The first Heretic God has been slain, and I am deeply touched by the responses you all have given me. These comments and well-wishers have made my month. Honestly, I'm feeling pretty blessed.

I won't say that all the Heretic Gods that James slays will be as unique as that one, but I will say that they will all have their own flavor and reasons for descending. Fosite descended in search of his lost power, while the next one will descend due to the loss of his/her kingdom. There's a difference, so let's see if you guys can figure this one out! I will say, this next enemy will be more well known.

As always, remember to Review after you've read this chapter! It keeps me going.

"James" – Regular Speech

'This sucks…!' – Thoughts

"God Slayer" – Heretic God

"Lightning!" – Magic Spell/Authority

Chapter 3: The Eighth King

"Country roads, take me home~"

Slowly, James awoke. Above him was not an open sky, nor was it a tree-lined canopy. Instead, he was looking at the interior of a vehicle. The sound of country music was softly coming from speakers near his head.

"To the place I belong~"

It wasn't just the car speakers, somebody was singing. Groggily, he turned his head towards the origin of the song. He'd been lain in the back seat of an SUV, his head propped against a ratty little rucksack.

Sitting up, he caught sight of Heather driving the car. There she was, her blond hair splaying over her shoulders like a lion's mane. She was holding a toothbrush like a microphone in one hand while the other held the steering wheel.

"WEST VIRGINIA!" she sang, surprisingly well. Heather had a pleasantly low voice. "Mountain mamma, take me home~

Pleasant or not, the sight of Heather acting as if she were on American Idol at the driver's seat made him snort out a laugh.

"Country ro-…ads." Heather finished, awkwardly. She craned her neck around to see him, a deep flush creeping up her neck. "Ah…" she squeaked. "Good morning, my king."

"My king?" James asked, bemused.

"That is what you are. A King above Kings, a Campione." Heather said, attempting to speak demurely. Her blush was receding quickly. Sneakily, she dropped the toothbrush in her passenger seat.

James stared at her, his eyes flickering. Then, the actions from earlier began to creep back into his mind now that his sleepiness was waning; Fosite, using the axe, death, a green-eyed woman in a cloudy room.

Heather called him a Campione.

"It worked?" Had he really done it? Killed a god?

"Indeed, my king." Heather said, smiling lightly. She turned back to the road, casually jerking the wheel past a fallen log. They were on a dirt road James didn't recognize. "I was witness to see Fosite's power enter you and heal your body. You've been out of it for a good few hours."

"How long is a good few hours?" James scratched his head, lost in thought. "And where'd this car come from?"

She paused. James could see her eyeing him strangely from her mirror; probably wondering why he asked such a random question. "You've been asleep for almost seven hours at this point; we're almost done driving. And this is not a car, it's a jeep. The difference matters."

He scoffed.

Red creeped back into her cheeks. "Anyway, this is the jeep I rented from the Investigation; I got it from a small base in Caratunk that's used for general supplies. It's an honest miracle that it only got scratched up. We aren't going to Caratunk, by the way. We're going to Brunswick."

"Brunswick?" James didn't have a clue what was over there, nor did he know where Caratunk even was. Honestly, he knew little about the geography of Maine; the only reason he was able to reach Stapeln was because he hitchhiked with a friendly trucker.

"The airport is there." Heather primly stated.

Ah. His flight had come from Portland, not Brunswick.

With a grunt James fell back onto the rucksack, his mind awhirl. It was just- how could he describe it? Earlier today – or was it yesterday? – he'd been an ordinary man going through a rut, and now he was supposed to be some kind of magical king? It seemed ridiculous, almost unbelievable.

But James remembered. He remembered the beam of light, remembered exploring the hidden basement in his cabin, remembered walking through the flames and grabbing the golden axe.

He remembered challenging a god, somehow succeeding.

James looked down. Indeed, the forced aging he'd gone through when using Paul Bunyan's axe had disappeared. He looked just as he did before all of that malarkey happened.

But he wasn't the same.

James could feel it; could feel the differences. He was… stronger. Looking out the window, he was able to see far more than ever before- he could make out ants crawling on the bark of a tree from what seemed to be over half a mile away. He could breath far better than ever before, and he seemed light as a feather. Idly, he rubbed at his body.

'It's been a long time since I had proper abs.' Indeed, he could feel the flat muscles on his body. All of his muscles were more defined, in fact. If he looked in the mirror, he'd probably have the body he had at seventeen, when he was a member of the weight training club.

And there was something else that was new about him, something he couldn't rightly describe.

Furrowing his brow, James closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the newness that he was feeling.

"You said that something from Fosite entered my body?"

"It melded with you, becoming a your own." Heather corrected. "Upon slaying Fosite, you gained his power, which became your Authority. That is what makes you a Campione."

The best way to describe it was that it was power, James concluded lamely. It was a torrent of pure, untainted energy, taking the form of a constellation in his mind with four stars, three large ones and one small one. It actually reminded him of that one time he played Skyrim with his old high school group of friends; the constellation having much in common with the skill trees from the game. The small star connected them all, and when lines formed the stars took on the image of an axe. Each star represented a different power, but they were all one single Authority.

James reached out and made to touch the small star. Upon doing so, he saw an image of himself, summoning the rusty axe he slew Fosite with; the axe of Paul Bunyan. The small star felt needy… almost like it was desperate to be titled.

"[Axe of Old]" he decided, mumbling.

He then reached out for one of the larger stars, which made up the top part of the blade of the axe in the constellation. This one, he was familiar with. This was the power he used to kill Fosite. The image it offered showed James bulging with muscles, steam sprouting from him instead of sweat. With a casual swing of the axe, he split rocks and trees. He jumped and shot upward like a rocket. He lifted a bus as if it were a paperweight.

"[Herculean Legacy]" James nodded. It granted him superhuman strength, the strength that Paul Bunyan was known to possess. The name seemed appropriate.

Then, James looked to the second large star, which connected to the star representing [Herculean Legacy], forming the blade of the axe in the constellation. This one, unlike the other two, was unfamiliar. The image showed James standing at the goal post of a football field. The image was holding the axe, only the axe grew – reaching the other end of the football field, the blade of the axe gigantifying as the axe elongated. It was as if the axe grew to the size it would have needed to be should Fosite have wielded it in his full power.

The image twisted on itself, now showing James stood in front of Mt. Rushmore. With axe in hand, he swiped it at the air, the massive blade cutting straight through the mountain as if it were a piece of paper. George Washington's massive bust fell on top of a tourist.

What the hell?

"[Woodcutters Avatar] feels right…" James muttered. The dead tourist bit startled him.

The last large star was located at the base of the constellation, the hilt of the axe. Through it, James was able to see one last image of himself. In this one, he did not have the axe in hand, though he looked battered and tired. Next to him was a lake. With a roar, the lake shot out, its waters taking on the form of Babe, who rammed into a blurry enemy without mercy.

James understood that he was able to summon Babe using this power, but he couldn't place how to do so. There was a… a restriction. Of some sort.

"[Blue Ox]" he decided, shrugging his shoulders. The name may have been obvious, but it was well deserved all the same.

The culmination of all of these, the constellation itself, now thrummed with that same desire to be named.

"[Mighty Lumberjack]" was what James chose. The totality of all the power he gained from slaying Fosite.

Upon naming all of them, words streamed into his mind. The knowledge to call forth his newfound power was his, just as this power was his. The arias to use his newfound Authority become known, matching both the abilities he gained and the language he preferred to use.

All of his power seemed to stem from the [Axe of Old]. In order to use both [Herculean Legacy] and [Woodcutters Avatar] he had to have the axe in hand.

But how did he summon Babe? The vision showed he didn't have the axe, unlike the other two. Could he summon it whenever he liked? No, that didn't feel right either. There was a detail he was missing, James was certain.

'Questions for another time' James mused. He was in a car, not in a fight. There was time to figure out his newfound power. Right now, there were more pressing matters.

Such as…

"Heather, when we reached the airport, what were you planning on doing?"

"I was, ah- hoping you'd be willing to fly to New York City with me. We're pretty close by to one of the Investigations main bases, and my bosses need to know about you."

Involuntarily, James felt his eyes narrow. "Why do they need to know about me?"

"Because we now have an eighth deterrent against Heretic Gods and that we now have two Campione in America." She shuddered. Just in front of the car, the dirt road hit gravel pavement, and the ride smoothened out.

"I guess I understand the first bit," he allowed, inwardly struggling. Killing Fosite was one thing, but did he really want to tangle with other gods? "But what does it matter about there being two Campione in one place?"

"Everything," she breathed fearfully. "The act of defying a Heretic God is the- the highest level of stubbornness there is. Those few who happen to slay said Heretic Gods then have that same stubbornness with the added ability to back it up. Most Campione tend to be extremely territorial, claiming lands as their own and guarding their borders with a violent fervor. When others attempt to claim that land… well, nothing good comes from that, I can guarantee that much. I genuinely think you are a good person, just as I believe John Pluto Smith is, but North America is his territory and it's unlikely he would be willing give up even an acre of it to another Campione, regardless of you being an American yourself."

"So I have to move away?" James asked, anger building. "I have to leave the only place I've ever known just to cater to this guy?"

"No, you do not have to move." Heather quietly said. "But you would have to challenge him for land. It would be a fight against another Campione, somebody who has slain more Heretic Gods than you have and usurped their Authorities. You were clever enough to trick Fosite, but King Smith is not a Heretic God and would never be tricked in a similar way."

"He lives in California!" James protested. "I want nothing to do with the west coast! Hell, I don't want anything to do with the south either! Let me live in the north east like I always have. I just want to live my life, get some new land and make a cabin or something, none of this malarkey."

James had always been a simple man with simple wants. His free time was spent hunting and fishing and foraging, and in woodshops, making furniture and toys and whatever his muse bade him to create. He liked to make things with his bare hands, and one of his biggest goals was to make his own home, modelled after the now ruined Stapeln.

"The issue is that Campione are expected to rule established countries, not patches of land." Heather sighed, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "If you tried to live in America, even in a hidden part of Maine, he would consider you trying to usurp the whole country of America from him and that fight would happen no matter what. I'm sorry James… Maybe a different part of North America? There is precedence where a Campione will offer land they own to another Campione so long as it's far enough away. Luo Hao gave Kusanagi Godou Japan because it was far enough away from China, even though she had been the ruler of east Asia for well over a century. I'm sure he'd be willing to barter for other countries that are within his territory. Greenland, perhaps?"

With a curse, James flopped back down onto the makeshift pillow he'd been using. It just wasn't fair. First he loses his wife, then his house and now he has to move to another country?

There was only one other country James would be willing to move to; Canada. His father was a Canadian citizen that moved to America for work, and James had been given the opportunity to be hold a duel-citizenship through that. He'd never used his citizenship, nor had he ever even visited Canada, but it had been an idea that he toyed with for a few years. Certainly, when he moved to Stapeln in the aftermath of his divorce, the prospect of moving to Canada was one that grew to be more and more appealing.

But considering the idea of moving to another country and being forced to do so were two very different occurrences.

Right now, that matter little. He didn't have a house anymore. He didn't have a car, or a boat. Hell, he lost his identifications when Fosite destroyed his home. James had nothing.

Frustrated, James closed his eyes. "Wake me up when we get there."

"Yes, my king." Heather sighed.

"And Heather?"


"Don't call me a king. I have a name."

She was silent for a few minutes, and James barely heard a muttered "Alright m- James" before he fell asleep once more.


Being an illusionist came with more perks than other mages realized. True, Heather did not have much strength in direct combat, nor was her magic particularly useful in the preferred sense of support, but she could manipulate minds and distort perceptions, altering the world around others to suit her needs.

Some illusions were hard to perform while others were easy. The hardest ones she'd ever performed were created in the fight against Fosite. The cloth that fooled Babe was not only massive, but she also had to layer the illusion with a few more that were tailored specifically towards Babe; a voice that was taunting him from the other side of the cloth, a rustle of haunting wind to its sides, the echo of another cow that desperately wanted to mate and the alarm of a stampede happening just behind the Divine Beast. That she was able to create a near-perfect likeness of James immediately after was even more difficult. It was lucky that James had been wearing such baggy clothes; she only needed to make sure his body type and face were correct. Added to that, it was genuinely pure luck that Fosite was so enraged at being attacked by Babe that he didn't notice what was real and what was not. If he'd paid attention properly, Heather's scheme would never have worked, and she would have become his slave whilst James would have been buried in the dirt.

But this? When compared to what she went through yesterday, this was nothing.

The airport security clerk flashed James a quick smile and allowed him to pass. She checked what she thought was a license but was instead the receipt from when they purchased a new pair of clothes for James. The purchase was also done using an illusion of money.

Heather did not consider herself a thief, but she did what she had to do with the skills she worked hard to obtain.

James shunted his new backpack filled with clothes onto the conveyor belt and stood in line. People were being sent one by one through the mechanical scanners, checking for concealed objects. Unless he had some metal in his head, Heather knew he would be fine.

And he was indeed just fine. While it took longer than it should have for him to be processed, primarily because the woman in front of him tripped the alarm and had to be body searched, James was on the other side, just as Heather was.

After grabbing his gear and putting his shoes back on, James made his way towards her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his new kakis. It was a shame that he picked such simple clothes. When they went shopping at the small mall near the airport, all he purchased were some long pants, a new pair of sneakers, a few plain long-sleeve shirts and a beanie. Heather was the one that insisted he grab the backpack, so he could at least carry his newly bought clothes with him.

None of that mattered, though. He was still wearing the hoodie that was chock full of holes courtesy of Fosite piercing them.

"Why won't you get rid of that hoodie?" Heather asked, both bemused and annoyed. It was so tattered now, not something he should have been wearing in a public setting. It made him look bad, and her for associated with him. 'What was the point of us getting new clothes if he didn't even use them?'

Not that she would ever say that aloud. He was a King now, even if he didn't like to be called such.

"It's a reminder," he shrugged. "I used to go hunting with my dad on weekends, and we would keep stuffed trophies of the game we caught if they were impressive. This jacket is legitimately all I have left from the fight against Fosite. I'm gonna see if I can turn it into a trophy too."

With a sigh, Heather said no more; if James wanted to keep his ugly hoodie, he could. He could have just stuffed it in the bag and wore one of the sweaters they bought, but whatever. She wasn't his minder.

Instead, she pivoted on her heel and searched for their terminal.

"The flight is pretty short," she said as they walked. "It'll be only about thirty minutes, maybe more if the weather wants to be a pain."

"Then why didn't we just drive there?" James asked, grimacing slightly.

"You'd rather drive for another five hours over a quick and easy flight?" She stared at him, her brow raised questioningly. Her eyebrow was a powerful thing, it had to be to handle her family without violence.

James's only response was a mumble.

"I'm sorry, what'd you say?" Heather asked, her eyebrow raised even higher.

His ears turned pink as he spoke. "I get a little anxious on planes. Normally I have some sleeping pills or something to help me out, but…"

Such was the power of her eyebrow.

Well, Heather could somewhat understand his annoyance. Still… 'A Campione that has plane anxiety, who could have guessed?' Regardless, they were here and the flight was supposed to depart in less than an hour. It was too late to change course, not that Heather would have.

When they reached the waiting area for their flight, Heather dug through her own backpack. She was quite minimal in what she bought as well, but she didn't settle for only clothes. There were a few snack bars in the side pouches of her bag, and five paperback books, all denoting different mythological stories.

She grabbed one, simply titled Rome, and handed it to James. He took it with a furrowed brow. Upon looking it over and skimming the summary, he wordlessly opened the book and began to read.

Heather figured he'd want to have something to pass the time. Morbid as it may have been, reading about his possible foes would definitely make time go by quickly. Heather was no stranger to doing such things herself, only instead of looking up mythologies and Heretic Gods, she did her best to see what kind of spells and abilities her fellow mages could perform. While she didn't know how to perform those spells, Heather did produce a few strategies on how to trick the mages in question.

While James was reading, Heather looked around. It was morning, which should have been quite active, but the airport only housed a few hundred people. It must have been a slow day.

A few families were passing by, chatting amiably. An elderly woman was being carted in a wheel chair by a security officer, loudly bragging about her grandchildren. And, surprisingly enough, a business man was riding his suitcase as if it were a scooter. Heather couldn't help but watch him as he passed rows and columns and payphones, until he was out of sight.

The payphones he scooted past were the next things to catch her eye.

Without any further thought, Heather made her way towards them, fishing through her bag for some quarters. When they purchased their supplies, she created the illusion of paying in cash, and she had a few of the coins in change. 'Luckily I didn't toss them.'

Phone held to her ear, numbers dialed and quarters deposited, she waited.

"Hello?" A feminine voice asked from the phone.

"Danica? It's Heather. Can I talk to Greg?"

"Oh my gosh! Heather! I haven't heard from you in, like, a month. Greg's in the bathroom right now, can you wait a bit? He should be out in a sec."

"Oh, it's no problem. What've you been up to?"

As Danica began to chat about whatever had been happening to her over the past few weeks, Heather allowed her mind to wander. It was true, Heather hadn't talked to this woman in a while. This was mainly due to the fact that she didn't really have much in common with her.

Danica Cook was the girlfriend of her younger brother, Gregory Duffy. And, while Heather didn't really have anything against her, Heather also didn't have anything she particularly enjoyed about Danica.

Heather liked to consider herself a country girl, through and through. She preferred going mudding over going shopping, rodeo's over opera's, and quality of life over quantity of distractions. Danica was one of those quintessential girly-girl types that Heather was never able to click with well. Constantly shopping, gossiping about people she had no business talking about, and focused highly on appearance over other, more practical pursuits. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, as Heather did enjoy shopping and gossip and getting dolled up as much as the next girl… she just didn't like it when that was all that happened.

It genuinely confused her when Greg said they'd been dating for over a year and that he was thinking about buying a ring.

"…and then Mary went and slept with him – can you believe her?! – so we had to leave that bar and then- Oh! Hey, Greg's out. We can finish up after you two talk, 'kay?"

"Sure." Heather lied.

There was a small bit of rustling from the other line, and a more masculine voice, though still relatively high pitched, spoke. "Hello?"

"Greg!" Heather smiled.

It hadn't been too long since they last talked; their last conversation was just about a week ago. When King Smith sent out all the less experienced members of the Investigation to different parts of the country in a hunt for independent mages, Greg was lucky enough to have been saddled with Queens. Most of the area and its mages were well documented, so he treated it like a paid vacation.

"Sis! What's up? I thought you said we weren't gonna be able to talk for a while? Y'know, bad cell service and all that."

"My phone broke, and my assignment ended earlier than I expected."

"Ah, that sucks. Anything interesting happen? Find the guy you were looking for? He did something weird, right?"

Heather rolled her eyes. Greg was well aware of what she was doing, he was the one that helped her find a rental agency for the boat and jeep in the first place. Why would he call a suspected independent a weird-

'Oh yeah, Danica isn't a mage.' He probably didn't want to talk about things relating to magic and the Investigation around her. In fact, Danica thought he was a contract body guard for some big-wig politician, which was why they moved to Queens.

"That's actually why I'm calling." She admitted. "I'm getting on a plane headed for the city in about an hour, and we should be there in no later than an hour after. Can you pick us up?"

"Us? Who's us? And yeah, shouldn't be a problem."

"If I thought phones were secure, I'd tell you the whole story." Heather said. "Trust me, it's important. In regard to the Investigation, it was a priority one event."

"…Priority one?! How- You do know that means that a Heret- Y'know what? I don't care. You're alive and that's all that matters. I can ask you about it when you get here. You said in two hours?"

"If the flight goes well, probably sooner."

"Got it. I'll be at the airport in an hour and a half."

Heather let loose a relieved sigh she hadn't known she was holding in. "Thanks bro."

"No prob. See you soon."


At the same time…

New York City

Jennifer Green felt something was going to be… off about this day as she toured a segregated area of the appropriately named Forest Park in the middle of New York City. She'd been trailing this locale for a good year now, but was only now making an attempt to stray from the paths that had been pre-designated.

Today was supposed to be an experience; a chance to explore a part of the city she'd known for the past five years in a more intimate way. As a researcher for the Sorcerous Sacrilege Investigation, her phone was more often than not going off with requests from her employers. So, to ensure that her free time held no distraction, she turned the device off and began her trek.

She dearly regretted her decision.

Within twenty minutes, having been lost in a maze of trees, she heard a voice. Turning towards it, an unkempt man approached her, though he didn't actually appear off-putting. He was dressed in a tie-dyed sweater, with hair that reached the middle of his back and a beard that was braided in an almost comical fashion. He looked like a happy sort of man, an old fashioned hippie. Jennifer thought he fit well in the forest area.

He did become off-putting quite quickly, however. Upon reaching her, in silence, he rushed at her. Jennifer ran as well as she could, but tripped on a branch and sprained her ankle in her feared state. Her cry was pained. She cursed her lack of knowledge in regards to magic; it would have surely aided her.

The man reached her then, a sort of deranged smile on his face. He reached into one of the many pockets of his cargo shorts and removed a rag. Jennifer struggled to escape him, screaming and calling for help to any that would hear her, but he just used the rag to cover her mouth. Her muffled noises of protest slowly died away, until all that was left was the echo of her heavy, unconscious breathing.

Time passed, and eventually Jennifer awoke, though she did not know how long she was asleep, or where she was. All she knew was that the place she was at was a cave, made of brown dirt and large rocks, with a few tree branches decorating the walls and ceiling. She could determine that she was likely underground, beneath the park she'd just been in. She tried to move, but her arms and legs were bound in rope, and her mouth was gagged with some type of cloth.

And she was not alone. There were other girls of various ages within the camp. There were about thirty of them, the oldest looking line an ancient crone whilst the youngest couldn't have been more than twelve. All were scared, and all were gagged and bound, just as she was.

"Welcome!" The man who'd kidnapped her called out. He entered the cave, his unusual shirt replaced by a flowing robe of earthy colors. "Welcome all, to this most auspicious day!"

He walked around the room, almost savoring the looks of fear the other girls were shooting him. "Some of you might ask who I am, and to that, I say there is nothing to know. My name has been forsaken, all for the sake of my master. If you must think of me as anything… Call me hilt. I am the end of the Staff of Ending, the last true member! My brethren have abandoned our goals, but not I! I shall bring forth the end of our oppression."

He smiled at the group, soft and proud. "And you will be the catalyst that brings about our salvation. Thirty-three women of magic, seven of whom hold the blood of Hime-miko's, diluted though it may be."

Mutters spilled forth from his lips. Jennifer could not hear the words, but she understood that they were patterned. It must have been an aria of some sort. The ground below her began to shake, and she felt her loins go warm with urine as fear once more took place.

A void took shape. The void groaned, and Jennifer watched as it sucked the very life-force from the girls in the room. They aged before her eyes, turning into husks of skin and bone that then turned to dust. Even the man that kidnapped them all was not spared. Jennifer could feel herself grow weak, and struggled to reach the back of the cave, hoping to escape its embrace. The fact that she was still alive meant she succeeded, but the room was blurry and her body frail.

The colors of the cave shifted. Browns turned blue, blacks turned pink, and the grey roots turned a lush green, growing quicker than even the most powerful of mages would have been able to allow.

From the void, a humanoid figure took form. It was male, but that was all that Jennifer could determine. Her sight was growing worse by the second.

But she knew enough. The pressure it exhuded, reminding her of the time King Smith fought Artemis, told her what was needed. This was a Heretic God.

"The Grove did not wish to descend," the Heretic God said, mournfully. "It had grown weary. Why have these fools called for it?"

It noticed Jennifer then. Roots grew around her, thickening and becoming strong, and lifted her towards him. Even as she was less than a foot from him, he was but a blur. She could only just make out that he was hairy, his face almost covered in brown hair, possibly fur.

"The roots scream and the earth cries. Humans have felled Terra, and her most beloved child has been called." He snorted, hot air slapping Jennifer. "And he shall do as he must."

With a casual flick of his hand, the roots that held Jennifer up snapped her neck. Her body fell into the void below, and she knew no more.

The Heretic God slowly began to move. The roots and plants and stones followed him, as if they were puppies and he was their master.

He left the cave, and upon reaching the surface breathed in deeply. The air was polluted, the streets overflowed. Nature had been destroyed by humans, and only small pockets of what should have been remained.

The Heretic God wailed, tears falling from his eyes. The trees tried to comfort him, the grass wished to cushion his sorrow, and the earth moved to hold him, but he rejected them all. Wings sprouted from his feet, and he left the clearing.

"There is much to do."

A/N: So, that was an interesting chapter.

James has discovered his power, and Heather has made plans. And, unbeknownst to them, another Heretic God has descended in the middle of New York City, swearing vengeance against humans for disturbing nature.

I would like to make something known about James's Authority through Fosite. It might seem like four abilities, but it's really all one. And, one of those four, the [Axe of Old], is just the summoning of the axe. There's nothing else to it. It's more of a pseudo Authority, whilst the others are proper abilities. [Mighty Lumberjack] is similar to Godou's [Ten Incarnations] in that it's one power with multiple abilities. Everything save for the [Axe of Old] has either a restriction to use or a price to pay.

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