“The gates will not hold!” the soldiers cried as they put their weight behind the massive oaken door of the city. It creaked and groaned, some unimaginable force pushing with all of its might.

With a new onslaught, the doors ground open, and slender vines peaked through the cracks. The soldiers were not prepared for this, and those closest were quickly disarmed, vines wrapping around their spears and swords, tearing the weapons from their hands.

The second line of soldiers saw this strange occurrence and were more prepared. They pulled out their shortswords, bronze metal shining in the red light of dawn, turning the sharp blades against the vegetal intruder. Soon the gates of Shechem were piled high with stalks and stems, and the city’s defenders had to wade through the biological matter in order to engage their enemy.

Weser-ke-Besset—the commander of the city’s guard—looked on with dismay. Never before had he seen such a supernatural force before. Of course, he had heard the tales of the desert Baal and his demons, who threatened the outskirts of the golden empire. But those were just stories, and one was surely safe within the city of Shechem, where the great temple of Baal-Molek offered his protection.

Whatever the source of the threat, Besset’s soldiers seemed to be handling the leafy onslaught. While the gates of the city had opened, the strange plant-like monstrosity was weak to the edges of their blades. Besset had his soldiers bring whetstones down to the wall, to quickly banish any dullness that cursed their swords. The soldiers now traded places with expert efficiency, one man attacking while the other sharpened his sword.

Whatever wicked god decided to curse the city of Shechem had surely met their match, for—

“Commander Besset!” a messenger appeared at the doorway to his office.

“What is it?” Besset asked. He was alarmed by the panic in the messenger’s voice, whose eyes bulged and tongue lolled like a panting dog.

“The vines—they have overtaken the walls.”

—

By the time Besset reached the city wall, it was too late. While the guards had been preoccupied with the gate, the vines had surreptitiously scaled the walls, lying hidden until the moment of attack. Suddenly, the vines had appeared from all sides, and Shechem’s soldiers panicked and were soon overwhelmed. The vines grew quickly, wrapping their way around the limbs of the men, snagging at ankles or appearing from behind. Once a single tendril wove its way around an arm or leg, others quickly followed, wrapping the soldiers in a cocoon of vines until they were entirely immobilized.

For a moment, Besset was struck by shock. How could this be possibly happening? Who could be behind such a baffling and impossibly convoluted attack? But he also saw the seriousness of the situation, and given his age and experience, rather quickly formulated a plan despite the terrifying absurdity of the situation.

“The oil vats!” he shouted, rallying the men who had not yet been usurped by the vines. For the city of Shechem was built on Mount Gerizim’s terraced slopes, and the city had large repositories of oil, which when heated could be poured down the streets to stop any intruders. Normally that meant human intruders, but Besset knew this wasn’t the time to worry about such small-minded categories.

As his men moved up the terraces of the city. Besset set upon saving as many as he could from the clutches of the vines. He pulled up his stats.

Weser-ke-Besset,

“Commander of Shechem”

[Soldier of Molek] Level 17 Experience 130/1000 HP 83/83 MP 12/12 SP 24/24 Strength 25 Stamina 21 Agility 19 Spirit 5

Abilities

Speed Burst

Move with additional agility and precision for the next 30 seconds.

Cost: 5 stamina per use

Ability activated!

Besset moved swiftly along the wall. Freeing his men from the vines with the precise slashes of his sword.

“Retreat and regroup!” he shouted. “The oil will flow down the mountain, and once we set the vines alight we will attack again!”

As the ability ran out, he activated it again and again while continuing to cut through the vines.

Stamina depleted. Ability failed!

Besset was exhausted, the depletion of his Stamina catching him momentarily breathless. As he bent down, arms resting on his knees, something crept up behind him.

It was a vine. A fine sinew of green stalk that had evaded his blade. By the time he noticed the creeping tendril, it was too late, for it wrapped around his ankle with surprising force and pulled so that he stumbled to his knees.

His shortsword clattered to the ground, and Besset reached for it, but it too was pulled away by a vine. Suddenly vines were all around him, pushing him into the earth with such strength that he felt his lungs constrict until it was difficult to breathe—

Molek's Fire!

Besset’s skin stung as fire encased him. The vines turned to ash, loosed their grip and fell away in desiccated pieces. He looked up, and seeing that it was a priest of Baal-Molek, threw himself to the ground in supplication.

—

Melzichek, the high priest of Baal-Molek looked at the trembling form of the commander with distaste. He did not mind that commoners feared him and the other priests. Afterall, he carried out the will of the Baal who lorded over and protected their city. But couldn’t they revere him in a way that wasn’t so pathetic? Inwardly, he sighed a bitter sigh. It was all he asked.

“Stand up, commander,” Melzichek said brusquely. “There is still plenty of work to be done. I have come in order to protect the city, but just because our Baal graciously lends you assistance, it does not mean that you may cease your toiling.”

“Of course, your holiness,” Besset replied. He stood up and patted the dust of his knees. “I meant only to show my reverence, having been saved from certain death under the weight of those wretched vines.”

“Very well,” the priest said. “What is your plan?” As they spoke, the Melzichek had activated a passive ability called Molek’s Breath, which encased them in a circle of scorching heat, protecting them even as the vines continued to slowly spread through the lower level of the city.

“I have ordered my men to pour hot oil down towards the gate,” Besset explained. “People must take shelter, but if we can burn through the heart of these vines, I believe my men will handle the rest.”

The priest looked back towards the walls of Shechem. Vines criss-crossed the ancient bricks, weaving a tapestry of thorns that advanced tirelessly. For every branch that a soldier sheared with his sword, three budding fronds took its place. Melzichek saw through the commander’s delusion—his men had no means to fight this threat.

And what was the nature of their assailant? Clearly divine, demonic, or some other magic from the beyond. For the priest, the difference scarcely mattered. Power was power, like the acrid flames granted him by Baal-Molek, the horned god of fire and hunger. Whatever its source, it clearly opposed their cause, and his Baal would not be pleased if the vines reached the confines of his sacred temple.

“I fear it will not be enough,” Melzichek said, his eyes weighing on the form of the pathetic commander. “As we speak, my fellow priests are conducting rites in honor of our Baal, and were these rituals interrupted, I fear we will be facing the wrath of two gods instead of just one. I want you to flood the lower terrace of the city with burning oil—not just the gate, every avenue and alley.”

“But the civilians, your holiness…” Besset stuttered.

“I don’t care!” the priest spat back. “Can’t you see there’s more at stake than a handful of mortal lives? The divine protection of this cursed city is threatened. We cannot risk Baal-Molek’s displeasure.”

“Understood,” Besset said, bowing as he composed himself. “My men will prepare the oil vats immediately.”

“Excellent,” the priest replied. “Once the oil has run down the mountain, I and the other priests will call upon our great Baal, and a snort of his fiery breath will be all it takes to send this overgrowth back to the depths of the underworld!”

Melzichek walked past the commander, paused for a moment, and turned towards his stats.

Melzichek,

“Molek's Chosen”

[High Priest of Baal] Level 24 Experience 550/1500 HP 93/93 MP 35/35 SP 25/25 Strength 15 Stamina 27 Agility 22 Spirit 31

Abilities

Molek's Fire

Sends a weak flame towards your enemies.

Cost: 2 Mana

Molek's Breath

Encases you in a barrier of scorching air which will damage enemies.

Cost: 7 Mana per 30 seconds

Molek's Beast

Calls upon the wrath of Molek. Enemies beware!

Cost: 10 Mana

Ability activated!

Besset staggered back in shock as Melzichek conjured up the terrible spirit: A horned bull, its form wrapped in vicious flames that scorched everything it touched. With the wave of his hand the bull leapt forward setting the vines alight as it traveled through the streets of the city.

—

Soon thereafter, Besset and the high priest took shelter in the upper terraces of the city, waiting as the soldiers of Shechem poured hot oil down the mountain. It traveled over the cobbled streets, turning the rocks dark and slick. It bubbled and sputtered with heat, and as it met the vines (which by now had wrapped their way into every corner and crevice of the lower terrace), it fried the brambles to a crisp. From the earthen dust they had emerged, and now, the vines crumbled back into the dust of the earth.

Once the oil had reached the bottom of the city, the priests of Baal-Molek (the fiery bull of a god whom the city worshiped and feared), turned to the next part of their plan. For as Melzichek had noticed, contained in the vicious growth of vine and thorn some strange and godly presence asserted itself. What was this presence, a foreign god who wished to wage war with their deity? Was the cruel Baal’s dominion of Shechem being challenged—and if so—by who? Melzichek did his best to push these troubling questions to the corner of his mind. So long as they fought fiercely, the priest reasoned, they would prevail. And surely the cruel Baal would reward them richly, for having exterminated the strange and holy threat.

So when the oil reached the lower terrace, they cast Molek’s Breath into it, and with that whispered ability, the city of Shechem was alight with flames. Fire engulfed the lower city, flames licking at the buildings so that the clay turned black and everything that was once alive turned into the black dust of earth.

From his vantage point at Shechem’s peak, Besset looked down at the inferno blazing in the city’s lower reaches. He felt dismayed and helpless. Surely they could have stopped the vines without causing so much damage to their beloved city, putting so many lives at risk? Nevertheless, he feared the wrath of Baal-Molek, so he said nothing, and simply watched as the fire ravaged through Shechem.

As the fire and smoke cleared, the charred city re-emerged. The vines were finally gone, defeated at last.

But then, the gates of the city were flung open. A young man stood at the door, no more than twenty years old, though probably less, by Besset’s estimation. He had a wild mess of dark red hair, and he carried himself with a proud posture, staring fearlessly into the blackened city of soot and flame.

And behind was an army of vines, thick like tree trunks and armed with thorns like knives.

“I am Eliphaz,” he shouted, his youthful voice echoing in the desolate streets of the city. “I have come to make war with the wrathful Baal-Molek!”