The Clan by D. Rus

shoulders. The same humorous glint in his eyes, the same surge of power emanating from him, squeezing your chest like the cooldown from a High Spell.
    Involuntarily, both Taali and Cryl jumped up and lowered their heads. I forced myself to remain seated trying to look disinterested and uninvolved. The Fallen One kept eyeing me ironically, building up the pressure, until I felt sweat trickle down my temple.
    Finally, I gave up, "What now? Just don't try to tell me you're more interested in dumb worshipping that you are in our affairs."
    The god threw his head back, laughing. The invisible pressure disappeared. I managed an inconspicuous breath of relief. Last time I'd felt something like this was in Turkey when I had my picture taken with a tiger. The beast had been apparently pumped up with tranquilizers, his neck chained tight to the concrete floor, but even in that state, his power and God-given fury had been palpable...
    "Sit down," the Fallen One motioned us to resume our positions before sitting down first. He looked over us, making sure everybody was ready to pay attention to whatever he had to say.
    "You've no idea, Max, how right you are," he went on. "By the very fact of your being my disciple, all of your actions, deeds and even words add to my karma. And the stronger the pressure produced by such events, thoughts, or emotional surges, the bigger the energy flow I receive. One could, of course, just donate some mana, loot or experience—all this will be available once the First Temple is restored. But few things can come anywhere near the kind of force this little girl has released into this world."
    The rebellious AI nodded at Lena sitting quietly next to her mother who was plaiting her hair. "Her immersion is phenomenal. She has the potential to mold the fabric of the universe as if it were modeling clay. What a priestess she'd make! An inexhaustible source of power —neutral power, mind you, not a flood of black energy from some overzealous necromancer or a dark Drow rogue who gets his kicks from butchering young players in newb locations. But their power tastes vile and that's exactly what it does, creates the impression of me being a Dark god. Imagine, Max, if someone turned you into a true Death Knight, Morana's messenger, who leaves nothing but desolation and well-fed vultures in his wake? And you, Cryl—would you really prefer to become a thief and a hired killer? I wouldn't, either. Even though I too need power just like you do."
    He turned back to me. "Oh, one other thing. I can't guarantee I can help you every time. For every such intervention I have to pay with my own power, whatever's left of it."
    "Why did you waste it on this new skill, then?" I asked. "It wasn't crucial. You don't think you should have saved it for something truly important?"
    The god smiled. "Not crucial, no, but the timing was perfect to hand out a few purpose-built freebies. Where do you think it would be the easiest to start a rockfall: in a desert or on a mountain slope where all you need to do is kick one piddly little pebble? The situation you've just created allows me to interfere without messing up the logic of the universe. Had I tried to issue each of you with the apocalypse button, then yes, I'd have overdone things. So once again: keep shaking the foundations and doing grand deeds. One day the reward will find its heroes."
    "Yeah, right. So that their patron god could cash in his chips, too," I couldn't hold the sarcasm back. "Ditto for using the Help of the Fallen One on a dying player. One gram of gratitude a day multiplied by three multiplied by eternity. Not bad for a power investment, what d'you think?"
    The Fallen One grinned and gave me a wink.
    Cryl stepped forward and lowered his head. "O Fallen One, may I accept you as my god, too? None of the Light ones came to help me when I was dangling pinned to the ceiling in the Cats' cellar. No one showered me with their skills and attentions. But if I became one of