Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel

Meanwhile the three chiefs of the great clans had left the castle filled with an overwhelming sense of purpose.

Their minds were ablaze with the words of their newly found Messiah, the Nine-Headed Orc. As they traveled back to their respective clans, they carried with them an unshakable conviction—Chiron was the savior of their people, and it was their divine duty to ensure that every Orc bent the knee in worship.

The First Step: The Renaming of Clans.

Of course this was instruction that had been given by Chiron. The reason was simple.

Every great change needed a new banner, a new identity, a new symbol of status. In Chiron’s former world dictators would change the national anthem, flag or something of significance to effect the significance of change.

Upon reaching their homelands, each chief wasted no time in declaring a new era. The old clan names, passed down for generations, were now deemed unworthy.

They were remnants of a time when the Orcs wandered in spiritual darkness, ignorant of their true destiny.

The Single white Fang Clan became The Chosen Fangs of the Nine-Headed One. The Black Tooth Claw Clan was renamed The Blessed Skin of the Messiah, The Green Maiden Tusk Clan now called themselves The Sacred Veins of the God-Savior. These new names were not just titles—they were meant to instill awe and devotion, to sever the connection with the past and bind the clans to their divine purpose.

After all, Chiron had presented himself with fact that he was the establishment of their ancestral heritage made flesh for them all to worship and had even promised the birth of a future God’s child amongst them.

Of course this integration of religion using ancestral familiarity bore quick fruits.

After all, next came the Construction of Altars.

No god could be worshipped without a proper shrine. Under orders from their chiefs, the orcs were made to gather stone and wood from the land, carving massive statues of a towering Orc with nine fearsome heads, each with a different expression—wrath, wisdom, hunger, power, cruelty, cunning, patience, vengeance, and fate. The altars were placed in the heart of each village, built with such terrifying grandeur that even those who doubted felt an unease in their chests.

For most religions, a as close as possible depiction of the God of worship was needed so that faith can be appropriated as fitting for the god.

Meaning that since the statues do not accurately depict him, practical functionality of faith passed to him was flawed.

However, Chiron was smart enough to note this and therefore gave a rune symbol to which he assigned his faith to. Ah least this symbol could be easily worn around the neck or even around the wrist.

Before the altar, great bowls were set, meant to be filled with offerings—bones, blood, and the flesh of beasts slain in Chiron’s name. Fires were to burn endlessly, their smoke rising toward the heavens, as if carrying prayers to their newly anointed god.

But faith was not so easily won. Though the chiefs roared their proclamations, their people did not eagerly fall into worship. The Orcs were warriors, strong and proud. They did not easily bow to forces they could not see.

And as one would expect, at night, hushed whispers spread among them. Some doubted the Nine-Headed One even existed. Others saw this as nothing more than a mad hunger for power from their chiefs. The people obeyed the demands to build and gather, but when it came to kneeling before the altar, few did so with true belief.

They murmured their prayers without conviction, cast their offerings with reluctance, and while their hands were raised, their hearts remained heavy with doubt.

Then again, they was no religion or faith that never had opposition. In fact opposition was very necessary for growth as it tested their belief.

Then again, Chiron had a future plan for these great clans with the smaller ones. But yes, Chiron had anticipated this. He knew well that faith was not given—it was forged through signs, through proof. And so, he created the first of his divine miracles.

One night, as the Orcs sat around their campfires, grumbling over their forced worship, the sky split open with a gust of wind. Then, from seemingly nowhere, raw meat rained from above, falling directly into the bowls of the altars.

The smell was intoxicating—fresh, rich, and unlike any meat they had ever hunted before. The chiefs, who had been informed beforehand, declared it the Flesh of the Messiah, a gift from the Nine-Headed God!

The Orcs stared in awe. Those who had been reluctant in their worship had received nothing, while those who had bowed, even half-heartedly, now had food before them.

Hunger was a powerful motivator. The Orcs who had nothing looked to their chieftains with desperation. "How do we receive the Messiah’s gift?" they asked.

The answer was simple. "Worship," the chiefs declared. "Only those who devote themselves truly shall be fed by His divine grace."

The following day, the altars were more crowded than ever. Orcs, once indifferent, now pressed their foreheads to the ground in prayer. They roared praises to the Nine-Headed One. Their offerings grew richer, their devotion louder, their fear more evident.

And just as before, those who truly worshipped found their bowls filled again, while the skeptics continued to starve.

The chiefs stood at the altar and smiled.

Faith had taken root.

And Chiron, from within his domain, watched. The first of many illusions had been cast, and the seeds of devotion had begun to sprout. The path to power had only just begun.

But he still did not see them as ripe enough.. not yet. After all, in all the history of religions that he knew of, blessing alone was never sufficient to rule the people. In fact showering them with just blessings was a bad idea.

They had to strive and work for it... Besides a good father was one that was capable of blessings and punishments... next came his very vicious trials...