Years had passed and the Heavens Chosen tribe had grown to reclaim the northern parts of Triassia, something which angered Sídero to no end, especially after he found out that the rebels were led by what people were called the Diamond Spearhead.


    Throughout Sídero’s life, he was praised as being heaven-sent, the ultimate man, the perfect warrior and the chief of chiefs.


    Now, some strange warrior was claiming a title that was more divine than his?


    In Cratan culture, diamonds were strongly associated with the Angel Fogo, who stood atop the Diamond Needle in the Seventh Dimension.


    Sídero immediately mobilized a force to snuff out the rising contender but his men, hardened and powerful, were met by a solid defence.


    The Chosen, while fewer in number and weaker overall, used techniques that many considered magical and divine.


    In truth, they were making use of the information given to them by the silent feather who demonstrated the truths of reality.


    The Chosen, clad in silky white robes instead of armour, used needle-sharp arrows and projectiles that pierced armour, razor thin but strong blades that rended flesh with ease and moved with an almost dancelike grace, which was like a dream in the face of the bluntness of Sídero’s armies.


    He tried every trick he had, but each time he sent out a force to crush his growing enemy, he lost more men and territory, which forced him to take action, and it was here that he remembered the channel that the feather had issued.


    “Ha!” The Great Chief laughed as he sat in his tent which was in the centre of his village in the heart of the jungles Triassia, a place of violence.


    “What is it, dear?” Acacia, his first wife asked as she sat by his side in bed as the silence of night blanketed the village which stretched out for acres upon acres into the jungle.


    The two had four sons who, while still prepubescent, were showing great promise with all of them being able to walk and talk clearly at the ages of three.


    The other wives had similar successes, but Sídero spent far less time with them.


    “Ha… I just realized how… headstrong he is. All this just to dual me. Perhaps I should have accepted it back then, but, simultaneously, it seems as though this was the way things were always bound to go.” Sídero’s thoughtful words reached Acacia clearly as she gently rubbed his back, brushing over his scars.


    “I guess he’s not the only one that’s headstrong.” She sweetly hummed, making Sídero shake his head in amusement.


    “Perhaps. But I''m not so foolish as to keep throwing bodies at one who’s so clearly determined so, should he reach the centremost valley, I will meet him.”


    Those words shook Acacia a little, but she knew better than to question Sídero when he made a decision.


    She knew very well that he had been thinking about this for a long time and that this was the course of action that he deemed best.


    The only thing she could do was support him.


    “Alright, but before we throw the towel completely, I suggest a change of pace.” She said before telling her husband a few changes she wanted to be made to his approach at war.


    Following this conversation, the dominance of the north slowed down a little with Sídero’s men acting in smaller units that relied less on brute force and numbers.


    Sídero had considered this tactic, of course, but the one change that Acacia had made was the use of specialized hit-and-run divisions that helped reduce their losses, but all this did was postpone the inevitable, and it wasn’t long before Flawless’s armies reached the centremost valley in the region.


    It was then that Sídero made his way to meet his rival.


    The two leaders prepared in their respective tents as their armies stood face to face, separated by a single kilometre of land.


    As the sun set, Sídero was doused in sacred oils, numbing his skin and muscles to pain, he was fed herbs that heightened his senses and was bathed in incense that altered his perception, making his mind process things at twice the normal rates.


    He did all this because he knew that he was up against an opponent who, even after years of observation, he barely understood.


    Flawless was the perfect weapon, unspeaking and unyielding.


    He needed to meet him there.


    At the summit.


    The sun finally set but, as if Fogo himself wanted all to the coming match, the full moon illuminated the valley which Sídero stepped into by himself all while the drums of war were struck.


    Even the war priests watched on as Flawless left his tent and, like Sídero, he was clad only in a loincloth and brandished a machete while his human opponent carried a single spear.


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    The drums grew louder as both sides muttered chants of anticipation.


    This was it.


    What the entire world of Cratus stood upon.


    The celebration of Conflict.


    Sídero and Flawless stood face to face, and the music died immediately after.


    What followed was a sound that sounded like thunder.


    Only the Priests, who had been given perfect bodies by Fogo, had been able to see that Flawless had tried to decapitate Sídero, who only narrowly managed to keep his head by moving backwards just enough.


    The warrior, startled by what would have otherwise been his death, barked loudly as he abandoned all civility, leaving only the instincts that had just saved him.


    Flawless dashed forward and tried to decapitate Sídero again, but the human warrior deflected the attack by sacrificing his spear.


    The human warrior then sent forth the deadly half of the spear towards Flawless, who perfectly avoided the attack, cleaving off Sídero’s right arm instead.


    Acacia, who was by the chief’s tent, watched with horror as her husband’s arm fell to the ground.


    Sídero stumbled backwards as his body burnt with a pain that he wasn’t quite able to fully feel.


    Even in this state of pure motorised instinct, he knew that he was supposed to be dead.


    That he was only alive because Flawless allowed it.


    To be in the face of such overwhelming force filled him with terror.


    However… even as tears welled in his eyes and blood fell from his shoulder, he squeezed his fist, charging towards the ever-expressionless Flawless once more.


    It was in this moment that the enigmatic being smirked, as if pleased.


    What followed, for Sídero, was blankness as he died.


    For those who witnessed it, it was as if Flawless had just suddenly snatched Sídero’s head and was now gently cradling it.


    Acacia, who’s stiffened face was covered in tears, slowly walked down to Flawless alongside her elite guards and she, as she had discussed with her husband, knelt before Flawless.


    In this moment, in a realm beyond sight, Fogo took Sídero’s soul and gave him a perfect body in the Seventh Dimension.


    Sídero was reborn with a jolt, his now golden eyes glaring at all that surrounded him but they immediately fell before Fogo whom he knelt at the foot of as naturally as the next breath he took.


    [Welcome, champion, to the city of Hereafter. Your life as a man has ended. You will henceforth live not only for the sake of those in your home world but for the sake of every world in existence.]


    Sídero felt himself shrink internally now that he was faced with the Angel he had been raised to worship.


    He felt small, inconsequential… yet content.


    “Your Grace.” He acknowledged, prompting Fogo to gesture with his right hand.


    [You may raise your head.]


    Sídero looked up into the eyes of the Angel and immediately began to weep.


    Something he hadn’t done in quite some time.


    Before such light, such purity, he was stripped bare, no more than a babe in the arms of its mother, but he felt no shame.


    Because while Fogo’s light was all-encompassing, it was comforting and didn’t hurt to look at.


    [Make yourself at home. I will call for you when the time comes.]


    Sídero nodded as the Angel dematerialized, leaving him in a grand chamber of white marble that needed light for all to be clear.


    Filling this space were many warriors and countless weapons that made the armaments of his world look like crude tools.


    Some of the warriors looked familiar and resembled the many great champions who had risen and fallen in the Fogian Planes in years past.


    One of said warriors approached Sídero and offered him a hand to help him stand.


    The once-chief took the strong hand and stood.


    “Welcome, brother. Come, let me show you the extent of his Grace’s words.” Sídero followed the warrior out of the impossibly large building, passing knights who were clad in light, and beheld the Hereafter in its entirety from the barracks that Fogo had built just east of the city.


    “This is where chosen souls come to spend eternity alongside the Angels. While Cratus was a place of conflict, this is one of harmony.”


    Sídero could barely comprehend any of it, at least immediately, and one thing puzzled him particularly.


    “What are we supposed to do here?”


    “That’s a good question and, depending on the Angel you ask, you will get different answers. Our very own Angel, Fogo, will tell you that we are here to safeguard all who remain in the worlds below. Ask Angel Yana, and he will tell you that we are all waiting for the awakening of Kiln, whose presence we draw our very breath from. I think the idea is to find your own meaning in this endless place. What else to do with eternity, mmm?”


    Sídero nodded at those wise words before following the warrior, who went by Odigós, back into the greatest barracks in existence where the two would go on to train and study with each other.


    They sparred and tested each other’s strengths and wits, growing to be close friends, but something had been bothering Sídero in his time here.


    It gnawed at him ceaselessly which eventually led to him making a request to the Priests of Conflict, which he learnt were reborn humans.


    He humbled himself completely, lowered his head and begged for an audience with Fogo.


    The Priests, who were the only ones from the world of Cratus allowed into the Diamond Needle, gave Fogo the once chief’s words and the Angel obliged, inviting Sídero to the tower in the centre of the Hereafter.


    Sídero made his way up the sacred place where, upon exiting the elevator that led to the top, he knelt.


    Not only was he in the presence of Fogo but Vidente was there too and she matched her partner in luminosity except where Fogo’s light was a blaring series of waves, hers was of flares that curiously reached out to all.


    The two sat side by side, cuddling each other and beholding all that was, their focus now turned to the man at their feet.


    [Raise your head, child.] Vidente allowed, and Sídero complied.


    His heart filled with joy since this was his first time seeing Vidente, the one who he had heard so much about until this point, with many calling her the Angel of Wisdom.


    [Well? Out with it, then? What did you come all this way to ask?] Although Fogo’s words were blunt, they possessed not a shred of malice.


    Sídero weakly nodded before, and with trembling lips, asking.


    “Thank you for allowing me an audience, your grace. I understand very well that only the chosen are brought to this most wonderful of places; where do the other souls go?”


    He obviously had his wives and children in mind, something which Fogo, who knew grief quite intimately, sympathized with.


    [The souls that are brought here all have a purpose to serve. It is actually quite arrogant of us Angels to be gathering the dead and using them for our own ends, but we have long since accepted that truth. Those who aren’t chosen, however…] Fogo’s booming voice softened.


    [Even in this place, none of us are at peace but they, as soon as they leave their Halo vessels, drift off and join the divine currents of Kilnessence, joining him in oblivion.]


    Fogo’s words were felt by every being in the Hereafter, and although they brought him great comfort, he fell apart after realizing that he would most likely never hold his loved ones again.


    He collapsed onto himself and wept uncontrollably as he cursed himself for never having given them a proper goodbye, choosing instead to die a foolish warrior’s death.


    All these emotions were clear to Fogo and Vidente, who wrapped him in their wings, cradling the man and lulling the pain that he felt away for they could not bear to have him suffer for eternity.