoming faith directly into the Book of Probability, using the artifact as a reservoir.
By storing the belief there instead of letting it saturate his being, he prevented it from amplifying the arrogant tendencies within his personality.
The gnawing need to prove his superiority vanished. It was like a weight he had carried his entire life had been lifted, leaving him clear-headed and utterly focused.
He also created prayers to himself that he taught his followers, allowing their faith to be directed towards him even when he left this region of the world. To the most loyal and fanatical, he taught magics that allowed them to draw upon the authority of the Book of Probability to boost their spells.
By drawing upon divine authority, it allowed for a visible effect even with their mortality, not giving them any authority to draw upon.
He created an order of priests travelling from village to village, healing the sick and protecting the vulnerable in Aeon's name.
The faith was no longer confined to those who had seen him directly.
Through his priests and their magics, the worship of Aeon spread like a ripple across the islands, and the trickle of faith became a river as the devotion of tens of thousands began to flow ceaselessly into the Book of Probability, strengthening his power even when he was far away.
Dealing with the local deities proved surprisingly straightforward. The Book of Probability showed him they were little more than fading echoes, too weak to pose a threat and too fearful to even try.
They were trapped; any attempt to gather more faith to strengthen themselves risked alerting the very pantheons that had overshadowed them centuries ago.
They didn't have the convenience of not possessing domains so any gathering of faith towards them would increase their authority and thus encroach on the authority of the other deities.
They watched his rise not with defiance, but with a tired resignation, retreating further into the shadows rather than challenging a power that could draw the attention they had spent lifetimes avoiding.
For Nicholas, it was less a battle and more an eviction of tenants who had already accepted their fate.
This continued for 2 years, and by day, he remained Lieutenant Aldridge; by night, disguised as the old shaman, he accepted the worship of tens of thousands, their faith flowing into him, stored for the ritual of ascension.
It was then that he turned his attention to his ascent through the ranks of the US military. He had both the political influence abroad and in the Philippines, so he plotted for the fastest way to rise through the ranks.
--------------------------------
If you want to support me, read 5 work-in-progress chapters in advance, visit my P.a.t.r.e.o.n at
p.a.t.r.e.o.n.com/atanorwrites
I appreciate all comments and take suggestions seriously! Thank you for your support!