Only a Few Thousand
Fate's eyes snapped open, although the darkness that greeted him made him skeptical of whether he had actually done so.
'Where am I? Ugh, my head…" He pressed a hand to his temple, massaging his forehead in an attempt to soothe the massive migraine pounding away at his brain. He stood, for some reason having been on his knees, and blinked a few times to confirm that he did, indeed, have his eyes open.
'What happened?' he wondered, then winced as the migraine spiked and a memory surfaced. 'Guard? Empress? Ziobrun? Oh, I see. Some asshole wiped my memories. Now I'm in a cave, surrounded by…'
He heard a growl in the darkness, soon joined by another, then another, until the entire cavern was rumbling as if an earthquake was occurring. '…Imps. Too bad that sergeant guy died. Now I can't see anything.
'Well, that still works. What about that sword the big guy was using? No, wait, the sergeant buried him. But maybe…' He used his Manifest Power – or was it a Skill? – to turn intangible.
When he tapped his foot against the ground, he felt it pass through. 'Good, at least that still works. So, I'll just do this.'
Sinking into the ground, he 'swam' through the solid rock as if it were air, subtly changing which part of him was intangible and which part wasn't to go wherever he wished. Something he had learned early on in this new world of Embodiments and gods was that everything was made of Divine Energy, from the trees to the people to even space.
Every universe was created at some point by a powerful Embodiment or similar Divine creature, their Divine Energy eventually evolving and changing as time went on to create new things, like life and gravity.
A fundamental rule was that two types of Divine Energy couldn't exist in the same space. They could mingle and touch, but like water and air, one could not occupy the same physical space as the other. While Fate was intangible, he could turn his heel or elbow tangible, or any other body part, and the ground would attempt to push that tangible part away and out.
The Divine Energy that made up everything was remarkably weak, almost nonexistent, which is why Fate could become incorporeal. The energy was so far below his Level that it could do nothing to him, just like an Exemplar couldn't do anything to him as an Avatar.
He called this [Solid Surfing], something a resurfacing memory from his time on Ziobrun informed him is a Spell. Not too long after searching, his aura brushed up against an enchanted object in the shape of a sword, held in the grip of the big goat man.
Wrapping his incorporeal hand around the handle, careful to make sure his fingers wouldn't pass through, he quickly switched to tangible and then back again, grinning slightly when he felt the sword in his hands.
He then turned his heels and knuckles tangible after straightening out, and he shot out of the ground, landing lithely on his feet as he flourished his new sword. The brightness of the glowing tip made a difference instantly, allowing him to see the thousands of angry goat faces glaring back at him.
He grinned, stepping out of the imp he had landed in and turning tangible once more. He didn't miss the way the creature started glowing softly. It seemed they could still siphon off some of his energy when he was intangible, but that was fine. Gorn wouldn't use a blade that could melt under his heat, right?
"Well? What are you freaks waiting for?" He asked as he studied the cavern.
The shaman was nowhere to be found, probably killed by whoever messed with Fate's memories and vaporized. The bodies of Gus and Brent were on the ground in the center of the cave, their heads popped like ripe watermelons. Fate guessed that the shaman had killed them in his last moments.
"A cocky human? I've never seen that before," cackled an imp within the crowd. The others joined in, laughing uproariously at the joke.
"It wasn't that funny, guys," Fate said, already tired of this species.
"All you did was go from Apprentice to Adept, stupid," sneered a different imp. "While impressive, that isn't enough to kill all of us. We eat Mana, remember?"
Fate had regained his previous Avatar Level, whatever had been suppressing his powers and memories gone. For some reason, he was still in his eighteen-year-old body, but you win some, you lose some.
He felt a bit embarrassed that he hadn't even tried using his 'Skill' while he was suppressed, but his other self had only had the Skill for a few days now, so he didn't beat himself up about it.
"You imps need to see more of the world," Fate replied, flicking his sword. While it was heavy, it wasn't overly so. Fate could easily use it with two hands. Most of its strength came from the enchantments Fate sensed, although he had no idea what they did yet.
"A sword and my Manifest Power are all I need to slaughter the lot of you."
"The fuck is a Manifest Power?" shouted an imp from the back.
"He's delirious with fear!" cackled another.
"Then let's kill him already! He looks delicious, and I haven't eaten since last night!"
The imps agreed with that, and they charged at Fate. Fate snorted and stood where he was as an imp lunged forward.
"Problem?" he asked when the imp stared at its spear, dumbstruck. It went through him without making contact, the blade poking through Fate's back. The creature was used to the feeling of flesh cutting underneath his weapon, but his attack had yielded no such sensation.
"What the – " The imp didn't have time to finish his thought, his head liberated from his body after a swift sidestep and a chop from Fate. The body flopped to the ground, the head landing soon after and rolling along the ground.
It stopped at the feet of another imp, its shocked expression still present even in death. The horde had stopped its advance as soon as their brother 'killed' Fate, but upon seeing this scene, they redoubled their efforts, their screeches echoing down the tunnels for miles as Fate's grin widened.
'Just like fighting the Fractured,' he thought offhandedly as he cut another three imps down, a sword passing through his head as he used his Manifest Power to skillfully avoid the strike. 'This shouldn't take long. After all, there are only a few thousand of them.'